Happy birthday tooo meee! I’m turning 19 on Friday, which means I’m another year closer to being all fat, wrinked and dead. Ain’t it a reason to celebrate?
No, honestly. I used to hate birthdays, because they reminded me of my perishing youth. Not that I love it that much. I’d rather be middle-aged, if that means having life experience and all the confidence that comes with it, a stable job, and the right to say “you’ll grow up and see.” Nevertheless, I’ve always felt irrationally sorry for every year that passed.
I grew up believing thatDavid Hockney’s iconic painting A Bigger Splash was all about contrast: between the static, orderly background and the seemingly uncontrolled “splash”, which, by the way, was carefully painted with tiny brushstrokes. Alright, good enough.
When I broke up with my ex, I hit Bond Streetand got myself the most expensive shoes I’ve ever had. You think that’s crazy? At least I’m not like that girl who, after splitting up with a lover, crashed her car into a bridge. Just for the kicks, apparently.
I can’t sing, full stop. Whenever I try, flowers wilt, rivers dry out and angels in heaven stick clouds in their ears. I could make a fortune as a busker if people paid me to remain silent. And so on and so forth.
And I’m pretty sure I was born without a singing voice precisely because it had been given to Fiona Apple.
I dedicate today’s song to all those who, instead of appreciating May’s wonderful weather, have to study their asses off. I’m there with you: I’ve got to finish this essay, and another project, and get ready for Monday’s exams. And I somehow squeeze in writing this blog, so that you have something to read (and listen to) while you procrastinate. Feel free to thank me in a comment.
These guys truly blow my mind. If a band’s name consists of the surname of a Russian writer and the Italian word for brothel, that’s a good sign. When you learn that their music is described as “Gypsy punk,” you should be intrigued. And when you find out that they have a mission statement that starts with: