If I was a 19 year old Sweedish chick superficially famous in the fashion blogosphere, this is what i might be doing on a Tuesday night:
creating a DJ set based around Lady Gaga remixes
just stumbled upon this pretty diverse dude and i like (most) of what i’ve heard so far. from juke to reggae to bmore to house, this chicago based dj seems to be one prolific son of a bitch.
here is a taste: 2 remixes:
Private – We’ve Got Some Breaking up to do (link below to original track)
and 2 mixtapes:
(The Private remix and Lovers Rock are my personal recommendations)
Does everyone feel like their life could be in a movie, or is it just me? maybe it is because it is past four in the morning and snowing outside or maybe it is because i dream in third person. either way, who the fuck cares? i know this rant must be inspired by the restlessness that comes with forcing/willing yourself to sleep and the fact that i’m listening to atlas sound and coldplay, yes, coldplay (i have a soft spot from illicit weekday sleepovers at my best friend’s house in highschool. her mom would exclusively listen to coldplay in the car) but whatever. i had one of those moments tonight, after a painful commute on the subway with way too many heavy bags. walking back, snow in my hair, blurring my vision. i shamelessly sit down on this wet ledge and have a cig. i’m listening to life in LA, looking up into the thick, opaque sky, snow falling in fat clumps in front of the orange street light, enjoying the fuck out of this cig and totally content ( if only for the seven-ten minutes it takes for an american spirit to burn). i hate the word nostalgia and i hate not being able to sleep.
Tracks (you prob have, but worth posting anyways) :
so after passing out after my last (5 hour) final, while reading Fear of Flying, a semi-erotic, self-indulgent novel about this disillusioned, fucked up writer and her quest for the perfect “zipless fuck”, i woke up. groggy and out of it, as one often is after a four-hour nap that bridges the gap between blinding sun and complete darkness, i really need to use the bathroom, but of course one of my frickin (not so) suite mates is in there. starving, i make some broccoli quesadilla and find half an episode of Mad Men to watch. 35 minutes later, and the bladder sitch reaching a critical point, i try to enter the bathroom, pretending i don’t know anyone is in there, hoping the sound of the knob turning will clue her to the fact that someone desperately needs to get in there. talk about aggressive passive aggressive, but whatever. (the deal with this suite mate is annoying in and of itself. we have exchanged no more than 4 words and don’t acknowledge each other. i have stopped trying to be nice. fuck her and her neo punk skinny jeans). moral of the story, here i am continuing to eat time. i can’t wait till i have my own place, or the balls to knock on the door and ask her to hurry the fuck up in there.
Now here’s some tracks: