Data updated on 2025-04-26 13:21:26 UTC
If you like pasta, rainy walks and dog based internet content, you’ll love Jack Patchett. Cinematic sad boi indie-folk for moments of contemplation but also for moments when you didn’t quite cook enough mash and have to re-boil some more potatoes to meet your full potential.
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My mission to create the perfect memoir:
A few years ago I started writing down quotes from conversations I was involved in, which sounded like they would be incredible chapters of the ultimate memoir. All of the titles are completely real and were said out loud (this may be hard to believe at times).
As the weeks go by I will use the new fandangled artificial intelligence technology of the modern age, to bring this memoir to life. Come back every month for an introduction to a new chapter.
### Chapter 1: Pollute My Algorithm
In 2020, my life was a graveyard of Google searches. “Cheap therapy near me,” “how to fake confidence,” “are beans a food group?” My algorithm knew me better than my mother. Every ad was either for antidepressants or gym memberships—both wildly optimistic suggestions.
### Chapter 2: A Belly Dance Workshop in Amsterdam
Picture this: a damp studio filled with strangers and me, the only one who thought “belly dance” meant elegant grace. Spoiler: I was wrong. With every shimmy, I felt like a marionette gone rogue. By the end, I’d inadvertently invented the “falling potato” move. Amsterdam never looked so absurd!
———
My mission to create the perfect memoir:
A few years ago I started writing down quotes from conversations I was involved in, which sounded like they would be incredible chapters of the ultimate memoir. All of the titles are completely real and were said out loud (this may be hard to believe at times).
As the weeks go by I will use the new fandangled artificial intelligence technology of the modern age, to bring this memoir to life. Come back every month for an introduction to a new chapter.
### Chapter 1: Pollute My Algorithm
In 2020, my life was a graveyard of Google searches. “Cheap therapy near me,” “how to fake confidence,” “are beans a food group?” My algorithm knew me better than my mother. Every ad was either for antidepressants or gym memberships—both wildly optimistic suggestions.
### Chapter 2: A Belly Dance Workshop in Amsterdam
Picture this: a damp studio filled with strangers and me, the only one who thought “belly dance” meant elegant grace. Spoiler: I was wrong. With every shimmy, I felt like a marionette gone rogue. By the end, I’d inadvertently invented the “falling potato” move. Amsterdam never looked so absurd!
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Updated on 2025-04-26
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