Boner Jamz ’03

If the aliens in Close Encounters Of The Third Kind taught us anything, it’s that music is a universal language. Music can enhance our emotions, elicit memories, and move us in ways nothing else can. As the daughter of a pianist/ classic rock connoisseur, I was raised on some quality sounds. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m often applauded on my musical taste – whether it’s been Spotify playlists, road trip soundtracks, or old school CD mixes. It’s casual.

Phantogram Psychos
Phantogram Psychos

2014 has been an extra musical year for me. After realizing that I’ve lived in Los Angeles for years and never been to a majority of the terrific concert venues here, I knew something had to change. I used to be such a rock geek in high school – frequenting local shows and Warped Tour. Oh, Warped Tour… I missed those days and I did something about it. I’ve been on a role since February. Immersing myself in music, I sought out unfamiliar artists and upcoming shows. It started on one of those spontaneous nights when 2 friends and I found ourselves scalping tickets at The Palladium for the sold out Phantogram show. From there, I popped my Troubadour cherry for an evening with Jamestown Revival and The Wild Feathers. Hozier at The Hotel Cafe. An adventure to The Wiltern for St. Vincent. I’m on a mission and I’m not stopping anytime soon. In the next 2 months, I’ll be making 3 appearances at The Troubadour for Lo-Fang, Hozier (again), and Jamestown Revival (again). Of course, Coachella is approaching fast.

Since my recent obsession to seek out new artists began, I’ve wanted to share my findings with anyone who will listen. I sent out an email to my lucky coworkers with a myriad of my new faves, and the feedback was wicked – a few crazy kids even requested it be weekly. I obviously obliged.

So here is my question: Do I incorporate my musical adventures into this sorry excuse for a blog? Would you read it? Do you think I’m an idiot? Could you not possibly care less? Well, I set up a poll for the 20 of you who actually read this regularly.

Vote away.

Jamestown Revival dorks
Mr. Andrew Hozier Byrne

March 28, 2014


Talkin’ ‘Bout My Generation


HBO’s Emmy Award winning series GIRLS wrapped up Season 3 on Sunday and it was over too quickly. When it comes to this show, I’m a diehard fangirl. (Sidenote: About a month ago, I met Alex Karpovsky – who plays Ray – at The Bungalow in Santa Monica and drunkenly semi-harassed him about my love for the show. Not sorry, Alex – you didn’t even reply to my tweet.) Sometimes it depresses me how much I see myself in each character, but I think that’s what makes it so compelling. It’s human. It’s my generation. Anyone who disagrees is voluntarily blind.


The exposed flaws in each character is wonderful for Gen Y and millenials because it is going to make us more aware of our behaviors and traits. That uncomfortable feeling many of us experience during some of those scenes could be coming from a place of guilty familiarity. It’s not always easy to watch such raw material or see your own vices portrayed onscreen. To me, that’s what makes it magnificent. Have I caught myself grooving alone in my underwear to Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own” just like Hannah does in Season 1? Yes. Actually. I have literally done that. And you know what? It feels fucking awesome.

With the amount of people refusing to acknowledge their own narcissism, GIRLS is the breath of fresh air society needs –  made even more apparent by the people out there continuing to criticize Lena Dunham’s physical appearance. Like, I can understand that her nudity could be shocking on the first season or even in that random episode when her and that doctor were naked basically the entire half-hour… But, at the end of its 3rd season, how is this still even a topic of discussion? Why are people still talking about Lena Dunham’s boobs? If you don’t like her boobs or if you care that much about seeing her naked, don’t watch the show. It’s pretty fucking simple. HBO is no stranger to gratuitous nudity – but the double standard held by both male and female viewers is appalling. As someone who usually strips off all my clothing the moment I get home from work, I think she’s simply showing us something real and honest. Bras suck a lot of the time. Preach, Lena! Preach!

I’ll try to wait patiently until Season 4. She should put me in Season 4. PLEASE PUT ME IN SEASON 4, LENA! 100% serious.

shut up animated GIF



If you’re an active user of Instagram, you’re probably aware of the phenomenon known as Throwback Thursday. Although pretty self-explanatory, Throwback Thursday, or TBT, is when users across the globe post old photos to their various social media accounts. The general idea leaves much room for nostalgia and sentimentality, but the overall execution is mostly dull – and commandeering my photo feed.

RIP Shirley!
RIP Shirley! (Follow me! Like me! Validate me!)

Stahp. We get it. Do you really want to show the world you peaked at age 4? Do you want to remind everyone you were prettier in high school? Let’s quit it with the generic 2006 group party photos. I don’t need TBT to be reminded of double-popped collars and Abercrombie & Fitch denim skirts.

Obviously there are exceptions and they are the reasons that the #TBT is valid. Is it a particularly adorable baby photo? A destination/vacation pic? Do you look outrageously good or endearingly embarrassing? With a celeb? Was it something significant? I beg you to ask yourselves these questions before uploading another average moment in your history.

I don’t post many TBT’s. Like, every once in a while, sure. Weekly? Hell nah.

Maybe I’m just bitter I wasn’t as pretty when I was little. Maybe I’m just upset that the photo I uploaded of these Star Wars mugs is slacking in likes because it is being drowned out by the mediocre posts of basic bitches’ pasts. Maybe we all just want social media validation.

Okay, that’s all I have to say about this subject. Prepare yourselves for the Flashback Fridays. Woof.

BRB wallowing in self-loathing.