Hola Darling Ones,

Well, we made it to 2026 and it’s been a real kick in the crotch, hasn’t it?

On January first I started using this neck & chest firming cream before bed each night because I’m well past my prime.

I have/had a ridiculous amount of creams, potions, and unguents from good ol’2020 when I had more money than sense. I’ve been making my way through them over the past year or so. Most of them are crap because I look exactly the same no matter what I smear on my face.

The package on the cream claims, “97% had firmer skin in just two weeks.” That’s why I started using it on the first, because I’d be able to remember two weeks from the first.

But then monsters decided to up their cruelty and now my state is occupied my hostile forces and so last night as I was spreading the goo on my neck, I said into the mirror, “this is crap. My skin isn’t firmer!”

When I climbed into bed I realized we were only ten days into 2026. Yowza that cream’s got four more days to give me the neck of a 20-year-old.

As for 2026? I don’t know. . . it’s hard out there for a human.

Since I use humor as a defense mechanism and to hide from my feelings, I joked the other day about how I missed the pre-Rodney King 90s when white people like me could live in ignorant bliss about the murderous police and the violence they inflict on people because they feel like it.

The joke did not make me feel better, but I tried.

Can a person even feel better right now? Since the murder of Renee Nicole Good I’ve been quiet. I don’t have any words to help or heal, and no desire to add to the echo chamber that gets more performative with each atrocity. Between the woke scolds* and the creative-types patting themselves on the back for continuing to art as an act of resistance I’m a little more misanthropic than usual.

One of my goals this year is to write more (this has been my goal every year of my entire life), and that gets tougher as the US falls further into fascism. I do not want to write about politics and current events. There are smarter people that are better at that. I want to write about frivolity. I want to compare and contrast the use of sleep in the lyrics of Jason Isbell’s “Foxes in Snow” and Amanda Shires’ “Nobody’s Girl.”

However, that feels not just frivolous but unserious and disrespectful at this moment in time. I’m a generic Allen Ginsburg, “America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?”

Not even close to figuring it out,
Jodi

 
*I just learned the term “woke scold” from one of Wolfdogg’s daughters. She kept calling him a woke scold and it was hilarious because as a 50somoething white guy there about 583 million worse things he could be than a woke scold. Also, he’s right. Spotify is evil.

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Hi Darling Ones,

I’ve had a lot on mind. Well, I always do. But lately I’ve been thinking about the two finger-snaps in Dire Straits’ “Romeo & Juliet” and if the are significant in some way, if they are meant to symbolize something.

You’d be surprised by how much I think about this. It is more than a lot.

However, since the federal government shutdown I’ve been thinking about other things. Namely the boundless cruelty of the USA and the people who govern it. Also, the fathomless greed of the wealthy and all those people who could put an end to hunger and poverty and houselessness if they chose to throw their money at that problem.

More selfishly I’ve been thinking my writing and my situation.

It’s clear I love writing here. I’ve been doing it for 25 years, and I continue even though the physical acts of typing and reading are difficult and exhausting after the stroke. You can sorta see what my vision is like in the image at the top of this post. Spoiler: it’s not good.

One of my vague goals for iwilldare.com is to share what it’s like to be a single, 6’5″, white, GenX woman at this moment in time. And by this moment, I mean all the moments in time when I post. Now that I’ve become a single, 6’5″ white, disabled GenX woman during some massively horrifying historic events I feel as though my writing is more navel-gazey than ever.

It feels kinda gross to be so self-focused during the horrors thrust upon us by the government. This is a time where showing up and being a member of the community is important. Instead, all I do is sit in a chair and worry about if I’ll ever get on the dole.

With SNAP and WIC benefits running out because of the government shutdown I thought abut donating to the local food shelf. Food insecurity is one of those issues that really get me in the old ticker. I know what that’s like. I grew up with food insecurity and have gone hugry many times (yes, a hungry food insecure fat girl, it happens).

Sadly, I checked to see how much money I could spare. I can spare exactly $0.00. I’ve got exactly $3,713.41 to last me until, I’m not sure when. They haven’t even scheduled my Social Security hearing yet, and I don’t know how long it takes to get a verdict or money.

Bah!

Now, you can see how my thoughts have been going the past few weeks. It’s becoming a well-worn spiral — horrors, my writing, horrors, my own situation. How do people other people do this? How do you cope with personal tragedies or problems in the midst of bigger, more pressing problems?

Pondering Romeo & Juliet was way more fun and it helped me sleep at night.

Just another one of your deals,
Jodi

P.S.
In 2020 when I donated to my local food shelf I got an email from the Executive Director thanking me because I was the first person to ever use the online donation form. He told me he googled me and because I was a Replacements’ fan he offered me a gig. I built a beautiful website for them that they never used because the new Marketing Director, hired after I started my work, either did not like me or wanted to put her mark on everything. I didn’t get to stick around long enough to find out. I’m sad to report they still have an ugly ass website.

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Hi Darling Ones,

Last night I had a conversation with my friend, Em, about writing, writing habits, and routine. It was a great talk and we vowed in the new year to establish a routine and hold each other accountable. I’m excited, because I want to work on my writing and my penmanship.

I’ve been woefully lax on the physical practice of writing. I’m easily frustrated with the tremor and my Floppy Scoop gets tired fast when gripping a pen. However, I really miss writing. I miss jotting down ideas in my planner, which I abandoned early this year due to the poor penmanship.

While talking about writing I confessed to her that I’m always scared before clicking publish on an I Will Dare post.

“Still?” she asked, a little incredulous. “After all these years?”
“Hell, yeah,” I said. “It’s never not scary to put yourself out there.”

I don’t know what was more surprising: that I admitted it or that she was so shocked.

Then I explained to her just because it looks easy doesn’t mean it is easy. Putting your thoughts and feelings out into the world in any way always feels a little dicey. Putting them onto the Internet in the same place, an easy-to-find and reference place, for TWENTY-FOUR years feels like both utter foolishness and extreme bravery.

I mean, come on, is there any body worse than the you from five, ten, fifteen, twenty years ago? Ugh. Not to me. Past-Jodi was insufferable and so annoying. Thankfully, I’ve grown, learned more, and do better now. And since this is an ongoing process, old me will always be a little bit worse than present me.

Still, it’s scary! What if people don’t get it? What if I fail at getting my point across? What if nobody cares? What if everyone cares? What if I hurt/anger/befuddle someone? What if I look stupid?

No matter how many times I hit “publish” I still worry. I will always worry, but I’ll always do it because I want to. There is value in what I have to say, in my existence on this planet and in this moment.

The TTHM use to tell me that I should do something scary every day, and boy, howdy, do I ever. Do I ever.

Your favorite fraidy cat,
Jodi

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Hi Darling Ones,

I always want to be the kind of writer who is constantly scribbling down ideas and sentences whenever they strike me. However, I also don’t want to be a pretentious asshole who stops conversations, calls attention to themselves, and then writes down whatever word barf occurred to them.

Dilemmas, amiright?

However, today when I heard the song “Alabama Pines” I decided to add it to my 14 Songs note (see below). While looking for the note, I found all these other notes, and I realized, I AM that kind of writer.

I jot down ideas all the time. My planner is full of them too. Maybe I’ll show you or maybe I’ll continue to wander around in a dark, gloomy 1992 of my mind. Who knows?

Anyway, here are some of my ideas that never really saw the light of day. Until now.

February 10, 2022 at 3:14 PM
He does mention Matt Dillon

I applaud whatever dude I was referring to here for mentioning Matt Dillon. I love Matt Dillon.

August 19, 2021 at 9:35 AM
60 Songs

He never gets into how the songs explain the 90s.
He used the word incendiary 4 times in the Hunger Strike episode.
If he doesn’t do Misery by Soul Asylum this whole thing is a sham.

Obviously this is about my beloved 60 Songs that Explain the 90s. It is the only podcast I listen to and will continue to listen to even though I had to break-up with my imaginary boyfriend Rob Harvilla since he answered the Reality Bites question wrong, lauded Chuck Klosterman’s shitty 90s book, and repeatedly pronounced Winona as Why-nona. He also said he didn’t like people taller than him, and I am taller than him.

July 29, 2021 at 9:00 PM
Joni Mitchell said if you find me in my work I haven’t done my job but if you find you in my work then I have.

“The rock and roll culture is so male dominated and it also seems to be dominated by some hostility toward women,” Linda Ronstadt.

I dunno, probably just inspiration.

December 6, 2022 at 12:16 PM
14 Songs

1. Can’t Hardly Wait or I Will Dare
2. Supernova, Liz Phair
3. Don’t Fear the Reaper, Blue Oyster Cult
4. Someone to Pull the Trigger, Matthew Sweet
5. Solitude Standing, Suzanne Vega
6. Still Rock & Roll to Me, Billy Joel
7. I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me), Whitney Houston
8. Alabama Pines, Jason Isbell

I wanna write a book of essays or memoir about 14 Songs that explain my life or something. It’s vague right now. I haven’t even finished the list.

October 31, 2022 at 2:21 PM
Write about the weird dream you had where you explain John Irving novels in chronological order to a romantic interest.

Why I can’t get laid even in my dreams is a mystery to me. What more would a romantic interest want? Is there anything sexier than Jodisplaining John Irving to some dude?

October 19, 2022 at 4:28 PM
TOP 10 Covers

1. Joan Jett, Crimson & Clover
2. Eels, I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man</li>

Needs no explanation

April 27, 2021 at 8:45 AM
Panties Vs dainties.

Sometimes I have Siri take a note first thing in the morning so I don’t forget whatever brilliance is on my mind when I wake up.

November 16, 2020 at 8:18 PM
Write about Orpheus over singing the siren so much that they died and compare it to the Joni Mitchell Bob Dylan record listening scene in Lisa Robinson’s book.

I bet this would’ve been pretty damn good had I ever gotten around to it.

I’m full of good ideas and out of ambition,
Jodi

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Hello Darling Ones,

i think i might have finally caught on to this. color me impressed.

That is the entirety of my very first post on this very blog. July 31, 2000. That means today is the 22nd anniversary of I Will Dare dot com. If this blog were anything like me at 22 she would have spent last night getting shit-faced drunk at all the bars on Water St with her high school bestie, Nikki, and friend, Graham.

I don’t have a lot to say in honor of this anniversary. I said most of what I was thinking about blogging & this blog back in May.

What I do have to say is, thank you. I owe every single darling one of you a high five, or fist bump, or shudder to think, a hug. Y’all have come out hard for me over the last year. Whether it was defending me against abusive comments or donating to my BFK after her restaurant caught on fire* or sending me money to buy records, that’s a lot of fucking kindness from strangers.

I could weep if I think about it too much.

To be fair, not all of you are strangers. Some of you are friends I know in actual life. Some of you are friends I’ve known for decades but haven’t yet had the chance to meet. All of you are my favorite weirdos. I’m honored to associate with you.

Thank you so much. Thank you for reading or commenting or emailing or messaging or hearting a thing on Instagram or Twitter. Thanks for making existence a little less lonely. Thank you for paying attention to me. If you hate read this, thank you for keeping that to yourself.

Colorfully yours,
Jodi

P.S.
I almost used the Gin Blossoms’ lyric in the header last week when I wrote about the Gin Blossoms, but was smart enough to keep it for today. Go me!

P.P.S.
The gnat situation which prompted the Gin Blossoms’ post has gotten significantly better though there’s still some of those fuckers around.

 
*The Windmill is still closed because insurance is slow moving, also, in my opinion, a little bit of con.

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