Hi Darling Ones,

Recently I had a few people ask me about you, the readers of I Will Dare. How many of you are there? Where are you coming from? Are you as intelligent and good looking as people say?

My reply to these people was: I don’t know. I don’t know. Obviously, duh.

For the most part, I ignore the stats and analytics. As I’ve said before, the less I know about who’s snooping around these pixels the better. Knowing the stats can bring out my obsessives side, and it makes me afraid to write honestly. I have all those whosits and whatsits galore installed, I don’t look. My WordPress dashboard gives me a high-level overview of some stuff, but I just look at what the popular posts of the day are and the most popular post overall (it’s this one).

And, for the record, I Will Dare isn’t a commercial adventure so the analytics are of little use aside from nosiness. I got nothing to sell y’all yet (though, warning, when I get a book published I’m gonna sell the shit out of it to you). Nothing here is sponsored (still waiting for the Nutter Butter people to find me). Last year I even removed all the google ads (at least I think I did, there might be some random code floating around in a post). No need for analytics.

When I stopped looking at stats, I stopped answering the Googlers’ questions. Rude, I know. So many people coming here for advice and me with nothing but hard-earned wisdom tinged with sarcasm to share. Since I was asked about analytics, this was one my mind and today I cracked open Google’s Search Console and took a look for questions people searched that brought them here.

I only look at the last month. There was a lot. I broke them down into four categories: music, Dawson’s Creek, height, and misc. Today we’re gonna cover music.

I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man meaning?

This is my favorite Prince song. I applaud your taste and curiosity mystery Googler. Here’s what I said about it right after Prince died in 2016: It’s a song about a lonely, pregnant woman looking for something on a lonely Friday night: a dance, a one-night stand, a new man to love. And in a strange twist that rarely happens in rock & roll the male narrator of the song politely and respectfully tells the woman the truth. He’s not that guy. He could be a one-night stand, but that’s not gonna work for either of them. What does that mean? I dunno, it’s okay to ask for what you want and it’s okay to not give in to what a person wants when you know it’s not a good idea.

What the hell is a real estate novelist? What does real estate novelist mean?

I was shocked by how often this question showed up about Billy Joel’s “Piano Man.” I mean, I thought it was obvious that Paul works in real estate but wants to be a novelist. Or is a novelist in his spare time. I could be wrong and maybe Paul writes novels about real estate, but that would probably be kinda boring.

Who wrote Raspberry Beret?

Prince.

John Krueger Mellencamp songs

This is more of a statement than a question, but it tickled me. It seems obvious to me that this person had only heard The Coug’s name out loud and never saw it spelled. I love they thought he had two last names. These are his greatest hits according to me.

What does thick thighs save lives mean?

It means when you find yourself in times of trouble thick thighs will make your life infinitely better, like cuddling up next to or between them. It means fat women are sexy and worthy of physical affection.

Are trumpet players good kissers? Are trombone players good kissers?

I don’t think I know. I’m not entirely sure of the trumpet or trombone playing history of every person I’ve ever kissed. One would think they would be. Working on that embouchure’s gotta mean something, doesn’t it? If you’re into this kind of thing, I started a playlist called K-I-SS-I-N-G. I don’t think it mentions trumpet or trombone players.

The Replacements best album?

“Let it Be.” I gave this some thought. Both records have eight killer songs and three filler songs. But when it comes down to it Black Diamond > Dose of Thunder; Tommy Get’s His Tonsils Out > I’ll Buy; and Gary’s Got a Boner > Lay it Down Clown. It’s just math.

Did Kurt Cobain wear dresses?

Yes.

Soul Asylum Runaway Train Meaning?

I’m not Dave Pirner, but my best guess is it means that sometimes we get emotionally or mentally out of control (This time I have really led myself astray) and feel stuck at the same time (Seems like I should be getting somewhere, somehow I’m neither here nor there)and you just need someone to listen (Call you up in the middle of the night, like a firefly without a light. . . Can you help me remember how to smile? Make it somehow all seem worthwhile).

Not quite a GenX Dear Abby, but close,
Jodi

The post The COVID Diaries: Answering The Googlers’ Music Questions appeared first on I Will Dare.

First of all, a woman on Supermarket Sweep just said she had a “six-month-year-old” and I wonder if it still haunts her lo these twenty-seven years.

Second of all, I still feel like garbage and my head is pounding. I’m either having a stroke or a brain tumor.

I’m going to blame my weakened state on why I wept through the Prince tribute episode of “black-ish.” Like, for real. I just had tears leaking out of my eyes for thirty minutes. When the family does a dorky singalong to “Nothing Compares 2 U” I had to blow my nose. Twice. I even waved my hand in front of me to try to ward off the, I dunno, adorableness? The feels?

It didn’t work. I cried a little harder and winced a little more because crying with a headache is unfun. I don’t even know why I was crying so much. I wouldn’t expect the pain of Prince’s death to still be so raw nor would I expect fictional characters talking about how much Prince means to them to kick me where it counts. I’m gonna watch it again when I’m unsick and unheadached to see if I still get the tears.

The post Day 113 of 200: And Then I Wept Through a Sitcom appeared first on I Will Dare.

To be honest, having a good day today wasn’t in the books. I knew this at 12:30 a.m. when I kicked Sully out of my bed for the first time. I’m not sure why the adorable pile of curls decided to sleep with me last night, but he did.

When Paco was still alive, and I kept the guest bedroom door closed, Walter used to sleep with me whenever he stayed over. Once that guest bedroom was open Walter decided that guest bed was his. He’s no dummy.

Sully, however, wanted nothing but me. Kinda. Because he growled and pre-barked every time I moved last night, which woke me up. I kicked him out of bed twice, but he was adamant that he needed to sleep on top of my blanket right next to my legs, preferably resting against them.

Woof. It was a shitty night of little sleep. The day greeted me with a sinus headache. Then there was the urgent unplanned project that needed be done as soon as possible though I had other things to do. Then there was the inability to write anything because tired.

But I did get that cute Prince Funko Pop!, so there’s that.

The post Day 48 of 200: So I Had a Bad Day appeared first on I Will Dare.

It’s 10 o’clock on a Saturday morning. The sun is shining and I’ve had my coffee. Prince has been dead for two days now and I’m sitting here listening to “I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man” and crying.

This has been my favorite Prince song for a long time. I even dreamt about the song once.

Why that one? I’m not sure, it just makes me happy. A lot of my all-time favorites make me happy. The Replacements’ “I Will Dare?” Yep. Sugar’s “If I Can’t Change Your Mind?” Yep. The Beatles’ “I’ll Follow the Sun.” Uh-huh.

Even though The Current is all-Prince all weekend, this morning I selfishly wanted to listen to the songs that were more personal to me.

Since the news came out that Prince died, in the quiet times when I’m not actively engaged in something my brain has chosen a random Prince song to sing. It sings it while I make dinner, when I wake up in the morning or in the middle of the night. Thursday it was “Purple Rain.” Friday it was “Pop Life.” This morning it was “When You Were Mine.”

So when I turned on the music I listened to those song with nary a tear, then my heart went for “I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man.” And then the crying. Not just watery eyes, full on, shirt-wetting crying.

Why?

Because how fucking revolutionary is this song? Like conceptually, I always knew what the song was about, but in this reflective time of mourning it struck me about what an amazing song this is.

It’s a song about a lonely, pregnant woman looking for something on a lonely Friday night: a dance, a one-night stand, a new man to love. And in a strange twist that rarely happens in rock & roll the male narrator of the song politely and respectfully tells the woman the truth. He’s not that guy. He could be a one-night stand, but that’s not gonna work for either of them.

And I said, baby don’t waste your time. I know what’s on your mind.

This is a song about turning down an offer of casual sex since it would not be good for the woman because he’s not what she’s looking for.

Prince never demeans the subject of his song. He doesn’t make fun of her or shame her in anyway. In fact, he empathizes with her plight.

It hurt me so bad when she told me with tears in her eyes. . .

It’s a song about a man relating to a woman on a human level and really listening to her.

Fuck.

That kind of thing doesn’t happen often in music for women, especially coming from a man.

Rock & Roll is littered with songs where, as a woman, you have to do a kind of mental yoga around the lyrics. “Under My Thumb” anyone? I always like what Ellen Willis said about how if you could change the gender of the song’s narrator without losing any meaning, she gave the song a pass. So, technically “Under My Thumb” would get a pass. Thank Ellen, because I love that song.

But for most of rock & roll women are often seen as maneaters or sex objects or heartbreakers. It’s not often where they’re treated as humans.

I keep thinking of that garbage Iggy Pop song “Gardenia.” It is catchy as hell, but so much crap. That “All I want to do is tell Gardenia what to do tonight” refrain makes my brain scream in revolt. And the line about “America’s greatest living poet was ogling you all night.” Ugh. Barf.

Maybe on a subconscious level I chose “I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man” because of the thoughtful human interaction, but I doubt it. I like songs with handclaps.

Since Prince’s death I’ve wanted to write about the sexuality of his music and how it informed my own growing up. I’m not there yet. My brain is still working through it, but I think there’s something here, in this song, about how Prince viewed women that made the sexiness of his music feel empowering and not demeaning.

Until then, I’m gonna bask in how amazing it is that Prince wrote a great, fun song about not having sex.

The post Let’s Talk About How Revolutionary ‘I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man’ Is appeared first on I Will Dare.

As soon as I saw the tweet from The Current that there was a death at Paisley Park I started to cry.

Not because I was sure it was Prince. Not that I had a gut feeling or anything like that.

I started to cry because the very idea of losing Prince overwhelmed me, I guess. Had you asked me yesterday I wouldn’t have said, “yes, Prince’s death will make me bawl my head off until I have no more tears and I will spend the day intermittently lost in reverie and mourning his loss on Twitter.”

Prince’s death, and David Bowie’s before him make me sad for music fans who didn’t have Twitter or the Internet when John Lennon was shot or when Buddy Holly’s plane crashed. It must have been much lonelier to lose someone you never met then. Today, the communal grieving of Minnesota has been a comfort.

Jenni’s mom took her to see “Purple Rain” in the summer of 1984. Since her family were relatively rich compared to our family Jenni got to do a lot of things like buy records and go to movies and see Rick Springfield in concert.

The best thing about this was that Jenni was really good at recapping her adventures in the land of pop culture. I remember staring at the “Purple Rain” record as she explained the entire plot of the movie, scene by scene. I had just turned twelve, she was nearly thirteen. Poor kids in the suburbs didn’t care about spoilers, we just wanted to know.

“It was dirty,” she said. “There was a lot of heavy petting. A LOT!”
“What is heavy petting?”
“You know, heavy petting.”

I nodded as if the mere repetition of the phrase was definition enough. I didn’t even know what heavy petting was, but I was pretty sure I wanted to do it.

Prince and his music might not have become intertwined with the sexuality of all the tweens of suburban Minneapolis in the 1980s, but it sure did with us. His music introduced us to sex in a way that was simultaneously fun and dirty. It was accessible and approachable, and most of all joyful. Discovering sexuality through Prince’s music didn’t seem shameful or furtive, the way it did when we hid in the basement and looked at Jenni’s dad’s old Playboys.

I finally got the see “Purple Rain” when it came out on video. We watched at million times. The movie was pretty hot, but the music was hotter and we loved it. We spent an entire summer doing the “I Would Die 4U” dance on the coffee table.

I can’t seem to locate the spot in my memory when Prince entered my life. I remember with exacting detail how and when I discovered The Replacements, Liz Phair, Soul Coughing, Matthew Sweet. It seems that Prince was always there.

Raspberry Beret” was inescapable the summer of 1985. Not that I minded, because I loved that song with all my entire heart. And I spent most of the rest of my life longing for a raspberry beret of my own. As you may remember, once I finally had one, it didn’t end well.

At my 40th birthday party a few years ago I made everyone go around the room and tell us what their first concert was. I forget what most people said, because that was nearly four years ago. I do, however, remember my cousin Laurie’s answer. Laurie, incidentally, was the babysitter who introduced me to rock & roll and is therefore my very favorite cousin forever. She saw Prince at First Avenue sometimes in the early 80s as her first ever concert. Today one Facebook she posted pictures of her “Purple Rain” record that I’m sure she got when it was first released.

The Spectator office had a small area of it walled off by two floor to ceiling walls made of glass. We called it The Bubble. When Prince’s “The Hits 1” came out in 1993, I paid entirely too much money for it at music store in the Oakwood Mall. The day before the next edition of the newspaper came out my friend Trish, a copyeditor, and I locked ourselves in the Bubble and attempted to review disc one of Prince’s Greatest Hits. Mostly we giggled and wrote about how awesome he was, and though we didn’t se these words, we wrote about how Prince’s music made you aware of your own loss of innocence as you finally began to understand what his lyrics really meant. . . She had a pocketful of horses, Trojans and some of them used.

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