I will never kiss anyone who doesn't burn me like the sun.

When Abigail M. Schilling assigned me the task of filling up Myrtle (Wilson, not Moaning)'s iPod, my first thought was Oh! How fortuitous! I'm currently reading Gatsby for the billionth time! My second thought was Oh shit! What the hell goes on Myrtle (Wilson, not Moaning)'s iPod? So, like any big nerd, I turned to the text.

Of Mrs. Wilson, Fitzgerald writes, "She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering."

Myrtle herself says, "All I kept thinking about over and over was 'You can't live forever, you can't live forever.'"

And then, when she proves that you cannot in fact live forever, Fitzgerald writes, "The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long."

So how do you honor such a woman? What songs can possibly do her justice? Internets, I made Myrtle Wilson a Muxtape. And it's quite possibly the oddest mix I've ever made.