Well, Darling Ones,

I did it. I popped my post-stroke wheelchair user (PSWU) concert cherry last night. It was John Cougar Mellencamp, and I’m glad I saved myself for him and the Mystic Lake Amphitheater.

Last night was many PSWU firsts. I ate inside a restaurant with friends. I met my social media friends Carrie & Kyle in actual life. I accidentally hit a very angry man with my foot because Jonas, my motorized wheelchair, didn’t stop as quickly as that guy did. Also, I cried during “Jack & Diane,” but there’s a 99% chance that would have happened pre-stroke.

The Coug’s was in fine form last night for a dude in his 70s, and he did a pretty good job of filling out the sprawling venue. The crowd in our area was super into the show and knew all the words to all the songs.

Sister #4 and I were particularly enamored with a guy and his wife a few rows down from us. This couple had to be in their late 70s or early 80s. He was a balding white-haired man with a lime-green polo tucked into the grandpa khakis pulled up to his nipples. He clapped and air-drummed to each song, frequently standing up to dance. If I could have stood I’d have put him in my pocket.

The second song he played was “Small Town” and he thanked the crowd for coming ALLLLLLLLLL the way out to Shakopee to see him. The amphitheater is 3.5 miles from Supergenius HQ according to google maps. In my head I was all, “you just got done singing about small towns, motherfucker. This is a small town.”

I still refuse to call Shakopee a suburb even though it’s been one for 25 years. It’ll always be a small town to me.

Before singing “Rain on the Scarecrow,” The Coug’s gave his little spiel about family farms and how they’ve even destroyed. My sister said, out loud, “Yeah, this used to be a farm” and at the same time I said, “we’re on an old farm right now!” The ladies next to us were not amused, but more on them in a second.

Maneuvering the show in a wheelchair was particularly easy for the most part. I’m still so new to wheelchair driving I want a giant STUDENT DRIVER sign for my chairs. Working a wheelchair is not easy. Ableism made me think it’s be easy peasy. Working a wheelchair in a massive crowd is even more difficult. Not only are people incredibly unobservant they’re probably like me and think wheeling around is simple, like walking is for most people.

We got to jump the security line and had special accessibility seating that required wristbands, which was pretty sweet. Because the Amphitheater was built roughly 10 minutes ago (not even kidding), the sidewalks were smooth and there were ramps and an elevator that took us to the right level. We only discovered the elevator situation after doing the ramps, which were a little terrifying. Jonas isn’t as deep as Ruby Vroom (my manual wheelchair) so when going down inclines I’m convinced I will fall out at any second. Some of that feeling is probably tied to my constant-falling down feeling.

The only thing that wasn’t sweet were those ladies next to us in the accessible seating. This was an area on the edge of the second tier, fenced off from the rows of stadium seating. There were, I’m guessing sixteen seats in this area. Sister #4 and I had seats 15 & 16 and were at the end.

To get these seats you had to do a little digging on the site, according to my sister who bought my ticket. The rules clearly and repeatedly stated this was a section for wheelchair users and one companion. While the section had four or five wheelchair users aside from me, those ladies next to use were neither wheelchair users nor companions. They didn’t even use a cane or a walker! They were, however, with the four or five people in front of us in the non-accessible seating.

My sister was salty about this from the get-go and the more I thought about it the angrier I got. While I know there are many invisible ways to be disabled, these seats were specifically for wheelchair users. The wristbands even had a wheelchair person on them. And if they weren’t going to be for wheelchair users they should have gone to big and/or tall people since the chairs were armless and movable. These small, entitled white ladies should have sat in the regular seats with the rest of the hoi polloi. At one point Ms. Entitled #1 pulled a Shark Chill Pill fan and was cooling herself with her feet up on the fence. I wanted to smash the fucking thing on the cement.

Can you imagine having such audacity coupled with disrespect for wheelchair users to think you deserve that seat just because you wanted it? I’ve spent today putting so many hexes on those two women. No more green lights. They’ll never enjoy a fresh, crunchy potato chip in their favorite flavor again. They will have to wash all their clothes twice because they will never remember to put them in the dryer the first time.

Don’t mess with the Spinster Goddess of Minnesota.

Love,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

Last night I had a dream about watching a pornographic version of Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison” video with my mom, sisters, niblings, and Hanif Abdurraqib. What makes this odd is I do not remember what the “Poison” video looks like. I refuse to go look, on principle.

This dream is why I’ve been listing to New Edition today. Obviously.

I loved New Edition as a kid and that loyalty is why I never feel for New Kids on the Block. I liked the other kids, so much so that the first concert I ever paid my own money to see was Bell Biv DeVoe with Keith Sweat and Johnny Gill as openers.

As I was listening to “Cool it Now,” a video I do remember, and was in awe of brains. Mine specifically.

The stroke may have stolen my balance, the calmness inside my head, and my ability to walk, but I still know the “Cool it Now” raps by heart. Yes, both of them.

Then, as one does with songs they loved when they were 12, I tried to figure out what the song is about. Bobby falling in love with a girl. Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, and Mike telling him to cool it, take it at her pace or risk losing the girl who is right on time. The Bobby’s all, “If I love the girl, who cares who you like?”

Why must he cool it? Because they don’t like her or is he moving too fast for her?

OR is this song the first in that weird little spate of pro-abstinence AIDS-awareness adjacent pop tunes like Jermaine Stewart’s “We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off” and Janet Jackson’s “Let’s Wait Awhile”? Mid-80s was early AIDS awareness time, right? I figure it must have been if I was working at an AIDS project in Eau Claire, WI by 1994.

That’s how my mind is wandering today.

#TeamNewEdition for life,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

How goes it? I’m eating Dots for the first time in nearly three years and they are delicious. I’ve missed Dots. I also miss Starburst. I do not miss jellybeans because I keep an empty Talenti-pint of them in my nightstand drawer for low blood sugar purposes. And, let me tell you, nothing cures your craving for FaveReds jellybeans (RIP greenbag starburst jellybeans) like chewing them at 3 a.m., grinding sugar into your recently brushed teeth while your glucose monitor will not shut the fuck up about your impending death by low blood sugar.

ANYWAY, I miss Dots, but not more than I enjoy having a 5.4 A1C.

Orange you glad you asked? Nobody asked, but I am feeling icky about having fallen off the writing wagon. Today’s probably not the best day to write because my head is especially “strokey,” which makes focussing extra difficult. Like most of my strokiness I do things just to spite it as if this collection of annoyances has a personality.

Along with eating Dots I’m also listening to the new Amanda Shires’ album. It came out yesterday and so I’m still pondering it. The jury is still out in the Court of Spinster Opinion. One of these days I’m gonna get around to writing about The Beths’ new record because I love it so much I had to text my friend Hotrod heart eyes emojis about it.

I’ve also been listening to Stoned: Jewelry, Obsession, and How Desire Shapes the World by Aja Raden and it is fabulous. It’s my favorite kind of nonfiction — well-written, funny, and filled with news-to-me stuff. For instance did you know that emeralds are green because of Chromium? Me neither and now I love them even more.

Most of my time, though, is spent pondering what I’m going to do with the rest of my life if/when I get on the dole. What will I do if I don’t use my brain capacity worrying about money and my time trying to earn money? I’m not sure. In the before I’d just write and write and write some more. It’s what I’ve always longed for the time and freedom to write. Now that I might get that, writing is physically taxing. My Floppy Scoop and eyes are not fans of the typing and reading. I’ve certainly been cursed with be careful what you wish for. Or so it seems.

Floudneringly yours,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

I’m becoming the kind of person who says “hola” in greeting. I say it about 93 times a day. Each time a cat comes down the stairs I say, “Hola, Gatito/Gatita. I love you. You’re a cat!”

They often need reminders both that I love them and that they’re cats. I don’t want them to forget, especially because Fergus’ theme song is about her being the worst.

In my head it’s a Gidgetesque song. A Jodi & Fergus duet that goes like this:
Whose the worst cat in the whole wide world?
It’s Fergus!
That’s me! (and she says this with one of her furry paws in the air, toe beans on display)

Who’s a total delight while she’s ruining your life?
It’s Fergus!
That’s me!

She’s a menace to her father.
A menace to her brother.
A menace to every one who loves her.
It’s Fergus!
That’s me!

See? We have fun!

Anyway, I came here to write a few words of appreciation. I didn’t appreciate anything in March and I feel a little shitty about that. Not because anyone cares, but because I let myself down by not doing it. I’ve lost or am redefining so much of who I am that it feels icky when I don’t write.

The Antidote by Karen Russell

My favorite novel so far this year. Five stars! Inventive and smart, though I have a few reservations about it.

It’s about a Prairie Witch in dust bowl era Nebraska who is a vault for people’s memories. They deposit them into her and get a deposit slip they can use to retrieve the memory at a later date.

There’s also a basketball loving teen girl, her bachelor uncle, a photographer, a cat, a scarecrow, a photographer, and a sheriff. There’s a bunch of history and magical realism and all of it is wonderful. A story about weather and the land and what we did to it and what role our memories play in making us whole. I loved it all. If you read it we must talk!

Earth to Moon by Moon Unit Zappa

I did not expect much from this memoir by Frank Zappa’s eldest child. I knew of her vaguely because of MTV and the song Valley Girl. But I like music and music-adjacent books. This one was a damn delight. Zappa is funny and smart, and tells the story of her family with honesty. It’s not a happy story and while she has much more empathy for her mother, I do not. Gail Zappa was a vindictive monster. Check it out if you’re into music, sacrifices people make to “male genius,” or twisted moms.

The Latest Jams

A few words about some records I’ve been digging recently.

• “Send a Prayer My Way,” Julien Baker & Torres. In the BS (before stroke) era, this would have been an automatic pre-order, but I can’t buy records anymore due to being poor. However, thanks to streaming I get to listen to this lovely lesbian country album. I super appreciate it because it’s matching up nicely with a book I read recently (The Exvangelicals by Sarah McCammon) and making me think about religious trauma.
• “Big Ugly,” Fust. You know I don’t often give new male artists a lot of my attention, so you know this has gotta be good. It gives me a bit of that 70s country rock vibe. Plus, they have a song called “Jody” and I forgive them the misspelling.
• “Billboard Heart,” Deep Sea Diver. Do you like rock & roll music? You’ll like this.
• “I Don’t Know But How They Found Me!” Jensen McRae. Listen if you like well-written, deeply emotional songs by young women. I love this one because the feelings are universal, but the perspective is new to me (she’s like 30 years young than I am).

What have you been reading or listening to, Darling Ones?

Love,
Jodi (not Jody)

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Greetings Darling Ones,

How are you? I’ve spent most of March hiding out from my economic anxiety and doing my best to ignore the fascist overthrow of the United States with varying degree of success.

Lately, I’ve been filling my days writing fan fiction in my head about the relationship between Jason Isbell, Amanda Shires, and Anna Weyant. If you don’t know these people, that’s okay neither do I.

This fan fiction is based on Isbell’s excellent new record “Foxes in the Snow;” Shires’ last record “Take it Like a Man; the documentary “Running With Our Eyes Closed;” and things I’ve gleaned from social media.

Here’s a quick primer: Isbell and Shires were the Johnny & June of my world and when they announced their divorce in December 2023 I was heartbroken. Anna Weyant, a 30-year-old painter based in NYC, is Isbell’s new partner.

Depending on the day of the week, how much sunshine there is, and how much sleep I’ve had Isbell does not do well in the court of spinster opinion. Ovaries before Brovaries and all.

Let me restate, FITS is a beautiful record. It’s the first Isbell record I’ve truly loved in a long time. Gone is all the guitar wankery and what not. This is just Isbell’s voice and a guitar. Lovely. Lyrically it’s brilliant & brave, cliché & mean, and overall very human. What’s not to love?

In my head most of the songs are about his ex-wife and his new lover. This is where the mean and cliché come in.

“Foxes in the Snow” is a song about the new woman and it makes me cringe so hard I’m surprised I haven’t lost three inches from my height and have a permanent rictus grin. The repetition of “I love my love is ick. The line about everything putting him near her skin, the carrot and the stick. . . it’s all basic and feels a bit like it’s trying. Isbell knows how to write a love song and this ain’t it.

The two songs I really like to go back to are “Eileen” and “Gravelweed.” Boy, do they give me the thinks.

“My own behavior was a shock to me, he sings. “You should have seen this coming sooner. . . You thought the truth was just a rumor.”

In the court of Spinster Opinion I’m all, “Exactly what are you confessing to here, Mr. Isbell? what should she have seen and exactly what was the rumor? Hmmm?”

And his lawyer, Mortimer, shouts, “OBJECTION. Hearsay.”

“Gravelweed” is the knock me on my ass, infuriate me, and then begin to put me back together song.

In it Isbell sings, “I was a gravelweed, and I needed you to raise me. You couldn’t reach me once I felt like I was raised.”

This one makes me feel very fuck you, very much. Thanks for the self-reflection and all, but you see how shitty it is to require your partner and lover to raise you, right? RIGHT? That’s a lot to ask of someone who is supposed to be your equal, not your mother. It’s so selfish and then to abandon her when you gelt all grown up? Garbage.

But he gets back me with the next line, “And now that I live to see my melodies betray me, I’m sorry the love songs all mean different things today.”

Damn, the stark and beautiful honesty.

I also get pissed at the song “True Believer” with the whole All your girlfriends say I broke your fucking heart and I don’t like it.” Tough titties, friend, you don’t get to decide if you broke someone’s heart.

Like a good lawyer I’m cherry picking the lyrics to fit my argument. Like a good Gemini I’m not entirely sure what I’m arguing.

Regardless, the jury agreed unanimiously that “Foxes in the Snow” is a sparse, beautiful record worthy of the attention, argument, and thought.

You may be seated,
Honorable Judge Jodi Chromey

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