Hollywood here I come

So I'm flying to Los Angeles tomorrow to watch France v Brazil and England v Portugal. Ok, that is not why I'm flying to LA at all, it's more of a fabulous family reunion with new wives and new babies. I was hoping to wake up earlier and give you all a long post before I leave, but sleep is sweet and deep and not nearly as seductive as you.

Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I leave you with this photo till tomorrow... (Willy S. ain't got nothin' on me)



Sipping champagne in the Johnson Arms beer garden for a belated celebration of my birthday after the first England match.

We may not be in the World Cup anymore, but at least we're good at making you hate us

A very excellent Roundtable post over at Hairshirt discussing how America is so good at making the rest of the world hate them and some tips on how to improve upon this worldly hatred.

Don't agree? Think America is the bomb-diggity and deserves every man, woman and child's utmost respect? Go on over and tell him. I'm sure Joe will make you feel right at home.

Yeah, I still got it.

I was asked out on a date last night, and while I’m sure this is no big news to you sexy singletons out there, it was huge for me. I’ve been with the same guy for nearly 4 years now, so it’s safe to say my dating scene has been limited (to one great man). Everyone new that I have met in the past 3 or so years hasn’t met me as Lauren, but as Lauren plus 1, Lauren and her French man, LaurenandStephane.

I didn’t even catch his name, but he was a Norwegian man nearly as wide as he was tall who had come down to the pub to cheer England on at beating the Swedes. After briefly being introduced, him trying to repeatedly catch my eye across the crowded pub and then unsuccessfully trying to buy me a drink, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found myself sitting with my partner on my right and a Nordic stranger on my left asking me if I was free tomorrow night. It just never occurred to me that he wouldn’t know that I was with Stephane. He generously accepted the fact that I was taken, told me I was with the wrong man, but hoped he treated me well.

God it felt good.

Roundtable: Concert Firsts

Unlike hearing about what someone dreamt last night and dissecting its symbolism or sitting around talking about other people’s dead pets for hours on end I really love hearing about people’s first concert.

The first concert a person attended can tell you more in a few sentences than a poorly construed autobiography could do in months. One’s first concert marks a moment, a period in time, a fad that dates them, dates their parents or older sibling and is often a telling insight into their awkward pre-teen years.

Often the person was dragged to a concert by their parents, which explains a lot about their upbringing. Did their mom drag them to see Neil Sedaka? Or perhaps their father took them to an open-air Cream gig because he couldn’t afford tickets and a babysitter. Notice the completely different feelings these two sentences give. Cookie cutter kook or far-out rebellion on a dime.

Occasionally you hear of the person who went to some concert with their older brother or sister because their parents forced Bill to take little Johnny along with him and his friends so they could have a night to themselves. I always envied these people, as I don’t have an older sibling of my own. They got the chance to go to shows like Blondie, Madonna in her black lace fingerless gloves phase, Twisted Sister. They felt left out by being the tag-a-long little sibling at the time, but somewhere deep down inside they knew that this night would make them that much cooler for the rest of their lives.

Then you have the people who chose the concert all on their own. The actual age of the concertgoer at the time is crucial for this story – it indicates whether they had strict parents or not or whether they were late bloomers. Usually the concert that is actually chosen by the person happens around the awkward pre-teen years. These are the years when good taste has been often abandoned for any popular trend. Debbie Gibson and Tiffany spring to mind.

Technically my first concert was Joni Mitchell somewhere in California. I was four years old, taken there by my parents. My only memory of it is dancing on a hilltop in a sunflower dress while hippies clapped me along. If my parents hadn’t divorced I think there would have been a lot more of these concerts in my upbringing.

My first actual chosen concert was when I was 13 (a late bloomer in my eyes) to see Bob Dylan play at the Riviera in Chicago for my birthday. It was me, two friends and my mom. I felt kind of lame for having my mom there, especially when she refused to pass along an incense stick that was making the rounds through the crowd as if it were some kind of a drug, but I never would have had the guts to go without her.

I wonder if the fact that I chose Bob Dylan shows that I have a vintage philosopher’s soul – more likely it simply shows that the kids I thought were in cool in junior high were into our parent’s music, and with gusto.

What does your first concert say about you? Trendy teenybopper with a laidback upbringing? Late bloomer with a penchant for the oldies?

As I was scanning over the crowd at the Gomez concert last night (who kicked ass by the way) I tried to discern who were the young first time concertgoers. Which of these kids belonged to the tight-lipped parents standing against the wall hoping their child doesn’t get swallowed into the mass of bobbing heads and plastic cups filled with beer.

And what will people think of them when they say: “My first concert? It was Gomez in a dive bar in Sheffield in 2006”

Better late than never

If you haven't already gone over to Donny B's Blog for last week's roundtable do so with a stiff drink in your hand - and make it a double. Donny is discussing X-Tina and Paris Hilton, their musical chops or lack their of and the disgusting fact that Paris Hilton is still in the media.

I had the unfortunate experience of downloading Paris' song (for the sake of the Roundtable, people, not on my own volition) and it somehow repeated itself 3 times into my iTunes.

Designer paper towels, France, and a pub quiz = this post

Something a bit more lighthearted since last weeks brain scratcher, Serenade in green discusses the merits of some fancy paper towels to add some colour to your kitchen. Go on over and tell us what kind of paper towels you prefer...

I know I've been a long time coming with a new post, and you're going to have to wait even longer as I am off to the south of France - Millau to be exact - for a wedding.

But just so you don't feel that I'm leaving you empty handed for the next four days, here are the recent photos from last Tuesday's pub quiz (which we managed to win despite our bismal score of 22 out of 34). I have so many posts and fun weekends to share rattling around in my brain and my hard drive. Soon, I promise.

Is this a face that would lie to you? Perhaps. But it is the face of a quiz winner ladies and gentlemen

Remnants of a quiz...

Two very sexy women if I do say so myself


Even lying down, Stephane manages to be the life of the pub ...

... and his other half ain't too bad either