Lauren Landry

I understand I haven’t updated my blog in a while. It’s all for good reason, however. After months of job searching, I landed a dream job working as a staff writer for BostInno, a startup media company in Boston who’s got a lot of big plans for the future. My primary focus is on Higher Education, and you can find a majority of my articles here. I have a lot of things to say from How Bike Sharing Programs Could Bridge Boston’s Colleges to the 15 Things You Probably Didn’t Know About the City’s Schools.

I hope you all take the time to check out the site and engage yourself with our content. BostInno strives to bring the community the view from the inside, and I don’t think I could be working inside a better place.

This is a piece I wrote for the latest issue of em Magazine. Feel free to read the piece below, or click here to read the story from The Power Issue. This issue is the final one I’ll have been a part of, and I couldn’t be more proud of it. I think our staff has accomplished a lot together over the last four years, and I’ve loved seeing where the magazine has gone, and I’m excited to see where it will go in the future. Thank you for reading em Magazine, everyone.

On Friday night, you’re pounding PBR. Come Saturday, you’re tapping kegs of Keystone. Sunday Funday brings on the Busch, which leads somewhere into the Milwaukee’s Best you’ll still be feeling on Monday. At least, as a stereotypical college student, this is what you’re expected to be doing. But, beer has been breaking boundaries and crushing convention as of late. No longer is it reserved for fraternity parties and baseball games. Although cheaper ales hold their rightful place in our collegiate budgets, there are beers out there more palatable than Natty Light. If you’re a beginner to brewski, here are some watering holes with an extensive selection of beers on draft you should try out, along with recommendations straight from the servers themselves.

The Publick House
1648 Beacon Street, Brookline.
This Brookline bar operates by the motto, “Eat good food, drink better beer.” With 30 different types of beer on tap and over 150 bottles, there’s bound to be something that will tempt your taste buds.
Recommendations: L’Amitie and Founders Kentucky Breakfast Stout. Pints range in price from $5.75-10.

Redbones
55 Chester Street, Somerville.
Located in Davis Square, Redbones features a rotating list of 24 microbrews. While you’re at this barbecue joint, feel free to satisfy your appetite with some southern hospitality. Nothing pairs better with beer than baby back ribs and smoked beef brisket.
Recommendations: Opa Opa IPA and Sixpoint Bengali Tiger. Pints range in price from $5-9.

Sunset Grill & Tap
130 Brighton Avenue, Allston.
Rather than heading to Allston for another party you know will get busted, stop in at the Sunset Grill & Tap instead. Their mantra is “Life’s too short to drink cheap beer.” Thanks to their 112 taps and about 380 microbrews and imports, all perfectly crafted for your palette, you don’t have to.
Recommendations: Allagash White and Weihenstephaner. The average pint is $4.99.

The OtherSide Cafe
407 Newbury Street, Boston.
Located on the other end of Newbury Street, this cafe has been called a “hipster haven.” Although they do have PBR on draught, The OtherSide also serves up Mayflower Stout that hails straight from Plymouth, giving the haven some history. Bottoms up!
Recommendations: Racer 5 IPA and Victory Lager. The average pint is $5.

This is a short blog post I wrote for the Emerson branch of Her Campus. Feel free to read the piece below, or click here to read the article on the Her Campus Emerson site.

The little black dress is a timeless classic—something you should always have in the back of your closet. This season, however, it may stay stuffed behind your new LWD: little white dress. This spring staple lends itself as a crisp, clean canvas to your wildest, most vibrant accessories, and will transition you effortlessly from a day of shopping with the girls to an evening of sipping cocktails with them. You can choose to dress your LWD up with a colorful blazer, or keep it casual with a jean jacket. Either way, you will be looking subtly sexy and undeniably sweet. Treat this season’s LWD as your spring awakening.

This is a piece I wrote for the Emerson branch of Her Campus. Feel free to read the piece below, or click here to read the article on the Her Campus Emerson site.

It all started on Christmas. Somewhere between the family dinner and the ever deceiving Yankee Swap, I contemplated decking my uncle instead of decking the halls. He asked the question so many before him, like my hairdresser and dentist, had asked, but with a twist in the form of an adverb. All it took was that three-letter word—and maybe my three glasses of wine—to set me off and get me preaching. Sitting there on the leather sofa, sandwiched between him and my father, I watched him tap my father’s arm, give him a wink, turn to me and say, “So, do you have a boyfriend YET?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“No, you didn’t ask if I was dating anyone. You asked if I was dating anyone yet. Well, let me tell you. No, I’m not dating anyone. Please tell me when I’m supposed to find the time to, however. I’m trying to graduate from college. I work almost thirty hours a week for free, another thirty for measly pay, I have a full class schedule, and am the managing editor of the school magazine. Does it sound like I have time to date? DOES IT? Does it sound like I have time to slow down? DOES IT? Should I? No. I don’t need some man to make me happy, thank you very much. I am an independent woman.”

My uncle shrugged and changed the subject as I stepped down from my soapbox. His question stuck with me, though. For the rest of the afternoon, the word “yet” filled my head, prancing around like the pack of reindeer I kept hearing songs about on the radio. While my cousins talked about all the fun they were having living in Las Vegas and Washington, D.C., I wondered if, by now at age 21, I should be seeing someone. It had been three years since I’d even had anything close to a serious relationship, and that relationship ended because I wanted a future, a life in Boston, instead of some long-distance boyfriend pining for me in Maine.

We said our goodbyes after we ate dessert, and I decided to hug my uncle rather than slug him. I was still irritated, but I knew his comment was coming from curiosity, not cruelty. It took only five minutes, though, for me to freak out again. I had left my phone in the car, and it was the first thing I grabbed after we all piled in for the ride home. Every time I see my phone’s red blinking light, all I hear is nagging: “Read me, read me.” I attempted to shut it up, not knowing it would make me erupt.

“OH MY GOODNESS.”

My sister looked at me and then glanced down at my phone.

“What?”

“Krystal got ENGAGED today.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Krystal is getting engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend YET.”

Now, don’t get me wrong—I am beyond excited for Krystal’s upcoming nuptials. She’s one of my nearest and dearest friends, and when she asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, I quickly said yes. It’s weird to think, however, that we’re finally at an age where we can actually get engaged and say, “I do.” It feels like just yesterday we were playing MASH, trying to decide the colors of our mansions and the occupations of our future husbands, whether it be doctor, lawyer, or trapeze artist, by way of paper and pen.

In college, the stakes start getting higher. Somewhere between the keg stand you performed at a Friday night frat party your freshman year and the summer before your senior year, you start dating guys you can have not only temporary fun with, but long-term fun with, as well. You stop dating just to date, and you start dating to get married.

Maybe I’m being melodramatic. I too watch Sex and the City, and none of those ladies slowed down until their thirties, but they were always questioning their futures. For six seasons, Carrie wondered, “Where is Mr. Right?” And how many of us want to wait that long? At least four of my friends have already said they’re tired of wasting their time on dating men they see no future with, and who can blame them? In this fast-paced, ever-evolving society, time is precious, and it can’t be wasted on men who don’t scream matrimony.

At some age, maybe 21, things switch. I guess once you’re old enough to legally take shots of Patrón, you’re old enough to accept a wedding proposal. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to rush into things, but I’ve realized some of my friends can and will start walking down the aisle, even if the only aisle I feel prepared enough to walk down is the one at my grocery store. I also realized those friends of mine won’t be getting married because they need a man in their life to make them happy, but they’ll be getting married so they can travel through life with someone to share their happiness with. And will I be envious? Yes. I’m a total sucker for love.

So, whether you’re engaged and of age or alone like me, let me tell you your future has started, and you’re now an adult. Do you feel old YET? I sure as heck know I do, but like I told my uncle, now is not the time to slow down. From here, everything is just beginning. Savor it.

This is a piece I wrote for the Emerson branch of Her Campus. Feel free to read the piece below, or click here to read the article on the Her Campus Emerson site.

This week has been a wardrobe tease. With temperatures climbing into the fifties, I giddily climbed into my closet and yanked out all the clothes I’d been missing dearly. I swapped in my little black dress for a little bright one, and ran out the door in my new ballet flats I never thought would see the sign of grass. But now, the temperatures are back in the thirties, and my closet’s a disorganized mess. The best way to curb the cold, however, is to introduce a bit of spring permanently into your winter wardrobe. Here’s how:

You can wear your brighter dresses. Just pair them with darker neutrals, like a black boyfriend blazer or cardigan (left). Tights are both fashionable and functional, and will keep your legs warm while allowing you to wear the flats that have been collecting dust in your closet. For an extra pop of spring, layer on a few coats of a bold nail polish or a stack of brighter bangles.

Let your vibrant tops come out to play, as well (right). Again, the key is to balance light and dark. You can give your flirty florals that extra pop of color with a cherry red cardigan, and pair the two with more subdued accessories. Don’t let Mother Nature dictate your wardrobe. You can bring the heat no matter the season.

Great news! Her Campus Emerson relaunched last week and I’m back to doing a bit of writing and editing for the web. Feel free to check out our branch here and my first article back on our shared “Oh no, my parents are on Facebook” moments here.

Finding comfort in a comfort food

After slapping a slice of bologna onto the frying pan, my father would wait to hear it sizzle and snap. Slowly, the edges would curl, creating a sound shelter for a sizable scoop of mashed potatoes. The state of those spuds, whether instant or hand-mashed, depended on how long my father’s day had been, but none of my family members were picky. With the six o’clock news humming in the background, the four of us would sit down to devour the Landry family delicacy: bologna cups.

Who knew the key to comforting an entire family was nothing more than the combination of mashed potatoes and fried bologna, a meat that can be made out of chicken, turkey, beef or pork? I realize I should be disgusted by the pink mutant meat. How bologna can taste the same made out of four entirely different products astounds me. Yet, I opt for the “what you don’t know can’t hurt you policy” and push the loaf of lard from my mind.

A lot has changed over the nine years since those days of family dinners. My older sister is now married and living in Rhode Island, I’m in my final year of college in Boston, and my mother has passed away, leaving my father to fend for himself in the kitchen we all once swapped stories and leftovers in, in Maine. For a family as close as ours, it’s hard to go months without seeing each other, but there’s one thing that always brings us back together, and that’s bologna cups.

For me, it’s the texture. Swooshing the mashed potatoes around in my mouth, memories of my OshKosh B’Gosh days resurface. I can see Dalmatians jumping rope on my cobalt, polka-dotted, long-sleeve shirt and my pigtails tied up in miniature fluorescent scrunchies. I’m sitting at the kitchen table coloring while my sister’s trying to scoop cold mashed potatoes out of a Tupperware container. When my mother bends over beneath her to reach for a mixing bowl, a cold clump of leftovers land right on top of my mother’s head, flattening her almond locks. We all end up on the living room floor, rolling around, laughing like a pack of hyenas with tears streaming down our cheeks. Then, the sudden crunch of the curled bologna snaps me back to life and I’m 21 again, sitting in my Boston apartment but feeling closer to home than ever.

The power of comfort food is fascinating, that one simple dish can evoke such distinct memories. “I think for many of us, food is something that is tied into our emotional being, not just our physical,” says Stephanie Frazier, the food blogger behind mamastephf.com. “Whether we had difficult childhood memories and food was our only ‘happy place,’ or great childhood memories of grandma’s kitchen…food has a distinct place in our memories.” Frazier’s go-to foods are ones her mother made while she was growing up – macaroni and cheese, tuna casserole and spaghetti.

Whether it be warm brownies oozing with melted chocolate chips, freshly baked banana nut bread, or meatloaf loaded with steamed vegetables and gravy, we all have one food that brings us home no matter how far away from home we are. A food that tosses away the days we forgot to roll up our car windows before the rain began and Mother Nature dumped five gallons of water into our driver’s seats. Or the days when we fell up the stairs on our way into the office and then got the tail end of our jackets stuck in the elevator doors. All the kinds of days I’ve had and have used food to cure.

Barbara DeGroot, the voice behind moderncomfortfood.com, says comfort food has always had a strong association with a fondly remembered person, place, time or situation. She can’t see fresh summer corn without thinking of the picking lessons her maternal grandfather used to give her out in his fields, and she’s been on a 35-year quest to make biscuits as delicious as those her maternal grandmother used to slap together in minutes without thought.

This week, after a bout of homesickness, I slapped a slice of bologna onto my frying pan and waited to hear it sizzle and snap. My apartment might be three hours away from my home in Maine, but with the six o’clock news humming in the background, I could sit down to a glob of mashed potatoes nestled in a bowl of bologna, close my eyes, and feel like I never left the Pine Tree State.

One girl breaking the boundaries in a bro-crazed world

He dropped down on one knee and started to chug.

From beneath the brim of his Red Sox cap, he could see them all standing there, smug and familiar, shaking with laughter and vengeance. As the condensation collected in his left hand, he raised his right to flip his friends the bird. This had been a triumphant victory for them. A victory sweeter than the regional championship they delivered to Lewiston High School back in 2006, or last summer’s beirut battle when Ben sank all ten of his cups in a matter of minutes. Repeated roars bellowed from the observing body of brothers, acting cocky and cool over their latest conquest. For them, this tang of success had packed a more savory punch than babes, burgers and Monday night football. For their sweaty and skulking friend, however, who remained quivering on one knee, their victory tasted like nothing but straight-up vodka.

“BRO! You’ve just been iced.”

My macho man-friend should have seen this one coming two pubs back. He’d made one too many “Yo’ Mama” jokes, and had Steve chugging a Smirnoff Ice immediately after he’d gotten slipped the bill. This whole “Bros Icing Bros” phenomenon had swept the Eastern seaboard, and while one would think hiding a Smirnoff Ice in another’s underwear drawer would get old after a while, to these boys, the fad only grew more fascinating. Yet, no matter how creative, or crazy, their pranks got, or how many nights they left their friends sloshed, slammed, sideways and shit-faced, they could only laugh and continue to love each other. After all, they shared an unbreakable bond. They shared a “bromance.”

Thanks to men like BROdy Jenner, there’s been a sudden explosion of testosterone-driven fraternity. To prove their love, men have been pounding fists and Irish car bombs, all while getting matching tattoos of their alma mater’s mascot etched onto their upper right thighs. They’ve been wearing identical polos from Vineyard Vines and pleading with their fiances that they have barrels of beer at their wedding, merely to prove how adept they still are at performing the collegiate Friday night keg stand. Despite how neanderthalian they sound, however, I can’t help but love them. I’ve jumped on the bro-crazed bandwagon and am now pounding brewskies and eating double quarter-pounders with the best of then. I’ve been labeled as “one of the guys,” maybe because I consistently curse and never think twice about it, or that I scream at the television two decibels higher than my father during any Boston Celtics game. Whatever it is, I’ve broken the boundaries of bro-dom and have made my way into the frat pack.

I’ve studied all facets of the bro lifestyle. I’ve read broslikethissite.com, where gorgeous girls are called “slam pieces” and feminists are referred to as “bro-haters.” The same site where texting is claimed to be “the fucking shit” and alcohol “the greatest resource God ever invented.” I’ve watched “The Ultimate Lax Bro” videos on YouTube, featuring the semi-fictional Brantford Winstonworth, and I say “semi-fictional” only because I know guys just like that. Although stereotypical, these bros are one and the same. Like Winstonworth, they’re chugging Busch Light at parties and macking on honeys while donning a lacrosse pinny and Sperry Top-Siders. After a night of severe intoxication, they’re throwing on their lacrosse helmets before crawling into bed and cuddling with their lacrosse sticks, endearingly referred to as “spoons.”

But because I’ve never cringed during a conversation about the last girl they’ve slept with, or gone all hormonal and started randomly weeping, my male friends have determined I’m some exception to womanhood. Although they didn’t believe me when I initially told them I had started watching wrestling by the age of four, after admitting my first-ever celebrity crush was on Shawn Michaels, “The Heartbreak Kid,” they began to take me seriously and I knew I was in. It’s much more entertaining to be hanging out with a band of bros rather than gabbing and gushing about them over the phone. So, instead of trying to decipher why my guy friends only call me by my last name, or why they pick me first at parties as their partner for beirut, I go with it. I accept my fate and continue to create words with “bro” in it, such as “brotastic” and “brotest.” I allow myself to be the token chick in a sea of dicks. The plus? I’m not getting iced. I am, however, getting my drinks for free. Of course bros can’t let girls buy their own beer.

Anyone care to lax?

This semester, I completed a class called Applications for Print Publishing. Over the course of the semester, we learned how to use InDesign and Photoshop. Now that I have some of the basic InDesign skills down, I thought I’d show you how I put them to use. I crafted up a faux magazine called “blushed.” Take a look at it by clicking here!

Today, I had a post added to the “Bostonista” blog. It’s about Sudo Shoes, the first-ever vegan shoe store in New England. You can read the post here.