This is Blahsmopolitan, a weekly column about one freshman’s misfortune as he navigates his New Adult Life in Chicago, and the songs that soundtracked it. New stories are posted every Thursday, alongside a curated Blahsmo playlist available on Spotify and Apple Music to complement your reading and get you through the week with some new music. This week, our columnist vomits in front of a Sears Tower tour group, looks at pottery porn, and cries on a CTA bus in hopes that you can learn from his mistakes.
Stream this week’s playlist on Apple Music or Spotify. Blahsmopolitan and its playlists contain mature themes.
All’s fair in love and Snapchat.
There really is no better way to expose the inconsistencies in the lifestyles of your friends and frenemies like rubbing the sleep off your eyes on a groggy Saturday morning, scrolling, and examining the social lives of the people who would love to make you believe they have the wildest one.
That girl from your lab section is gluten free and “on a fitness journey” but blacks out every single weekend.
Your ex has one super close-up photo of him with his friends and captions it “Friday is for the boys,” but in the tiny sliver of background in the top left corner you see the familiar red glow of the Netflix home screen.
Even your mom is cozied up with a bottle of Pinot, a bowl of those thin pretzel chips that you still haven’t decided if you like or not, a candle lit, and a pair of fuzzy socks. “Me time!” she says. All the little things we’d like one another to believe, all the posing and the exaggerated slurring, all the thick smoke blown into the front camera over a trap beat.
And then there’s you, rapidly zooming in and out on the limp body of a dead rat in the street, blasting Perfect Illusion. There’s you, picking yourself up off the sidewalk and brushing a layer of gravel off your mouth. Last night you wore a ratty neon purple wig from the dollar store while you played Grown-Up Jenga. You smoked cigarillos and didn’t even take the tobacco out. You’re the one person in the world who has ever not done that. You sweat through your outfit three times over and made the DJ play a song called “I Ain’t Got No Panties On.” There’s you creating the hangover felt ‘round the world.