Oh Darling Ones,

As I type I’m snotting my way through the Junior Prom episode of “Dawson’s Creek” and sending warm vibes up to my friend Christa in Duluth. She is also a member of Team Pacey whose heart is heavy with the news of James Van Der Beek’s death. He was only 48. Van Der Beek was the star of “Dawson’s Creek.”

Long time readers might remember my love for The Creek. I discovered the show round the same time I launched this website and so there are many, many, many entries about and references to “Dawson’s Creek.” I was gonna count, but got bored after hitting page 9 of the search results. Some highlights? 10 Best Episodes of Dawson’s Creek, Top 10 reasons Pacey is better than Dawson, and the one where coped with my dad’s death just like Dawson did.

This show is part of me. I’m basically Replacements’Lyrics, episodes of Dawson’s Creek, and Bob’s Burgers references in a trench coat. I remember Dawson’s Creek better than I remember my own high school years.

I’m not sure what drew me to the show. I didn’t start watching until season three. It was probably just a case of right place, right time. I was lonely in my first solo-apartment with little to no furniture and a tv that only got the WB. I didn’t get to watch the first three seasons until the DVDs came in the red Netflix envelopes.

Darling Ones, I’m lost in nostalgia and not sure I have the emotional strength to resist 2001-2003. But I couldn’t let this passing go unmentioned because James Van Der Beek’s work was important to me.

If I had it in me I’d dig a little deeper, but I need to reserve my emotional strength for tomorrow, which is wheelchair delivery day. Uffda.

Team Pacey forever,
Jodi

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Hola Darling Ones,

Every month I vow to work on this post throughout the month so my eyes & Floppy Scoop don’t eet pooped out from all the typing and reading. Every month I do not do that. But hope springs eternal, so maybe next month?

Matthew Sweet Recovers from Stroke at Madonna

I’ve watched this video of Sweet’s stroke recovery process about 12 times since my friend Robin shared it with me. Each time I get a little shaky and anxious and then tears shoot from eyes. It’s cathartic.

I see a lot of my experience in his. The slight shake of his head as he speaks is the same shake my head does. The tremor is his left hand is similar to the one in my right. The inability to walk more than a few feet, same! When I was doing weekly OT/PT I didn’t get to use a cool robotic arm, and there was zero drawing with markers. Instead, my OT had me typing and writing, because that’s what writers do.

This is a good watch if you’re curious about what stroke recovery is like.

The Floor

Sister #2 dropped her appreciation for the Rob Lowe-hosted gameshow into the family chat telling us it was a nice balance for all the murder shows she usually watches.

While I usually ignore most TV suggestions for everyone (i’m bad at watching TV), Sister #4 and I gave it shot when she was here for dinner one night.

Darling Ones, I love it because it’s a trivia gameshow you have to watch and pay attention to. This means you can’t doomscroll or practice Spanish or crochet while it’s on. I mean you could, but you’d miss the point. Contestants, who get to pick their area of expertise, have to identify things by picture or missing word. Since I’m an arrogant prick, I have to watch to prove I know more than they do.

It is a delight to just focus on one single thing without my brain weasels involved. It is the most relaxing 20-45 minutes (depending on my attention span) of my day.

I also like it because it makes me ponder what my expert category would be. My first choice was “Bob’s Burgers” but after watching men continuously fail because they don’t recognize women rappers, athletes, CEOs, actors, etc., I’d probably go with Female Indie Singers and then rule that floor.

The Harder I Fight the More I Love You by Neko Case

Holy buckets did I love this memoir. So much so that’s I’m gonna have to revisit my Top 10 Nonfiction Music Books from 2021.

Before cracking the book I knew Case was an excellent songwriter, I’ve been a fan of eons. However, great songs don’t always translate into great memoirs (sorry Bob Mould, Pete Townshend, Kathleen Hanna, etc.), Case’s memoir is great. It’s emotionally honest, interesting, and unsparing. It focuses a lot on her early years growing up in poverty and it’s rough to read at times, but you can see the genisus of some her songs in the stories she shares, and that is the best.

Greek Yogurt Bagels

As previously mentioned I care about carbs & protein now. One of the ways I’ve cramming more protein into my gob is by making Greek Yogurt Bagels for my daily breakfast sandwich. They are pretty good. I’ve made them twice and the second time they were even better (perhaps I kneaded them more?). If you care about carbs and bagels, give them a short. I’m hesitant to share any recipe from a site barfily called “skinnytaste,” but it’s the recipe I follow.

What have you been digging, Darling Ones? I’m ever-so curious.

Appreciatively yours,
Jodi

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Oh, Darling Ones,

The August Malaise has got me in its clutches. Bad.

I thought with all the neurological news, I might escape. Maybe, perhaps learning of the baby aneurysm in my brain would put my anxiety in overdrive and I’d be kept occupied by my fantasies of my imminent death.

Nope. The Lexapro is doing its job and I’m being uncharacteristically rational about it. Even Tuesday’s impending sleep study isn’t getting my anxiety too hopped up. I’m curious why I gotta be there at 7 p.m. when I usually don’t even climb into bed until midnight. That should be fun.

Instead of worrying about calamity, I’ve just been restless and bored like virtually every other August of my entire life. Sick of summer and summer food and air conditioning, all I want is everything and nothing.

Recognizing the Malaise and trying to ride it out is being seen as growth in these parts.

In attempt to soothe my restlessness I’ve:

• Spent an entire days listening to The Pointer Sisters
• Read one chapter in three books and quit because
• Watched every TV appearance by Cass Elliot (I recently finished a biography of her)

This last one led me to enter episodes of “The Midnight Special” on YouTube. Since I was only paying half-attention to the TV, I got pumped when I heard it say the next episode was going to be hosted by Seals & Crofts.

Imagine my disappointment when I started to pay attention and realized Seals & Crofts had zero to do with Sid & Marty Krofft.

This is why I ended up watching the first episode of “The Bugaloos.”

Now I understand why I am the way I am. I’m a little Benita Bizarre (weird old lady obsessed with music living in a jukebox or as Wikipedia describes her, “A jealous, untalented, unattractive, old crone”) and a little Bugaloo (also loving music, refusing to sell out and trying to me helpful and full of joy). This show is probably responsible for the whole GenX ethos. Seriously, just go read the episode synopses.

This show, that I loved when I was a little kid, pretty much predicted how my life would turn out. Neat, innit?

Restlessly yours,
Jodi

P.S. I finally found a book to capture my attention. It’s called Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott. I’m only 1/3 in, but it’s super good thus far.

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Hiya Darling Ones,

Here’s a short list of some of things bringing me happiness this past month.

Neapolitan Ice Cream Sandwiches

Specifically, the Target ones. I’ve never been a Neapolitan person. Vanilla is pointless as far as I’m concerned and why have two mediocre flavors when you can have all chocolate?

But, after watching all the various Baking Championships (spring, summer, kids, etc.) on the Food Network Neapolitan sounded good. I nought a box of ’em when Sister #2 was here because I knew she’d eat them if I didn’t like them. They’re delicious. Probably the best ice cream sandwich I’ve ever had. The cookie part is crunchy and strawberry ice cream? That shit is fabulous. Best of all you can get 12 of them for $3.

Nothing Compares

The Sinead O’Connor documentary made by Kathryn Ferguson is free to watch for the next seven days in honor of the anniversary of O’Connor’s death.

It’s pretty good. I watched it before O’Connor died, so I’m not sure how it hits now. I’m still unable to talk about her death. It’s one of those events that I remember exactly where I was when I learned the news — sitting on a table in a physical therapy room. My therapist had stepped out to get some torture device and the news blipped across my watch.

“What happened?” she asked when she came back into the room. Tragedy must have been written across my face.
“Sinead O’Connor died.”

Then I explained to her non-music-person, 25-year-old ass who O’Connor was. Ugh.

Claim to Fame (Hulu)

I’ve discovered my new favorite genre of tv game show is “people lying to each other for financial gain.” It sounds more nefarious than it is.

Think Traitors, The Mole, Trust. You know, games where people sign-up for shenanigans and trickery. It’s so fun!

My latest discovery in this genre is Claim to Fame, where celebrity relatives live in a giant house and try to keep their identity secret while guessing who everyone is related to. I love guessing song with the contestants while shouting YOU ARE TOO YOUNG! Because the guessers thought the “70s teen idol” one of the players was related to was Billy Idol and Elton John,

Brother Printer

I bought a printer like it’s 2002 or something and I’m a little in love with it. I bought the printer because I need to send a bunch of documentation for my Social Security Disability application. There are other avenues for getting printed docs, but sometimes I want to be able to do one goddamn thing on my own. I didn’t want to have my mom or Sister #4 have to pick up the pages somewhere. I didn’t want to have to bug my brother-in-law to print it for me at work and then mail it for me.

My family would have done all this for me in a heartbeat. But again, I wanted to do it myself.

And now I want to print all the things with the fancy wireless printer that sits on the China cabinet in my dining room next to my LEGO Office.

BY THE WAY. . . it took me like six hours to fill out the Disability app. I had to list every healthcare professional I’ve seen since the stroke, every clinic or hospital I’ve visited, and every test the doctors ordered. I started the app on Monday and couldn’t do it all in one go. The next day was eye day, so I didn’t do any computer work. On Wednesday Social Security called me and left a message reminding me to finish my app. I was all, “back off, I got a disability here. I’m a little slow.”

Carrier Pigeon, Odie Leigh

This is my new favorite record, and not just because the vinyl pre-order came with a crochet pattern and hook. RIGHT? Was there ever on earth a record package made specifically for me? Thanks again for the gift, Wolfdogg.

To be fair, I fell in love with Odie Leigh’s music before I knew about the crochet stuff. “Conversation Starter” caught my attention when it shuffled up randomly on Spotify and I was hooked instantly. As I dug in, I found she had a new record coming out in a week and well, the crochet pattern sealed the deal.

This record is an utter delight. It’s filled with songs about being awkward and trying to get laid, and they’re fun to sing along with. Check her out if you event already.

Also, thanks to Heather, I’ve jumped onto the Chappel Roan bandwagon. Her record “The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess” is pretty fun, if a little too long for my tastes. Her voice is kinda weak on some of the ballads, but her upbeat stuff are, as the youth say, total bangers or bops, perhaps jams.

What have you been appreciating lately?

Love,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

Over the weekend I finished reading Astor: The Rise and Fall of an American Fortune by Anderson Cooper and Katherine Howe. It was a total snooze. I do not recommend. I stuck with it because one of my favorite genres is “when bad things happen to rich people.” Give me a murder mystery set in some English hoity-toity boarding school and I’m happy.

The best thing about “Astor” is it kept reminding me of an argument we had during Rock & Roll Bookclub Dirty Santa this year.

We were playing some kind of “Would you rather” game someone won earlier in the night. One of the questions was Would you rather be rich in the olden days or poor now?

“Rich olden times,” I shouted without a moment’s hesitation.

Most of the room scoffed derisively and chose poor now. I shook my head at their foolishness.

I don’t know if it was Wolfdogg or my brother-in-law pointed out there would be no rock & roll or internet.

“That’s fine,” I said, “I’d make a kick ass Harriet Oleson, running the Mercantile, judging Caroline’s eggs.”

That’s right, the richest, old-timey person my white-trash, tv-rotted brain could come up with was Harriet Oleson from “Little House on the Prairie.” I didn’t think of the Astors or the Vanderbilts or the Gettys or the Morgans or any of the other bazillionaires who took advantage of the working class in the olden days.

I went right to Mrs. Oleson, and I stand by that.

“Okay, transatlantic slave trade,” Wolfdogg said.
“Harriet employed the only black lady in Walnut Grove,” I argued.

Eventually, I did win Sister #2 to my side. The rest of the group still think I’m full of shit, and for that I’m not gonna let them buy anything on credit from the Mercantile. I might even under price their stupid eggs.

Jodi

P.S. This is the one thing my brain seems to be dwelling on. To be fair, most of it has turned to mush after spending 2.5 hours getting my social security disability application started. Plus, you know, current events continue to be unprecedented.

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