Hey Darling Ones,

“Lost Horizons” is my all-time favorite Gin Blossoms song.

I love this song so much I was going to put it in my Top 5 Side One, Track Ones. Apparently I already made that list, and “Lost Horizons” didn’t quite make the cut. I might have to revisit it, but I’m not sure who would get the ax. I can’t think about that now.

As I Will Dare dot com inches ever closer to turning twenty-two (on July 31st), I’m once again reminded that I have written about nearly every thing I’ve ever thought about for a minimum of fifteen seconds. Casually mentioned “Lost Horizons” as the best Gin Blossoms’ song? Been there. Wrote about my love for the entire “New Miserable Experience” record? Done that.

Have I written about why “Lost Horizons” is the very best Gin Blossoms song? Fuck if I know. I looked and didn’t find anything, but I did not look very hard. I’m deep in my horizony feels and all that searching was bringing me down.

This song is the best because it does what the Gin Blossoms did best — bummer lyrics set to unbummerlike music. It’s a hell of a way to kick off an album, sounding all jangly and fun while singing about unfun things like being fucking stuck in a town, a relationship, a life that isn’t quite living up to what you hoped it would be. Inject that shit right into my veins.

I love the dichotomy of being drunk in the gardens and the graves, as well as the dueling symbolism. Gardens bursting with life, graves filled with death.

Plus, it has the most heart-shatteringly real lyrics about a dead relationship that I can think of, “she had nothing left to say so she said she loved me. I stood there grateful for the lie.”

Another thing I love about this song? It made me ultra receptive to Paul Westerberg’s songwriting, who is also of the “way sadder than it sounds” school of lyricism. “Lost Horizons” is, after all, just another way to sing “Bastards of Young.” Or maybe “Here Comes a Regular.”

On my musical journey the Gin Blossoms were a gateway drug to The Replacements. It’s true. And while I know The Replacements came first and were probably highly influential to the Gin Blossoms, music doesn’t come into our lives in a straight line, in chronological order. That’s part of its magic.

I’ve been singing “Lost Horizons” all damn day because I’m sitting next to a gnat graveyard (pictured above). Across from the graveyard (not pictured) is a sort of garden (Hugh and Benjamina live on the coffee table). If only I were drunk, I could literally live this song all over again.

I lived this song a lot when I was in my early twenties. Not just the drunk drunk drunk part, but the, “drink enough of anything to make myself look new again.” God, I was such a weary and jaded young thing.

Anyway, you’ll be happy to know that a lot of dumb gnats have fallen to their death in my red wine vinegar, sugar, dish soap trap. Dummies. However, there are still more gnats.

Your new miserable experience,
Jodi

The post Just Another Way to Sing ‘Bastards of Young’ appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

Does anyone remember the Great Fungus Gnat Infestation of 2012? That’s when those little bastards killed my herb garden and also my desire to have an herb garden. There was also a small Fungus Gnat Revival of 2021.

Now I’m in the midst of what can only be described as the Gnat Resurrection of 2022.

I don’t know where these tiny fuckers are coming from. For the last week or so I’ve had one gnat dive-bombing me during my morning routine. It was just one and I couldn’t tell if I had one really resilient motherfucker on my hands or if a new gnat was finding its way to my corner on the couch every morning.

Of course, I immediately blamed the Sadness Garden because they were the most obvious suspects. I shoved a few of those sticky-tape stakes into some of the plants and so far they have trapped exactly one gnat. And yet I still got gnats.

Today there are a lot of gnats. I’ve managed to kill two three with my bare hands and there are at least three more flying about.

I can’t figure out where they’re coming from. Part of me fears they’ve found the Atomic Fireball that fell out of my mouth and rolled away to spot I cannot find. Another part of me fears they’re coming from inside me. The gnats seems to appear wherever I am, so this makes absolute perfect sense.

This afternoon I put a small jar of red wine vinegar mixed with sugar, water, and dishsoap on the window ledge next to me. So far it has been as effective as the sticky traps, and half 1/3 as effective as my own homicidal hands (I just slaughtered another one my slapping my own chest).

I will keep you posted as this story develops. Or I won’t. Maybe life will get exciting.

This weekend has been kind of a dud as far as exciting media consumption or thoughts go. I read a boring novel that had two different characters in two different chapters use the word “unctuousness” to describe the color black in a painting and I’m kinda annoyed with myself for finishing the book.

I was supposed to watch The Bear on Hulu, but instead continued to chug down episodes of Top Chef because I’ve only got 1.5 seasons left and I have a one-track mind.

This weekend has been such a thoughtless dud that last night I dreamt I attended a Hell, Inc. company meeting, a company I have not worked at since 2008. The last company meeting I attended was in November 2007 when they announced they were closing the office and laying most of us off.

One good thing about this weekend? On Thursday I made chile verde and have been eating what are, without a doubt, the best tacos I have ever made I my entire life. These tacos are so good that I had them for dinner on Thursday and Friday and Saturday and I plan on having them again for dinner tonight and I’m not even sick of them. These tacos are so good that I never want to make another meal again because everything I cook will pale in comparison.

Your favorite thoughtless dud,
Jodi

P.S. As you can see above I am still obsessed with the teeny flowers Hugh, the tradescantia, keeps kicking out. I take a picture of every single one because it is glorious and amazing.

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Dear Darling Ones,

I’m a little blue today. This funk sprung out of nowhere and I even attempted to buy myself a plant to make me feel better and my inner voice said all petulant and cranky-like, I don’t want another plant.

Let’s blame the funk on the weather. Things get moldy fast when it’s hot and humid. It’s been above 90º here in Minnesota for the last week. The bread I used to make a lunchtime sandwich yesterday, was a forest of green today when I went to go make a sandwich.

Also, the fungus gnats are slowly trying to kill the wildflower card I’m growing. Well, they’ve successfully killed most of the teeny green shoots, but I got one that’s still going like a champ. I’m gonna love the shit out of that motherfucker so it turns into a flower.

Even though I’m kinda sad, I still wanted to tell you about the best, most thoughtful birthday gifts I’ve gotten so far. I say so far even though my birthday was Sunday because I’m waiting to open gifts from Sisters #2 & #4 for when they get here on June 20somethingth.

First up, we have a gift from my nephew Maxwell. He got me a vintage, mid-century modern divided dish (pictured above with Monday’s lunch). It has gold stars on the side, but I took a shitty picture to show him how it’s an excellent lunch dish and not to show him what it looks like because he already knows. He thought it was the relish tray I’m obsessed about. Alas, it was not. But it is still so rad because it’s so thoughtful. Not only did he remember that I love vintage cookware, but also that the relish tray I want is divided (it’s also crystal or clear glass, which is the part her forgot). I love this dish.

And then, to out do everyone, my friend Atom (BFK’s husband) spent the last year saving wheat pennies for my collection. For my birthday he gave me the seven cents he found thus far. Did you know I collect wheat pennies? I have since I worked at a gas station in the 90s. I have 51 of them now.

When BFK told me about it I nearly cried. It’s so damn thoughtful and sweet I don’t even know what to say.

Now accepting wheat pennies for my thoughts,
Jodi

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Hey Darling Ones,

It actively pisses me off that I love the song “Yellow*” by Coldplay. Just like “Creep” by Radiohead and “Crash Into Me” by the Dave Matthews Band.

It would be much easier if I was apathetic to it like the rest of their music** and then could forever place them in the bucket labelled “shit I don’t care about.”

Other things in that bucket: hobbits and all things hobbity (which some how encompasses dragons, Game of Thrones, and Renaissance Fairs) zombies, vampires, gummi anything, Kardashians, Hamilton, anyone with the title vlogger, Harry Potter, sushi and seafood in general, Star Wars, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

You should know I woke up fantastically cranky this morning and even a little angry. In fact, I woke up cranky twice. Once at 2 a.m. and then for real at 7:45 a.m. Both times the second my eyes popped opened my brain said, “Ohhh, we’re cranky.” Right now my brain is full of black scribbles and snorts of derision. I can only listen to grunge music today because the fuzziness and underpinning of anger and general air of dissatisfaction matches my insides.

Is this just a spoke in my menstrual cycle? Am I slowly losing my mind? Could this be my final metamorphosis into an evil supervillain? I suspect this is hormonal, but who knows? The best thing about perimenopause is it turns you right back into a teenager again with the unpredictability and, in my case, a zit on my chin. The indignity of being a human with a uterus is never ending.

Back to yellow. Lately the mechanism within me that desires things has decided to desire all the things in yellow. Just today I was perusing the Internet and pondering Would I be happier if I wore a pair of bright yellow headphones every day? How about if I slept on yellow sheets and made myself a zig-zaggy yellow blanket and surrounded myself with everything yellow? No wonder I’m fucking blue all the time all my things are blue. Yellow must surely be the cure for what ails me, right?

We’ll find out soon enough.

Also, also, ALSO, while I am whining aimlessly, I think I got the fungus gnats again. AGAIN! Those fuckers have been dive-bombing my morning coffee lately and I am displeased. I couldn’t tell which of the Sadness Garden denizens might be harboring the winged beasts, but I suspect it’s Peggy and Stan (the Red Prayer plants). I’m already in the process of defeating the teeny fuckers. They will not take out my Sadness Garden like they did the herblings from long ago.

the sunshine of your life,
Jodi
 
*This song is treacle and cliche and yet whenever I hear it my heart gets heart eyes and turns a little gooey with love. This is the exact definition of the heart wants what it wants.
 
**To be perfectly honest, I also love Willie Nelson’s cover of “The Scientist” but that has more to do with Willie than with Coldplay.

The post The COVID Diaries: A Black Scribble in My Brain appeared first on I Will Dare.

Ha! I’ve been boring all week. I was laid low by a sinus headache for most of the week which just spiralled into a bout of sloth and self-loathing fed by cold and snow. I’ve decided sinus headaches are like migraines without the light sensitivity and vomiting but with the added benefit of not being able to move your head and/or eyes without wanting to die. Good times.

Man, May has been a total bitch so far. However, the sun is shining as I type and two of the three Tibbles are Minecrafting while the third one, wisely, sleeps. It’s 8:18 a.m. and we’ve been up for 45 minutes. In a moment I will make some monkeybread since I’m pretty sure feeding children nothing but a banana for breakfast is not such a good idea.

But I wanted to tell you before the monkeybread & Meet the Press how I fell into a LinkedIn hole. Of all the social networks, LinkedIn is the one I ignore the most. The only time I even think about it is when I get an invitation to connect & I click accept. I always click accept. So LinkedIn must have redesigned or I’m kind of slow this morning because I haven’t had coffee, but I started scrolling through the people I might know or whatever they call that page that comes up after you click accept. Wow. I don’t know what kind of sharing/email scraping/Internet Voodoo they use to make that page, but damn. The page started out with about seventy-kajillion Nerds from The Nerdery, which isn’t surprising, and slowly morphed into a mixture of all the Canucks I worked with at Hell, Inc. and a variety of publicity people in publishing, which is all logical. But then it started to get a little, um, uncomfortable. I counted at least five dudes whose lips I had been closely acquainted with. What the fuck, LinkedIn? Like I needed that reminder first thing on a Sunday morning from a career website.

Also, this is just a reminder that nothing ever is private. The computers know all the things.
Also, two of the stupidest, most annoying women I have ever worked with have VP titles. Apparently they give those to anyone these days.

Nolan and I had this discussion over monkeybread & “The Brady Brunch:”
“It looks stupid,” he said.
“It’s awesome,” I said. “Look at their house & the stereotypical gender roles!”
“That’s what scares me,” he said.
“What?”
“The traditional gender roles. . . and their clothes.”

The Tibbles & I spent some time playing with LEGOs until our patience was spent. At that point Nolan & Liam did some minecrafting, Cade did some straight up crafting, and I settled in to catch up on some work I skipped during last week’s bout of asshole sinuses.

Things were going smoothly until Cade sliced his thumb open with a pair of scissors. Surprisingly, everyone remained calm during the medical emergency. After the photographing (his idea, not mine), cleaning, and the bandaging, Sister #3 & Mamala returned from the wilds of South Dakota where they had been watching Sister #4’s commencement. She’s now a master of communications.

Now it’s time for some bathing, napping, and other stuff that doesn’t involve speaking to anyone until Family Dinner.

That nap never happened. I spent more time than intended watching “Gidget,” which included these gems:
“Oh, Men! If I could only figure out what to do without them, I’d do it!” The female editor of Gidget’s high school newspaper.
“If your best friend isn’t William Shakespeare & he asks you to read something he’s written, go hide in the closet,” Gidget.

Eventually I roused myself from the couch and spent some quality time in lilac-scented heaven while listening to Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). There was an attempt at napping but I decided to blow dry my hair instead. Good thing too, because I was late for Family Dinner. The pizza arrived before I did, and there was a little concern from the Liam, the littlest Tibble that I’d forget the ridiculous chocolate cake. As if.

Family Dinner was spent with a debrief about the South Dakota escapades. Maxwell told me how he’s a junior high radical and Jaycie said that people often stop her in the hall to talk about her Communist brother. He makes me laugh. I will have to remember to start calling him Comrade. He’ll get a kick out of that. He’s very into the whole Soviet thing, especially the propaganda. It’s adorable.

Then I showed Jaycie, my niece, the best way to make a fake-flower head garland thing. She was only semi-impressed with my ingenuity. Also, she said she was going to make me one so we could be matchers when we go to Rock the Garden next month. Then I made fun of her for wanting to see Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes.

We yapped about all kinds of other stuff and I made fun of Sister #2 for trying to make fun of my herb garden (or impending herb garden as I haven’t actually planted it yet).

“You’re just jealous of my passion for herbs,” I shouted.
“No.” She laughed. “I just can’t wait to her about the fungus gnats.”

Then I came home to tell you about all my boringness. Orange you glad you didn’t ask?

The “It’s (Insert Day of Week) and I’m Boring” is a series that Christa and I do to pay homage to the beauty of old-school blogging. (I totally copied this nice explanation from Christa).

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