Hi Darling Ones,

I’ve been thinking about The Jayhawks a lot lately for reasons that will become clear at some point in the new future. Just to be clear, I’m talking the rock & roll kind, not the Kansas kind.

Other things on my mind include: brussels sprouts, how much I hated the John Cougar Mellencamp biography (more on that later too), extra sharp cheddar cheese, my randomly sore throat, the fact that Wendell figured out how to get into the drawer where I hide his pipe cleaner friends, sex, and what kind of soup I should make this week.

My brain is full of it.

I thought a ton of things about and around The Jayhawks today. I made notes so I wouldn’t forget. One of the things I thought about was seeing them along with Matthew Sweet and Soul Asylum at Midway Stadium on August 17, 1995. I know it was that night, and not the 16th, because of the “Rhiannon” cover.

My friend Anderla and I drove two hours from Eau Claire to St. Paul to attend this concert. We stopped at the McDonald’s in Hudson on the way because every human being who has ever made the trek from Eau Claire to the Twin Cities in the 90s was required by law to stop at the McDonald’s in Hudson. While there we ran into a bunch of the Cross Country boys who were headed to the same concert.

Since this concert was twenty-six years ago, I don’t remember most of the details. I remember smoking cigarettes on the way home while singing along to Joan Osborne’s “One of Us” and “Rhiannon.”

I lost my shit when Soul Asylum busted into the Fleetwood Mac song. In my memory none of my twenty-something pals were that familiar with the song, but I knew every word. We were pretty close to the stage, if I remember correctly, which was not a thing I did often because people get very angry at very tall people in front of them at concerts. There I was dancing and singing along to “Rhiannon” with my whole chest. I remember Casey, one of the Cross Country boys, leaning toward me and shouting into my ear, “Sing it, Chromes!” He smiled at me and nodded his head in approval.

And I fucking did. It was a glorious moment where I temporarily dropped all my inhibitions, where I danced even though I knew he was watching. Oh, to be twenty-three again.

I’m like a cat in the dark and then I am the darkness,
Jodi

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Dear Darling Ones,

I have just finished reading Sally Rooney’s new novel Beautiful World, Where Are You, and wow does she know how to write a book. She’s an Irish writer who crafts these novels where not a lot happens. When you try to describe them they sound utterly boring, and yet when you finish reading them your brain is mush, your heart hurts a little, and you feel a little dazed like, what in the hell just happened.

Rooney writes quiet books about people who have vast inner-turmoil and mostly mundane lives and shitty boyfriends and interesting sex. It’s the quietness of her books that makes me realize how much I expect all art I consume to have capital B-big capital D-drama. Where is the assault, the affair, the death, the cheating, the scam, the betrayal. I expect it to arrive in the very next scene or sentence.

What else can there be worth reading if not Big Drama? As you may remember, I was recently castigated for not bringing enough drama. Yes, I am bitter. It’s as though I didn’t spend the last year cutting a vein and sharing so many dark corners for an entire god damn year. Fuck that.

Rooney’s book was a nice reminder that things can be dramatic and feel dramatic without all the drama, and that there’s a lot of beauty in the mundane.

Take today, for instance. Until I got all hopped up and angry about that shitty comment from August, I was having the most lovely day.

• I woke up late. I folded and put away laundry while listening to my imaginary boyfriend Rob Harvilla’s podcast.
• I had donuts for breakfast.
• I made bold statements on Twitter about “Misery” by Soul Asylum being the most GenX song of all songs and then I argued about how right I am. Seriously, go listen to the song & watch the video. The factory making Misery CDs? COME ON! This song is GenX in musical form.
• I tossed together a sausage & white bean soup and put it in the crockpot.
• I ate chocolate chip cookies and drank coffee while listening to my Spotify new releases playlist, and then promptly pre-ordered the Adia Victoria record.
• I wrote the start of this list in my planner so I would remember it next time I have a bad day.
• I had a meeting with a new client where we discussed people we had in common and I got to say about my (twice) former boss Mark, “He’s a smart, kind, and creative man.”
• I laid on the couch sniffing the slowly cooking soup and finishing the Sally Rooney book.
• Later I will east soup and watch Nirvana Unplugged to honor the 30th Anniversary of “Nevermind” and I will think fondly of the 90s and a young man named Tony.
• And even later still I will start reading the biography of my imaginary boyfriend John Cougar Mellencamp.

It’s been a lovely day, Darling Ones, and these days are the hardest to share. There was nothing spectacular. Nothing dramatic. No heartbreak or falling in love. It was just a day absent of angst and loneliness where my own company was enough and I took care of myself in the best ways possible.

Thank you for listening to it,
Jodi

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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.

Hello Darling Ones,

Back in the olden days, in the year of Brach’s Red Hots Cinnamon Candy Canes*, I had a recurring bit called It’s Sunday & I’m Boring. What happened in those posts seems pretty self-explanatory, right?

Guess what? Today is Sunday and I am boring. It’s just like the old days again.

8:10 a.m.

I woke up because the coffee maker was beeping. I was in the midst of a dream where I was involved in a big sexual harassment case at work and my boss was Ian, one of the editors from my college newspaper. Also I worked with Drew Barrymore, because of course. I only got up because I had to pee and my goal was to go back to sleep for hours, but that didn’t happen. There are many levels to waking up in my world.

1. Opening your eyes, stumbling to the bathroom, and then going right back to sleep.
2. Opening your eyes, stumbling to the bathroom, and instead of going right back to sleep you think of every shitty thing ever until you decide to practice in hopes that will help you get back to sleep. This one works 7 out of 10 times.
3. Checking your phone one-eyed because you don’t want to put on your glasses because you might go back to sleep, but you just wanna check your phone real fast because someone might have emailed/texted/DMed during the night to profess their undying love (this has never ever happened not once in my entire life and yet. . . ).
4. Putting on your glasses and reading twitter to see if anything exciting happened but don’t sit up because you might still go back to sleep.
5. Sitting up, deciding to take a shower, and then running shivering, wet, and naked back to bed because you might still go back to sleep.
6. Saying fuckit, sitting up, putting on your glasses, and riding the bike while doing your Spanish.

Today was a 3+5 combo platter which found me moisturized and dressed putting peanut butter on a bagel by like 9:30. This is impressive because as of late I have not been opening my eyes until at least 9 a.m. Ya girl is tired lately.

10ish a.m. – I dunno 2?

I stared reading Consent by Vanessa Springora while eating breakfast and drinking coffee, but then I stopped because it made my stomach hurt.

After that I spent some time looking at what’s on sale at Hy-Vee this week and figuring out what sort of snacks I’ll need for the MN Boys’ State High School Hockey Tournament this week. Also, I need to buy food for Easter dinner because that’s gonna be a thing and I kind of want ham, so I’m not too salty.

Because I am old and afraid of forgetting things I wrote what time all the hockey games start in my calendar. I also put the Top Chef Portland premiere in there, and so I didn’t feel like a total loser I added tomorrow’s to-do list too. I’m almost like a grown up with very important appointments to keep track of in my calendar, which is mostly used for random song lyrics, things that happened so I don’t forget I existed that day, and words I like. Sometimes quotes from books. For instance, “She gave him a kiss that tasted like Starburst & tobacco,” Kevin Brockmeier.

I’m super literary, yo.

With all that out of the way, I literally got down to work. I popped on my cans, turned up the music, and spent a few hours putting together a new website for one of my clients. It’s a lot of copy/paste and click/drag so I really got to get some good singing in. I listened to Soul Asylum’s “Grave Dancers Union” in its entirety. Then I listened to their song “Cartoon” three times in a row because it’s one of Wolfdogg’s favorites. Then I had a mini-SA discussion on twitter where I told them how “Marionette” is my favorite Soul Asylum song because a cute boy sang it to me in an Olive Garden in Eau Claire in 1995.

One of the songs that shuffled up was “Possum Kingdom” by The Toadies, which is one of those songs that is super dark and menacing while being super fun to sing. Like, dude, I do not want to see your dark secret behind the boathouse, knockitoff.

However, this got me thinking about angels, the word and the. . . creature? I know zero things about angels other than they have wings, float around on clouds, and maybe are the embodiment of dead children. Yes, I learned everything I know about angels from a Hallmark card. Anyway, I made a mental note to learn more about angels and see what the deal is there.

2ish to 4:10 p.m.

Work was starting to bore me so I made a grilled cheese sandwich and ate it with some chips & salsa. Then I laid on the couch and read Consent until I had a rage attack over an old man telling a fourteen-year-old girl in a relationship with his fifty-year-old colleague that she needs to shut up and take it because it’s an honor to be the ol’ perv’s muse and women need to know there place in supporting artists.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Once I calmed down I took a bit of nap, got up, and finished reading the book (It’s really short). It made my stomach hurt the entire time.

5 p.m. – 6:26 p.m.

Once I finished the book I decided that I should write some words here, again to prove my existence. I made the header image featuring a picture I took of Wendell, the vengeance demon, this morning while I was still deciding how to wake up. Regardless of the wake up method, Wendell demands petting as soon as I put on my glasses. I also included a line from the song The Modern Leper by Frightened Rabbit because I love the song, and duh, I’m telling you all about what I did today.

I started writing all this out in excruciating detail and then I had to get up and swat at Wendell who was licking some of the plants in the Sadness Garden. While I was up I decided to clean a potato and pop it in the oven for dinner. I also cleaned and chopped up some broccoli that get steamed and dumped on top of that potato. There will also be a cheeseburger on a pretzel bun because I haven’t had a cheeseburger since The Year of Think Outside the Bun. My thinking is firmly inside the bun.

What does the future hold?

Well, that cheeseburger for one. I’m hoping to finish up “Blossom” tonight because man, am I sick of it and yet I need to finish it because I’m a weirdo like that. I’ll also watch Bob’s Burgers, because it is my favorite and makes me happy inside my heart. Like last week? When Teddy kept talking about his underpants and I died eight times because, I AM TEDDY. Do you want me to tell you about my underpants? Again? Because I told Sister #4 all about them when she was here. I will do all this TV watching while making magic lanterns for BFK’s blanket or getting caught up on my woefully-behind temperature blanket. I will also check twitter about 183 times and play Disney Emoji Blitz 5 times.

Unless, of course, something more exciting happens.

Until tomorrow or maybe Tuesday, who knows? I can’t really predict the future,
Jodi

*This bit is stolen from David Foster Wallace’s subsidized time in Infinite Jest.

P.S. Right now Wendell is doing a super tight snuggle right up against my thigh and he looks so cute and he’s so warm that it’s making my ice-robot heart a little melty.

The post The COVID Diaries: What I Did Today appeared first on I Will Dare.

First of all, before we begin I’ve decided (arbitrarily) henceforth and forevermore that if you were born during or after 1980 you are not a part of Generation X. I’m sorry if this upsets you, I wouldn’t want to be a Millennial or GenY either. But I’ve met a lot of you 1980s babies. I’m related to some of you 1980s babies. You are not GenX. It doesn’t mean you aren’t lovely people, you just aren’t my generation. The 1990s you experienced were vastly different from the 1990s I experienced. It’s okay, we have different cultural touchstones.

So if you were born after 1979 and then try to make a case for how Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is the GenXiest song of all GenX, I will condescendingly pat you on the top of your head and then suggest you go outside and play. I can do this. I am very tall, old, and cranky.

All the rest of you Xers, I expect passionate and vitriolic debate and many proclamations about how utterly wrong I am. In fact, I can’t wait to hear all your arguments and cries of “WTF? UR DUM.” Just kidding GenX, I know you can type in complete words. Anyway, there is nothing I love more about being a pop culturalist than the really pointless arguments. That’s not sarcasm at all, I really do love them.

So here it goes: “Misery” by Soul Asylum is the definitive Generation X song.

Now, I’m not saying it’s the iconic song. No, we will forever be stuck with “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and I have accepted that fact, even though I don’t think the song pertains specifically to our generation and we get roped in with it just because it was so popular and grunge and blah, you remember.

And I am not saying that “Misery” is the best song. Hell, it’s not even the best Soul Asylum song (“Marionette”) or even my favorite Soul Asylum song (“Bittersweetheart”), but it is the most GenXy song of all the GenX songs. Here’s why: it deals with misery and slackery and factories.

The song is all about being in control of the sell out and sticking together in our shitty situation despite how frustrating it is. It’s SO GenX. And there’s a certain acceptance of our fate in it, the fact that we came of age knowing we would be the first generation to do shittier than our parents. We will always be busy making misery.

If you were born after 1980 you probably don’t remember that for a long time, during most of our 20s, GenX was referred to as slackers. We were the slacker generation. The no-good, do nothings, lay abouts, dubbed thusly by the Baby Boomers who, of course, hung the moon and lit the stars and generally made the Earth the pleasant place it has become (please detect the sarcasm there). And because we were a gaggle of unsure, low-self-esteems twentysomethings we’re all “Okay, whatever Boomers we’re slackers and we suck now would you kindly shut the fuck about Vietnam.”

See, they didn’t think we were paying attention but GenX is a lot smarter than they gave us credit for. We saw how their peace, love, and hippiness turned into Reaganomics. We lived through it. And it was frustrating and it put the fear of selling out into us. Did you satisfy your greed? Get what you need? Was it only envy? So empty.

GenX has always been about discovering something genuine. It’s why being called a sell out or a poser was the worst thing ever and why we don’t wholly understand the Millenials’ ironic hipster schtick.

Anyway. I’m getting a little long-winded here and I need to wrap this up. So to reiterate:
Soul Asylum’s “Misery” is the definitive GenX song because, as I see it, it pokes fun at the greedy Boomers while also accepting that we are going to be a generation forever busy, because we won’t be able to retire, and we’re miserable fucks because the 80s scarred us for life and we’re kind of cranky misanthropes now and well if we gotta we might as well make a buck off all this total bullshit.

So, whatta ya got? What song do you think is the definitive song of GenX? There’s a slim chance I could be wrong here, and I’m open to new proposals.

UPDATE: Something I forgot — it’s not just the sell-outty nature of the song that makes it the definitive GenX song it’s that coupled with the acceptance of the shitty future.

UPDATE II: Something else I forgot. Part of “Misery” getting the definitive nod is that it’s got that soft loud soft sort of grunge, guitar-fueled feel to it. Even though I poo-poohed “Smells Like Teen Spirit” I do, in fact, believe, the definitive song should have a grunge feel to it.

Update III: If you append “just sayin'” to your argument I am going to ignore you because I don’t know exactly what that little bit of word vomit means. So if you’re “just sayin'” does that mean you don’t care if I have anything to say in response? Is whatever you are just sayin’ rhetorical? Is it a snarky, passive-aggressive way to say “I’m smart and you’re dumb?” I have no idea.

Update IV: I get that a lot of you have never heard the song “Misery.” It shocks me. At first I thought it was just my midwest bias, but then I did a little research and according to Wikipedia, the song was pretty popular.

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