It´s been exactly two weeks since my last blog post, and I haven´t really missed it that much. As I said in my first post, I knew that I´d get to a point where I just wouldn't want to summarize my life here, even if it has been, exciting , thought provoking, and eye-opening.
My eye-opening thoughts exactly, philosoraptor (obligatory LOTR reference)
Thus, my "narrative period" will withdraw from the octagon for the time being, and in its place I will have themed posts that will hopefully be a little shorter. And maybe I'll throw in some more pics, both real and internet-related. I dunno, sounds like a plan right? Vale, seguimos.
As the title suggests, my mind has hit a crossroads. One which not even Britney Spears nor Ralph Macchio can relate to.
I actually own this movie, too.
Lo siento, puta
Since my seminar class started, I've taken speaking Spanish incredibly seriously. We signed a written contract promising that we wouldn't speak English at our center, and so far I've adhered to that rule. And during the week, I'm pretty damn good at sticking to dat español. Weekends, I'm a little more lax, particularly at nights. I mean, hey, speaking Spanish all the time is legitimately taxing. Nobody realizes it (I'll be the first to admit it) when you're sitting in a classroom in Ann Arbor only speaking the language for only 3 hours a week. Now, the first bit of English I read/hear/type/say on a weekday is around 7:30pm when I come home and check my e-mail.
Por eso, I now suck at both languages. My English is actually getting worse, as I find myself having to edit what I type all the time because it literally makes zero sense. And then my Spanish, while it is legitimately improving at a crazy rate, is still not lo mejor. It's even more discouraging when some Sevillanos who I do end up meeting and having enjoyable conversations with always say "noo, tu español es muy bueno!" But how can I believe that? I'm just not good enough.
Take dinner for instance. JODER, as I'm writing this I just realized I didn't take a picture of my meal, something that I vowed I would start doing. ANYWAYS, On the news there was a brief story on Zapatero (the current Prime Minister of Spain), and I decided to prompt a discussion with my host mom, Margarita, regarding her thoughts on Spanish politics and Zapatero in general. As an aside, the good ol' USA would shit itself if somebody like Zapatero were President. He's a goddamn SOCIALIST. Errr (reads ideology), wait a second....
This man wants to take your money. And your children. And everything you've worked hard to attain in your capitalist nation. Obama's got nothing on him.
Upon asking, "Margarita, le gusta las políticas de Zapatero?" She within a second responds with a vigorous head-shaking, "No. Zapatero no está llevando el país muy bien." I inquired further, because I'm legitimately interested in international politics, and Margarita clearly had some strong opinions about this man. However, my lack of political vocabulary and ability to quickly and seamlessly formulate complex sentence structures prevented me from having the super in-depth conversation that I truly wanted. I occasionally got a few good points in, but for the most part I was like Colin Firth before Geoffrey Rush saved the day.
obligatory oscar film reference
While talking about politics was rad, it could've been exponentially more rad. A couple times a week Margarita tells me, "No te preocupes, Griffin. En unos meses hablarás como si fueras un Sevillano!"
I really hope tiene razón. In the meantime, please check out this new photo album from my various excursions around Sevilla and a day trip to Cádiz, a most beautiful coastal city!
Next Episode, I'll chronicle just how goddamn hard it has been (and still is) to find a pair of shoes in my size. Spaniards and their tiny feet.
This will probably be a hilariously long post because, as the title suggests, my weekend was awesome and I really want to share it with you in decent detail. And, contrary to what most of you think, I've received some very kind compliments regarding how I write. So, just suck it up and LET'S GO.
Classes started on Wednesday, and until February 7 I'm only taking 3 hours of class a day. An hour lecture on Spanish culture (the past couple days have been political history, and this week we're doing art), an hour of conversation (my super hilarious gesticulating professor Enrique talks with his hands, and we literally just talk about whatever. We're supposed to talk about our assigned readings, but that just doesn't happen), and an hour of grammar. Our grammar professor, Juan, is seriously the most intelligent person I've ever met. He learned English at Cambridge, so whenever he says a phrase in English, it's with a slightly British accent. Again, we don't actually go over that much grammar. He just talks about Spain and Sevilla, and we listen intently because he has that aura that captivates whoever is within his vicinity.
So yeah. My classes. They are awesome and very manageable. And the best part - the schedule. Class 3-5, 6-7. This facilitates going out every night like Appeasement facilitated the growth of Nazi Germany.
FRIDAY:
NOW we get to the weekend. Getting only 4 hours of sleep, I had to get up at 8:30 to pack and shower before meeting in the lobby of the hotel to receive our alojamientos (home stay family). Then gradually, the host families began to take us all away to our new lives. My host mother arrived around noon. Her name is Margarita, and she's totally a baller. She's a single mother in a beautiful apartment (she has a 30 year old daughter who lives here too, but she's currently in London on business. Yes, that sort of living situation is very common here in Spain). Margarita is incredibly friendly, an amazing cook, and also respects my privacy and life. During meals we talk about politics, sports, recent news, pretty much anything. A sheet we received about specific things we should run by our host-families suggested that most families want their students to be back by a specific time when they go out. But it seems that every family that my program has, including Margarita, does not give even an iota of a shit. To be discussed later, but I came home at like 3am Friday night, and the next afternoon she commented at how early I got back.
Oh yeah, I HAZ A DOG. A two year-old black lab named Lída. She's awesome and finally is warming up to me.
OH HAI LÍDA
To see how awesome this apartment is and more, check out the photo album I just made on my facebook. Or, to make it easier for you lazy fools, HERE
So I got situated in my new home by 12:30pm, had a delicious lunch at 2, then went to class at 3. Got out at 7, came back home for dinner, which again was delicious, exotic, exquisite, [insert any adjective that describes food that South Quad food could never ever replicate. pro-tip, that's every positive adjective in the english language]. Now, it's a Friday night - shit was gonna go down. So after a very heartfelt skyping with my parents and a slightly in-your-face skyping with Joe Mifsud (That's right, suck it), I leave at midnightish to meet up with some girls in my group and we go to a very familiar place - La Carbonería! (see second blog post). On a Friday night, this place was happening. Adults and students alike come to bars, so the atmosphere was really awesome. So I go ahead and order an AMAZING mojito and a pitcher of beer for myself, and the drinking games commence. Here, have some candid photos:
After a round of shots, we peace out and look for a club. Of course, the bouncer was not going to have a group of drunk Americans into his club, so with a very douchey "do you have an invitation?" We were denied access. At this point, we were fairly lost. So, las chicas decided to take taxis to get the hell out of there. When deciding between option a) take a taxi, spend a couple euros, get home safely guaranteed, and option b) ask drunk people how to get to Avenida Menendez Pelayo so then I can get home - safety not guaranteed, I look at my phone which reads 3am, and I stubbornly say,
Walking the Labyrinth that is Sevilla, I ask assorted drunk people how to get to this Avenida. One dude was making fun of the fact that I could understand spanish (what?) so I responded with a "jodete" and went along my merry way. In case you don't know, "jodete" = a very popular Cee-Lo Green song. I'll leave you to figure that one out.
It's 3:20am, I get home. I pass out.
SATURDAY:
wake up at 2:30pm. I walk to the kitchen to say my good mornings not knowing what time it is, Margarita has both breakfast AND lunch out. The first word that comes out of my mouth today is english, but in spanish it's "joder." Again, figure that out. Thankfully, Margarita is amazing, is glad I slept so much, and wants to know if I want both breakfast AND lunch. (See above video for response)
I meet up with some friends (for future reference, friends = people from my program until otherwise stated) by the river to decide what we're going to do during our entire day of absolute freedom. Most of the pictures that are currently in the facebook album that I linked above were from today, so that gives you basically an idea of where I was. But specifically, we decided to make an hour-long walk down a single road to the Real Betis fútbol stadium to get tickets to the Real Betis - FC Barcelona game thats on the 19th. Get super drunk and watch the best Football Club in the world lay smackdown on Betis for only 40 euros? Sign me up.
soon my dear... soon
Unfortunately, when we finally go to the front of the line to buy tickets, the vendor told us that we could not just buy one ticket per person and get seats together, which would obviously allow us to pay with a credit card - we had to pay all at once. So do the math: there's 13 of us there, and we need to buy like 15-17 tickets at 40 euros a pop. We had to scrounge up some serious euros. So two of us went back in line and dropped 600+ euros in cash (somebody took a picture of the vendor counting all the money, but it hasn't been uploaded yet).
WHADDUP
We had back to our homes to have dinner, then meet back up at like 11:30 to celebrate a friend's 21st birthday. And oh man did we.
All the guys meet up beforehand and botellón a bit before we go to a little bar for some cheap beers. After a bit, I somehow end up talking to two Sevillanas (female Sevillians/chicas of seville/etc). They ended up being really nice and loved talking to me in Spanish and attempting to talk to me in English. Then I met two guys named Sergio and Carlos. Normally when I introduce myself or have to put a name on a food order, Sevillanos cannot for the life of them pronounce my name on the first try, but it's pronounced essentially "Greefeen," which is always silly. Sergio, however, says it perfectly: "Like Peter Griffin, right?" NICE. I talk with these four people for quite awhile before I notice that my group is leaving. I have all of their numbers, and each of them said that if I ever want to hang out/get tapas/practice spanish with them so they can practice english me, I can just call them. Hopefully they weren't just bullshitting me and hopefully these are actually their numbers. So far, Sevillanos have not been overly friendly toward us foreigners. Again, somebody took pictures while we were at this bar, so once they get posted and tagged and everything you can see them on my facebook.
We leave the bar and head to a little side-street that literally consists of a dozen bars, each serving mad-cheap (1.50 euro) specialty shots. I get a shot with Vodka, Grenadine, and Baileys, and two shots of something called "la dulcinea." I don't remember what was in la dulcinea, but they were all delicious. While hanging around the street, I met a group of students from England, New Zealand, Ireland, and Scotland. Then I met two guys from France who are also here in Sevilla studying Spanish. I talked to them about Electronic music (Justice, dubstep, House) and Yelle. In Spanish. It was pretty freakin' sweet.
Meanwhile, inside one of the bars, the girl in our group whose birthday it was became the victim of overly flirty Sevillanos who didn't take no for an answer. While she was pushing them away (literally), this crazy Spanish girl started pulling her hair and trying to fight her. Apparently some other people in our group had to break up the fight. I seriously cannot believe I missed that.
EDIT: After asking this girl if I got my facts right and if I forgot anything, she said this: "you forgot the part that while looking for CHUPITOS (shots) i ended on the floor, with some angry spanish mobster girlfriend on top of me pulling out my hair.thats what you forgot
Anyways,
By 1:30am (I think) we get to our destination: Club Buddha. For 8 euros, we get in and get a free drink. My drink of choice - vodka with fanta. Of course, it literally was vodka with fanta. The bartender poured like a 3/4 full glass of vodka then handed me a bottle of fanta. Win. The guys from International Party Sevilla and Discover Sevilla (two separate companies. I have met Manuel, who I'm now facebook friends with, and Tova, from a previous post) were there and guided us to the 3rd floor. From 3am until we left, House music. Pure, sweet, delicious House music. Amazing speakers. Amazing bass. Lots of people, mostly Sevillanos/as. Again, I didn't take pictures, but somebody did. They will be uploaded. The dj dropped track after track that I recognized. 95% of them I loved. the other 5% were really stupid remixes that I hated. But nonetheless, it was beautiful.
not my picture, but this was it.
By 5am we were all pretty exhausted. I had no idea where I was and, once again, no taxi for me. Two friends guide me to Plaza Nueva (the area where I botellóned earlier) so that I could then find my way back home. It was quite a walk. By 6am, I'm home. I pass out.
Tuesday night. In some ways worse than Monday night, while in some ways infinitely better. But before that happened, Tuesday morning happened. Before continuing, please recall my Monday night. You remember? Bueno, let's go.
We had to wake up at 9am because we have to get to our program's orientation at our program center. I'm still struggling to understand why we had to do it so damn early. And I know, most of you pre-med kids are used to getting up that early back in Ann Arbor, but my delicious schedule last semester had me getting up comfortably around 11am every day. Anyways, back to the orientation. "Classes start Wendesday, take this shit seriously (aside: I actually am taking this incredibly seriously), sign this contract promising you'll speak only in Spanish at the center, here's what you'll be doing for la clase cultural, la clase gramatica, y la clase de conversacion, herp derp yadda yadda. Okay, TIME FOR A SUPER TOURISTY BUS TOUR!!111!one!1" A one hour bus tour, taking us around the city. It was actually pretty cool. Again, no pictures, lo siento. But trust me, this place is absolutely beautiful, especially when it's 60 degrees and sunny. Which is seemingly every day.
We were done for the day after that, so rest of the afternoon consisted of me looking at tons of sweet sales on shoes and clothes, exploring the city, and eating food so delicious you'd need several pairs of pants at the ready in order for me to tell you what I ate.
Tuesday night. A group of us pre-game with vino and bacardi until literally 12:30am. Then a kid in our group told us about a bar called Fundicion, which is a bar located across the river that divides the city. It was apparently a pretty happening place, and the same kid also knew somebody that was doing some sort of promotion for the company he runs - a company bent on taking out American college students and getting them absolutely blasted. To prove I'm not lying, here's the website http://www.internationalpartysevilla.com/
The dude's name is Tova, and when we get there we immediately notice the british people outside talking about How I Met Your Mother and the mass of Americans inside. Tova breaks out drinks for beer pong and has us play. He's paying for our drinks, so we obviously play more than one game. Then he buys us more drinks. I don't understand how this guy makes money. The bar is lined with dollar bills with writing on them, very reminiscent of Quickie Burger. The music selection is classic frat party bullshit: Taio Cruz, Miley Cyrus, Jay-Z, Lady Gaga, Kesha. Needless to say, I am VERY disappoint
We leave, most of us are disgusted at how American the place was. Crossing the bridge back to the hotel (it's like 2:30am right now), we run into a large group of students from Navarre, a northern region of Spain, who are in Sevilla studying architecture. After introducing each other, they convinced us to follow them to a bar called Elefunk. Yup, Elefunk. The silly thing is, this place is far more Spanish and legit than Fundicion. So at this bar we just talk with these students from Navarre until 4am. Being able to hold long conversations with Spaniards at a bar in Spanish definitely makes me realize I'm not that terrible at Spanish, which was my preconceived notion. This made my night infinitely better than Monday night.
The events that transpired Monday night, my first night with the other people in my program, were absolutely absurd. They also led to the change of the name of my blog, thus proving that I made this thing prematurely. "Vamos a ver" was what we said regarding any decisions we made last night. Also, sorry for not taking any pictures. I know somebody did, but I forgot my camera. So, with that in mind, here we go.
Since I'm only 20, this was the first time i've ever gone bar hopping. I really wanted it to turn out like this, but with copious amounts of alcohol:
Well, it didn't. So there.
As we were walking around on a Monday night looking for bars that seemed decent, we kept asking each other, "what bar are we going to?" "We going clubbing later?" "Where are we going?" "Is this a good idea?" "This is kinda sketchy." "Where are we right now?" Each time, the best answer came in the from of the little phrase "Vamos a ver." It was true, we realistically didn't have a great idea of what we were doing, and we didn't know what we were going to do. So, we'll see.
First bar, a little place called Tex Mex. Of course, the first bar I ever go to, which happens to be in a different country, is an American-themed bar. I know, Aaron Handsman, it must've been perfect. And it sort of was, with flat screens playing a mixture of partidos de futbol y futbol americano and a giant poster commemorating the battle of Iwo-Jima. But it was more than that. It was the bartender that pretty much knew English even though we refused to speak it to him. It was the banners hung around the place that advertised nightly beer pong and that ability to make a reservation at the bar to watch the Super Bowl (HELL YES). It was the fact that, while everyone in my group ordered Sangrias, I got the pint of Guinness. While everyone else ordered Tequila shots, I got the jaeger shot.
Second bar, it was also a food place and I don't remember what it was called simply because it had a long name. This was essentially our pit stop. This place's deal was that one could get a very large (probably a pint) of Mahou (I thought it was the equivalent to Miller Lite) for 1 euro so long as you purchased a 1 euro snack, otherwise the very large (probably a pint) of Mahou (Miller Lite) would be 2 euros. Essentially, why buy just beer when you can get food as well for the same price?
Third Bar, La carboneria. At this point, we've walked to here, but we had walked south a bit near the Cathedral for the second bar. and the first bar was more south. So essentially, we've walked quite a bit already, and we don't know exactly where we are. La carboneria we found after walking through some alleys and asking some random people where it was (A kid in our group knew about the bar from another friend). When we finally got there, the entrance looked like a church. Like, it looked solemn and quiet inside. REALLY solemn and quiet. But we walk in anyways, noticing immediately that this place probably was at one point a church, and that the entire interior is made of stone. The first area has wooden tables and a piano, and the actual bar was in a different room. We walk in, and promptly order their special: a pitcher of agua de sevilla. God knows what was in this. It was a strong mixed-drink and then it had whipped creme on top which we mixed into it. It was the sweetest and yet the most disgusting mixed drink I've ever had.
After some drinks, we go back to the first room to see a group of Spaniards taking turns playing guitar while a crazy viejo (old man) sings in a passable falsetto with a distinguishable vibrato. He looks like this, but older and has more grey hair
A woman and a couple other guys join him, while others clap their hands, and the rest of the people in the bar listen intently. We thought this was seriously the coolest thing to ever happen in the history of the world and were totally entranced for literally an hour at least. I was too, until one of the guitar players decided to play We No Speak Americano, and it just went downhill from there. The bar closed at like 2, then we all crowded around the Spaniards and thanked them and talked about how talented they were. The viejo started shamelessly flirting with a girl in our group and then proceeded to invite us somewhere (he didn't tell us at the time) that was "very close." We thought it was a terrific idea, so we threw caution to the wind, said "vamos a ver," and followed him and his musical friends for awhile, until we ended up at a bar called "Berlin" that was probably half a mile north-west of La carboneria, and consequently even FURTHER from our hotel.
By the time we got to Berlin, we were all sober for the most part, this wasn't funny or cute anymore, and the old guy was just being plain creepy. Take a conversation between him and a girl in our group: "How old are you? 25?" "No... 19 (a lie)" "My daughter!!"
So after a few minutes we left. Oh wait, we had zero idea how to get back to the hotel. 3 miles and 35ish minutes later, however, we get back safe and sound. It is 3:30am. Not a bad Monday night.
Considering this is my first blog post evar, I think it’s pretty fitting that I start out doing just the usual – talking about what I did, what I’m doing, just the whole musing of recent events thing without even daring to look at my syntax or grammar. I’m DGAF’ing up in this blog. Also, I’m so tired it probably won’t be too cohesive. So just get used to it for now. (EDIT: also this post is long as I’ve written it over the course of two days)
Anyways, getting up wasn’t the hard part. It was only 8:30am, so I got like 6 ½ hours. Saying goodbye to my parents wasn’t overly difficult either. Saying goodbye to my cat, who I’ll probably never see again as my parents are looking for any kind soul to take him off their hands (shameless plug) was slightly taxing. Even packing my life away in two suitcases the night before wasn’t really that hard.
The all day ordeal of traveling and having my flights delayed, combined with this ridiculous love-hate relationship TAP Portugal airlines established with me – THAT was difficult. In a really short synopsis, this was my day:
8:30am – get up, shower, eat, and make sure I have everything I could possibly need or want
9:28am – unfortunately, be an asshole to my mother one last time, as she was struggling to figure out what “on the back of the suitcase” meant with regards to the nametag I put there. I was too cranky to actually point it out, so I just repeated myself in an unnecessarily mean tone many times. In retrospect, very terrible and I still feel bad about it
9:30am – on the road to DTW
10:00am – Arrive at DTW, deal with culturally insensitive and downright cruel check-in agents as they horribly mispronounced any name and city that wasn’t blatantly American
10:15am – get through security, triumphantly stand in the AIT machine knowing full well the 40-something woman was going to get a great look at my junk
10:45am – get 65 euros from Dad, say goodbye, board the plane.
11:00am – realize that there are literally 20 people on this plane going from Detroit to Newark. How fitting
1:15pm – get to Newark, go to TAP Portugal check-in for next boarding pass. Realize the counter doesn’t open until 2:15. Wait an hour in line while silently being judged by every foreign person in line. A surprising number of Italians. Hot Italian girls. Also, realize I forgot my swim suit. “Have fun in a speedo” says text from mother.
8:00pm – SEE THE TIME DIFFERENCE?! Er, board plane to Lisbon, Portugal following a two hour delay. Silently pray that my 37J seat would not be by the one obese American I saw board the plane (I’m talking like 300+ pounds of man). Sure enough, he was. Thankfully his wife decided to be a martyr and let me take her seat which was NOT next to her. Of course, this seat ended up being behind the Portuguese guy who decided to recline his seat ALL THE WAY
10:30pm – Finish Social Network on my dinky little tv screen in front of me. This might not be such a bad trip afterall
2am – Finish The Town on my drinky little tv screen in front of me. This is awesome. Italian mother stands up and bends over to help her baby daughter with something. I and everyone around me realize she’s wearing a thong. Total MILF
2:30am – realize the only other available movie is Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Eat dinner with no movie. Listen to music until the end of the flight
7:30am (EST + 5 hours) – arrive in Lisbon knowing full well that my connecting flight departed at 7:25. TAP Portugal saves the day and provides the 30+ people with a whole new flight that otherwise wouldn’t have existed.
8:30am – takeoff from Lisbon. Spend flight talking to a Spanish couple. It turns out the husband works at the Universidad de Sevilla. They give me tons of tips. Rock on.
10:45am – Arrive in Sevilla. The suitcase I checked in Detroit is miraculously waiting for me. I am excite
11:45am – Rather than spend 30 euros on a taxi, decide to use public transportation. Challenge accepted
1:00pm – roughly an hour and 3.80 euros later, arrive at hostel. Make first updated facebook status, pass out on bed.
And here I am now. It’s almost 8pm and restaurants don’t serve dinner, or Tapas, until 8:30pm. I’m exhausted, I’m starving, and I hope to god the sink water here is safe to drink because I’ve had about a gallon of it.
After the first day of speaking almost entirely Spanish, my repertoire of words available to me I realize is horrendous. It’s terrible to say to a stranger “I was already down there” when referring to the fact that I couldn’t find my hostel and I had already gone down the street he directed me to and I couldn’t remember how to say “down there.” Just like random little things that would make it so much easier to talk to people and I either don’t know the words or I freak out and don’t remember them. Practice makes perfect I suppose. I need a beer. My hostel offers a “Nightlife Tour” that will take me to 3 bars and a club. 10 Euros will buy me 3 beers and 4 shots and entry to each place. It seems too good to be true. Something like that makes me paranoid that in my drunken, severely taken-advantage-of state I’ll get kidnapped and wake up in a warehouse where corporate dudes will inevitably torture me. Yes, that’s the plot of the movie Hostel. Fuck it. Challenge maybe accepted.
On another note, I don’t even have a phone right now. It feels weird, but not because I can’t call/text. Mostly it’s because I have absolutely no concept of time right now and it would be GREAT to know that when I’m walking around the city by myself.
Besides the stereotypical goals of “omg liek make Spanish frenz!” and “be fluentz in Spanish!” I have better goals:
1) For Christmas my brother gave me the discography of apparently one of the most famous Spanish metal bands, Angelus Apatrida. I’m going to meet someone here who has not only heard of them but also loves them
2) I’m going to find somebody here who likes Skrillex
3) I’m going to get somebody here to get into Son of Aurelius.
Well, this is all I have. I’m starving and it’s almost 8:30pm. Dinner time.
-Addendum: After dinner I promptly go to sleep, but not before setting an alarm for 9:30am on the phone that doesn’t work yet, as it doesn’t have a SIM card. That’s a task for tomorrow. The plan was set: get up at 9:30am, find a Vodafone store, buy SIM card, have working phone. My checkout time from the hostel would be at 10:30am, so I’d have plenty of time.
Execution of plan: I wake up to the sound of knocking and a woman telling me that I need to check out. I check my phone for the time, 22:45. “wait a second, I didn’t sleep for 24 hours,” I think to myself. Then it suddenly makes sense. When setting the time on my phone last night, I put it at 10:00, but with European phones, I obviously had to put 22:00. So I woke up at 10:45am – just perfect. I quickly throw on clothes, pack up everything, check out, and ask for the closest Vodafone store. Walking with my two suitcases, getting to the store was quite frustrating. I buy a SIM card and, since I have nowhere to go until 7:30pm when I’m supposed to be at a hotel, I go back to my hostel for internet. I put in my SIM card, but I can’t seem to make calls and I can’t figure out why. I am disappoint. I decide to write more on this post, and as I’m doing this, the lady at the front desk clearly realizes that I still have internet even though I’m no longer staying at the hostel so my username/password no longer works.
I just want it to be 7:30, or rather 19:30.
Song of the day: Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites – Skrillex. If you’ve never heard of Skrillex, just do it now.
