“I wish, I wish I were a poisonous bacterium”

Post title:  Dorothy Parker (and if you sense that I’m planning a questionable role models post at this point, you’d be correct).  Feature image is Huey expressing what runs through your mind every time you read a post here.


Mixtapes still seem like a valid means of emotion expression to me.  This could possibly mean that I’m cool and retro.  It could also mean that I have yet to grow up.  Opinions really not welcome here.

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I am definitely more mature than I was, say, two weeks ago. And you would be completely willing to be seen with me in public, right? RIGHT?

High Fidelity, which I haven’t seen in a very long time, popped into my head last week, so that’s probably how I arrived at mixtapes.  Just to see what came up (since “tape” more or less means “something digital” now), I googled it.  People, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing wrong.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  There are some serious rules here (this one may be my favorite:  are you following all 15 rules?; this one made me tired).  Please return to Mixtapes 101.


It’s been a very loud weekend around here.  Somehow, among various apartments, I’ve never had a particularly loud neighbor:  mildly irritating, maybe, but never actually grit-your-teeth bad.  And lo, here he is.

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There were limitless Darlene possibilities here. I hope this one conveys the appropriate “this land is your land, this land is my land” feeling I’m having right now.

Many people would deal with this in a healthy, reasonable, adult manner, but, of course, this is me.  I chose the much more obvious route:  Spotify.  (Foucault was already taken.)

And yes, my train of thought/logic has long since derailed, and no, you’re not the first to point that out.


Mixtape Vol. 1 is loud music, to be aimed at the ceiling.  Needless to say, if you know Spotify, all the selections I originally planned are not included, due to unavailability (I would specifically note the lack of Bikini Kill).  I have tried many of these, including “Du Hast,” which you would certainly think would send a message:  nope.  Only one has been effective, in fact, and that was “Free Bird,” and that was without me singing or doing the thing where you also vocalize the guitar solos (just me?  never mind).

So I’m providing this for your use, in case there’s anyone in your life you need to send a message to.  Or mute.  Or deafen.  Or subtly suggest you don’t like.

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Further evidence of my maturity, as if you needed more.

Oh, and the “Birth Control” track is on there as a PSA to the multitude of females that were involved in the ongoing maelstrom of noise.  Somebody’s gotta look out for them.


If noise doesn’t work, there is another route, popular among the toddler set (and honorary toddlers:  me):  if you can’t kill ’em, annoy ’em.  If you still have your childhood Wee Sing tapes, this would be easy, but, as I recall, mine “disappeared.”  So I’ve done the only sensible thing and assembled another playlist of songs that have real earworm potential.

Please note that inclusion on this list does not imply that I dislike the song.  I pulled most of these suggestions directly from my own music library.  The only criteria here was that the song has a good chance of staying with you for at least 8 hours, until you’re lying in a dark, silent room, curled in a fetal position and sobbing.  Which, you know, is a pretty quiet thing to do.

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Also see: the entirety of my teenage years.


Well, now wasn’t that cathartic (for me)!  “These fragments I have shored against my ruins,” as it were (I think I just got a cosmic red card for gross Eliot misuse).  In the meantime, I’ll continue to imagine what must be going on upstairs . . .

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Final thought:  “I never said, ‘I want to be alone.’ I only said ‘I want to be let alone!’ There is all the difference.”  –Greta Garbo

Take note.

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