Let’s talk about the Spice Girls, shall we? This past June, the premiere girl band of the 90s reunited for a 13-show UK tour, which amassed a whopping $78 million, and I was lucky enough to witness it in all its glory. While traveling to London and Paris for my 30th birthday, I noticed I was returning home just one day shy of the Spice Girls’ London shows, at the end of their tour. Luckily, they had another show in Bristol two days before I was flying home, and there were sti

I knew how I wanted to turn 30 long before the time arrived. What started as an inclination to do something big, a feeling, and a desire to celebrate and have a better thirtieth than my mother, eventually became a full fledged plan. From the time my mother turned 30 herself, I’d heard the story of how she was gifted a driveway lined with black candles and a package of adult diapers from her friends. I desired...adventure over somewhat cruel gag gifts. And oddly, to be alone.

I’ve written about my trip to China a couple times now, but one thing bears repeating: Shanghai is enormous. And since I was traveling solo, visiting a friend with a full time job, and staying in my own apartment, the crowded streets and sticky heat tended to wear me out. So, I fell into a routine – generally, I was back at the apartment by late afternoon with a few hours to kill before I’d meet up with Elizabeth for dinner. I started referring to my apartment as “going back

On a frigid New York City evening in January, I realized a hidden dream of mine – hearing Sara Bareilles perform her song, “She Used to Be Mine,” live. I say hidden only because I am that person who only remembers how incredible it is to see their favorite performers live when it’s actually happening. I’m not often the kind to plan months ahead of time to catch a show; it’s the procrastinator in me. World travel? Yes. Concert? No. But this past January I was lucky enough to b

When I was 12 or 13 – back when downloading music off Napster and burning CDs was a thing – the jam band my dad has been friends with since highschool acquired some home recording equipment. My dad, being a rockstar in his daydreams, was quick to put it use and show off the results. That’s how I came to have two Scott Duncan originals in my music library. One was a folk guitar bit about The Hatfields and McCoys, the other, more importantly, was a cover of “Gimme Shelter,” by

I’m not a podcast person. I have had more conversations about them than I can count, recommendation after recommendation pouring in, about which one to listen to next, or to try. “Trust me, you’ll love this one!” But let me just tell you: I’m not gonna fucking listen to it. I try and try but never make it past the five-minute mark. I can’t listen to audiobooks either. I don’t know if I’m too ADD, but they almost always bore me or I just end up tuning them out. All that change

A few weeks ago, my partner Alex and I were out for a drive on one of the first warm days of Portland spring. I was scrolling through the music library on my phone trying to pick some tunes; something that said “windows down, sunglasses on,” even though it was only 60 degrees outside. I settled on Sublime’s self-titled album. It seemed to fit the mood and Alex agreed. The minute the first riff of “Garden Grove” started to flow out of the speakers, I was transported back to ag

When it comes to music, hip hop has always held a small place in my periphery. I like it in the sense that I like to dance to it, both in “the club” and in the hip hop dance class I take weekly. Classic tracks by Cypress Hill (insane in the membrane, insane in the brain!), Snoop Dogg (...smoke weed everyday), and R Kelly (so baby give me that toot toot) are so ingrained in the radio culture of my past that they’re hard to avoid and even harder not to sing along to. But really

I’m making a habit of going to the symphony alone. It’s equal parts bad planning and an impulse decision, but this November, three hours before show time, I decided to attend the Oregon Symphony – again. I love a good excuse to dress up and struggle to tie a tie, even though part of the beauty in going to a symphony performance in Portland is that half the audience will be dressed to the nines, and the other half will be wearing flannel and beanies. It’s a beautiful mix. This

I’ve followed singer/songwriter Stephen Wrabel for years now. If you’re like me and follow him on Twitter and Instagram, you’ve probably seen him cry more than once, either in a video full of gratitude, or because something rough had happened. You’ve seen his doodles outlining his insecurity, what’s occupying his mind, or his dreams for the future. You’ve seen his impulsive shopping habits. You’ve seen him fiercely advocate for his friends and fans. I first heard him as a fea