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First things first: I have decided that Tunde Adebimpe may well be the sexiest motherfucker on the planet. See here and here and here for proof. You may not believe me, and that’s fine, but I will be forced to conclude that there’s something wrong with you.
In related news, TV on the Radio are pretty awesome. I’m pretty sure everyone and their uncle’s schnauzer loves Wolf Like Me, but it is one hell of a pop song, whatever that means, and who doesn’t love a fucking werewolf sex ballad? It’s exquisitely written, and if you don’t dance when you hear it, again, there is something wrong with you.
I love when I’m wandering around kind of burnt out and depressed, too distracted by mundane details of everyday life to pay attention to my mp3 player, and then this little number builds up and bursts out of nowhere and sends tingles down my spine, making me stare up at the ceiling in rapture and wish to god that
if I could just write the same way the song makes me feel, I’d be doing alright.
The song “About a Boy” by Patti Smith- yes, it was written about Mr. Cobain, from what I understand – sneaks up on you in the same way and sort of delivers a stunning smack to the side of your head. I think once read something, somewhere (links as soon as I feel like rummaging through my favorites) that described this elegant bit of noise as having a “ragged, scuffling beauty” and I am not inclined to disagree.
To date I’ve never really thought much of The Ting Tings, but this one makes me dance like a freak. I walked around town listening to it for like two hours, I kid you not. My legs are still sore today.
And doesn’t this sound like something you swear you’ve heard before and can’t for the life of you remember where? First we had werewolves fucking, now we have robots fucking. I bring the good shit, people.
However, you can thank my gorgous web-and-fashion-savvy roommate P for introducing me to this one:
Ooh, and this:
As well as this series, for which I am pretty convinced Isabella Rossellini should win all Oscars ever.
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I dyed my hair and I’m not sure I’m crazy about it. I got a part-time seasonal job somewhere I was sure I’d be stoked to work and I don’t know if stoked is how I feel. Lately my friends are distracted so me and myself have been hanging out a whole bunch. We need to read more books, and probably to get outside more. Occasionally it’s hard work, learning to enjoy your own company. I’m getting a case of smalltown itch again. I’ll admit I’ve been pouting over the sad lack of suitable suitors. I just want someone who doesn’t mind lazy afternoons spent dazzled by the brilliance of Zeppelin and Queen on the old turn table, making out, and gorging on tasty delights. Must love extremely cuddly Rasta cats, books, discussions about time and the end of the word, dancing, and girls who stay up too late going googly-eyed from staring at YouTube too long . Now accepting applications.
I spend half my time wondering why the hell I ever thought I could write – the other half convinced that I could do something exceptional if only I could get over being self-absorbed and insecure. I set myself a deadline of two years to write and complete a rough draft of a hundred-page novel. It can be utter shit, I just have to do a bit every day, which seems overly reasonable. I also spend an inordinate amount of time considering which career pursuits (other than writer, which was always my airy-fairy dream) could possibly be worth several hundred hours of my precious existence. These days I draw a blank. I just want to do something worth really getting up for in the morning.
I look in the mirror and say to myself (yes, out loud): Welcome your early twenties, your weirdest/most miserable/best/most confused time of life so far. Smile. Wash and put on your face. Brush your teeth. Hug someone at least once a day. Keep your head down but your chin up. Keep the imagination ticking. Sort out the difference between want and need. Don’t be an asshole, don’t hurt anyone. Thank whoever you mutter to when times get tough that you aren’t starving or getting shot at. Breathe.
Everything will be OK.
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