Yo. Christmas. This is gonna be so rad. I'm gonna be back in Texas. Gonna go in on the ill Christmas morning breakfast. Then a big Christmas dinner. Followed by late night Whataburger. And the next day I'll cop some dope breakfast foods. Maybe a home-cooked meal or two. Some Tex-Mex. And Whataburger again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I'm gonna eat OD. OD, OD. I'm gonna be so fat when I get back to Brooklyn, holy goodness. Party rock the dining room, party rock the bathroom.
I want baked beans. I also want toast. But the grocery store is a five minute walk from my crib. Too far, too far. Lazy. There are delis nearby, but none of them have baked beans. I could order food, but I don't wanna spend OD monies. Or I could just not eat until dinner (and then go hammer on pasta and spinach), but I dunno. I kinda wanna eat. Is that so wrong? So yea. If you can think of a way for me to get baked beans and toast without ordering out or leaving my crib, please let me know. Thanz.
Parker Posey. What a dreamboat, am I right? Ugh. God. I'm 23. I live in Brooklyn. I DJ in Manhattan. And I just really, really don't understand why I haven't found myself a Mary. You know? Rest assured. I've got my eyes and ears peeled. My heart? Peeled too. It's all peeled. Looking. Waiting. Searching for my Mary.
Anyways, I'm watching You've Got Mail and these songs are kewl. Now I'm going to go cut up some of those ugly, fat fries and throw 'em in a frying pan. Make myself some breakfast potato things. Feel me?!
Starting to get sick. Or rather, I'm already sick. Guys. I feel really, truly awful. But you see, I have to see James Murphy, Pool Party, and Midnight Magic DJ at this Brooklyn Night Bazaar ting tonight. I know what you're thinking. "Oh man, Greg! You're life is literally the hardest! Poor baby!" Yea, I feel you. Tell me about it. So here's my question: Emergen-C or Zicam? Like. Emergen-C seems to be the go-to for twenty-somethings these days, but my roommate swears by Zicam. And I have neither the energy nor attention span to make a decision like this for myself. (I'll probably just cop both.)
Year-end lists? GTFO. Tried to dream up a year-end list a few nights ago. It was like. Albums: Ferrari Boyz, JPN, SBTRKT. EPs: Florrie. Songs: "The Story of Us," "Firework," "Le7els," "Ima Boss," "Ultra Light," "We Found Love," "Stoned Totem," "Dance (A$$)," blah, blah, blah. And Gesaffelstein and Brodinski and Kanye and Jay-Z and Justice and Bag Raiders and Cut Copy and Benny Benassi and The Knocks were all radical this year too. And this new Jeezy album is probably gonna be LVLz. Etc. I can't really remember anything that happened before November. So there's that. Hope you enjoyed Friendly Greg's "Best of 2011" paragraph.
Every time NSR releases a new mix. I'm like. "Dear God in Heaven, please let this be a mix of raps." (LOL, "God.") And you know what? It's never a mix of raps. Which isn't to say that his mixes aren't good. I mean, they're great. Great, even. And I mean. Like. This is easily my favorite mix of his. Which is saying a lot considering I did a mix with the god three months ago. But I mean. Yo. Noah. Record a mix of '90s hip-hop for me already. Yeesh. The kind of stuff that you were listening to while I was listening to Taking Back Sunday. Thanz!
OK, yea, I get it. This song is "internet old." Alright, chill. Like. Probably .5% of people in the grand U.S. of A. have heard it, aight? That's not a very high percentage. Or rather, not high enough for a tune and a half such as "Heaven." And I live in the U.S. of A., so umma blog this song. Right friggin' now. Try to stop me. "OMG, 'Heaven' was released in August! I've been playing it since April! Loser!" Shut up. I don't care. This song is still awesome. I hate you. Go away.
So my pops and my little sister are gonna be in NYC tonight. My moms will be here tomorrow. Which is tite because I get free food on food on food. I'll wear nice clothes and shave and shower and meet them at a restaurant and order soup and a salad and an entree and some dessert. And I'll have the ill stomach ache, but it won't matter because I won't have to eat again for a week. Which is a good look considering I don't have a "job" or a "source of income" other than DJing or any of that other stuff that adults are supposed to have.
It's also tite because I love my family and blah, blah, blah. But that's obviously overshadowed by the food.
My cat is ultimate levels of radical and swell. Like I'm sitting here organizing my crates and listening to music and blogging. At my desk, not in bed. And he's curled up next to me sleeping. Cleaning himself. Etc. And I'm like, "Yo Greg, lemme know if this music's too loud." And he's all, "You kidding, fam? You know I love tech house!" Greg the Cat is a really great cat.
The first release from Dimitri from Paris and DJ Rocca? Unstoppably radical. Unfathomably, even. So the kids were kickin' it like, "How can we make the dude Friendly Greg this happy again?" And boom! Pet Shop Boys cover! And not just any ol' Pet Shop Boys song! One of my favorites! "Domino Dancing" is the ultimate jam, and this is the ultimate cover. Party rock!
My acquaintances Tubetops are so neat! They are neat people who make neat music! They did a neat thing today! They released their debut album for free! It's very neat! I highly suggest you download it here!
I used to have the ill comprehensive crate game. (On Serato, that is. I'm not strong enough to carry crates of actual records.) But one day. Poof! All gone. No idea what happened. So here I am reconstructing my crates. And oh my dear sweet goodness, there has never been anyone as bad as me at deciding which sub-crates should go into which crates and blah, blah, etc. And does this qualify as "Current Top 40" or should I slap it in "Past Top 40"? And I can't remember if this is a '90s house song or an '80s house song. And blah, blah, etc. My indecision, piss poor attention span, and fleeting memory make this whole ordeal borderline unbearable.
Wait. Papaya Dog's "famous" or something, right? Like isn't it some sort of "legendary" chain or whatever? Like is it weird that I've never copped anything there? Am I "missing out" or something? Should I dip in sometime and see what's popping? Or is it gonna be ultra-wack or give me indigestion or something?
Fitna run into Manhattan to cop some Converse high-tops today. Which I haven't worn since my freshman year of high school. When Skrillex was still in From First to Last. When I was listening to songs like "A Wolf In Sheep's Clothing." I will never apologize for my love of Taking Back Sunday and Thursday and Thrice and This Providence and whatever other bands that start with the letter T that I saw at the Warped Tour back in '02 or whatever, whenever.
I love, love, love chewing on toothpicks. But I'm never not running out of 'em. I mean, I grab a pound or so every time I hit an offering restaurant, but what's that last? A day or two? No good. So I stay running out of toothpicks, which of course leaves me chewing those little red straws they put in your drinks at bars every time I DJ. And they get all slobbery and twisted and disgusting. I dunno. Like. Where can I cop gourmet toothpicks by the crate? I want cinnamon. Bubble gum. Strawberry. Get me flavored toothpicks pronto.
Any time anybody under the age of 30 asks me how I've been, my automatic response is, "Oh you know, just party rocking." Is that weird? Is that socially unacceptable? Am I, like, the worst? Should I be giving honest, descriptive answers? Party rocking, party rocking, party rocking, etc.
Okie dokie, announcement time. Looks like I'll be opening for Avicii at Dartmouth College on Monday, January 9th. Pretty ticey way to start off 2012, no? I mean it's not opening a Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, and The Human League mega-tour, but it's a start, right? I'll be the guy train-wrecking transitions because I'm too busy asking Avicii to autograph a picture of my cat to actually mix and the such.
Last night I dreamt that I was kicking it at my dude's crib. And he was like, "Yo, my moms thinks you're OD nice. Really funny, etc. But she doesn't like the way you treat your cat." And I was all, "Um, come again? For one, that cat's my best friend. For another, your moms hasn't ever even met Greg the Cat." And he responds, "She checked your pictures on Facebook, and she didn't like the way your cat was depicted." So I know that was just a dream or whatever, but dude is no longer a friend of mine.
I'm really hungry. I'm gonna eat one of those bagels I told you about the other day. See here's the deal. I put 'em in Ziploc bags. Put the bags in the freezer. Cream cheese in the refrigerator. So you take the bagel out of the freezer a few hours before you're tryna nom on it. Let it thaw, right? Then when it's all thawed out and such? Bam! Foods on foods on foods. Happy Saturday!
DJ B-Roc is good peoples. I mean, dude's kind of a proper rockstar at this point, so it'd be understandable if he were an insufferable douche. Let me be the first to say that if anyone in the galaxy gave half a turd about my DJing I'd be all, "Blah, blah, I'm the man, kiss my butt, light my cigarette, pop my bottles, blah, this steak is not medium rare, no tip for you, blah, etc." But B-Roc? He's all "down to earth" and "humble" and "nice" and "driven" and all that jazz. I mean, he's just another another dude with a cat, crappy vision, etc. Only difference being that he's rich and famous and talented and I'm just some unemployed loser blogging his videos. So basically we're exactly the same, which is pretty cool! Right?!
Just copped some bagels. Eight bagels, to be exact. Paid for six, got two for free. Oh yea, and I copped two pounds of cream cheese to go with it. I'm about to have the raging-est party in friggin' galaxy! Bah! None of you are on my level and I find it absolutely thrilling! (I think you're all on levels of equal or greater value, and I'd love to have a bagel party with every last one of you in the very near future.)
