I added two more playlists to the collection this morning, Coquette Mix August 2014 and Baptized In Dirty Water. Enjoy!

I added two more playlists to the collection this morning, Coquette Mix August 2014 and Baptized In Dirty Water. Enjoy!

*66

My Favorite Mutiny - The Coup

You guys got me going deep this evening, reaching way back into the collection to find good stuff I haven’t heard in a while.

Nobody Likes a Shakedown*

Dear Swiftype,

My readers just informed me that the search function on my sites no longer works. Sure enough, it turns out that with no warning or notification of any kind, you’ve suspended my account and you are suddenly demanding $20 a month for a service you indicated would be free.

That’s a fucking shakedown, and it’s no way to do business.

If you had come to me ahead of time and asked politely, I might have been willing to pay you as much as $5 a month for your service. That would have been reasonable. Instead, you’re acting like greedy assholes, demanding a monthly payment more than double what SquareSpace charges to host an entire fucking website.

It’s a shame really, because when you aren’t strong-arming your customers, your search function is actually pretty good. It’s too bad you’ve gone and fucked it all up with an outrageous pricing structure.

I hate seeing a decent product crash and burn because the nearsighted hacks who showed up to adjust your business model after that last round of venture capital funding dramatically overestimated your entry price-point.

Oh well. Fuck you very much, and enjoy your slow decline into insolvency.

Yours in service,

The Coquette


* In a rather stunning display of customer service, one of the founders of Swiftype just reached out to me (on a Saturday) with a sincere apology for what turned out to be some kind of innocent glitch. The search function has been restored, as has my faith in the promise of quality customer support. Swiftype is fucking awesome, and I take back all that stuff I said.

Bling Bling - Junglepussy

Tonight’s getting ready music.

Wait for it.

*87

Busy Earnin’ - Jungle

Today’s theme: Finally gettin’ shit done.

*69

Day Dreams (MyKill Remix) - Midi Matilda

Today’s theme: Aggressive procrastination.

You know what? Sassy McJean-Shorts is fresh out of the gym rocking a killer smile and looking a helluva lot cuter than that birch pole of a supermodel behind her, so fuck it. She wins all of the style points.

*47

Home Sweet Home - Mötley Crüe

This one goes out to my homegirls making drunken fools of themselves tonight at the bowl.

Coke Talk of the Day

I woke up this morning in a fog thick as soup, an extended version of that final stage of sleep where dreams still have more clarity than whatever reality you’re facing. Some part of my conscious mind had latched onto a key phrase that seemed very important, and I had to memorialize it immediately.

I reached over to my computer still open on the floor next to my bed, and I hit ⌘V on the keyboard, fully expecting it to paste my thoughts directly onto the screen.

Nothing happened. I was confused for more than a second until it dawned on me that even if the technology did somehow exist to bridge a direct neural link to my MacBook Pro, I had forgotten to hit ⌘C first.

I quickly typed out the phrase that was floating in my head, one that dissolved into the ether in the very moment I wrote it. Satisfied, but still not quite awake, I rolled out of bed and began my morning routine.

When I came back to my computer freshly scrubbed and fogless, I looked down to find the cursor still blinking at the end of my dream sentence:

Diagram the gem of the eternal tides.

Yeah. I have no idea what it means either. The only thing I remember is that it felt terribly significant at the time. Still, I dig it. It’s as though I received a mysterious order from my subconscious.

I love that just over an hour ago, I existed in a state where the command to “diagram the gem of the eternal tides” made perfect logical sense as part of some grander dreamscape narrative, and in that unconscious pastiche of people and places that promptly receded into the depths of some black and unrecoverable trench, one tiny little sentence managed to crystalize and become solid, the words dropping like fresh die-cast metal into my waking life, still glowing red from their transition.

I love that every night a whole other hidden world flashes its momentary existence through our synapses. I love that it’s a part of us, but it’s somehow not ours to keep. I love that we occasionally catch glimpses and fragments, and while most of the time they may mean absolutely nothing, every once in a while it can still feel like they’re dripping with magic.

I went ahead and got In-N-Out for breakfast. This skanky yet somehow adorable little club kid couple were comatose on the benches by the door, proof that when the meth finally wears off, you sleep where you fall.
If I had to guess, I’d say our 90’s raver-era Sid and Nancy crawled out of some after-hours sewer (most likely Avalon) sometime after the sunrise, walked like zombies through Hollywood until reaching In-N-Out, only to find that it doesn’t open until 10:30 on Sundays. They promptly passed the fuck out waiting for the promise of animal style cheeseburgers, and the security guard took pity and decided not to poke them with a stick.
Pretty sure they’re still there.

I went ahead and got In-N-Out for breakfast. This skanky yet somehow adorable little club kid couple were comatose on the benches by the door, proof that when the meth finally wears off, you sleep where you fall.

If I had to guess, I’d say our 90’s raver-era Sid and Nancy crawled out of some after-hours sewer (most likely Avalon) sometime after the sunrise, walked like zombies through Hollywood until reaching In-N-Out, only to find that it doesn’t open until 10:30 on Sundays. They promptly passed the fuck out waiting for the promise of animal style cheeseburgers, and the security guard took pity and decided not to poke them with a stick.

Pretty sure they’re still there.