Dear Todd,

I was gonna start all coy like, I’m sure you don’t remember me. . . . Chances are if I remember you, you might still remember me. I will cop to having a most excellent memory. I also have no idea what your life has been like since like 1996. So who knows? Memory is difficult to pin down.

Need a refresher? I was the 6’5″ student newspaper arts editor/burgeoning alcoholic with the Superman tattoo in my cleavage and you were a band guy/bartender at The G.I. Sound familiar?

Anyway, Todd, you’ve been on my mind the past few days. My childhood best friend’s mom died on Sunday and it’s thrown me for a bit of a loop. I did not expect that. Grief, like memory, is hard to pin down.

Yesterday after work when I sat down to write about Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret. I tossed on some Soul Coughing because I wanted something sonically busy yet lyrically comfortable. I was looking for something that might distract the grief part of my brain so I could write.

It kinda worked. I did not get the writing done, but composing this letter to you in my head while listening did momentarily distract me from sadness.

I don’t always think of you when I listen to Soul Coughing. I’m not a weirdo memory stalker. I have a long and storied history with this band and the early days of the Internet and one guy who sent me a signed Kurt Vonnegut novel for my 29th birthday. There’s a lot of people with the Soul Coughing tag in my heart.

But you, Todd, you’re the very first who got that tag. Chuck is probably number two because he would always shake his head at me whenever the song would come on.

“Why do you like this so much?” he’d ask.
And I’d just drunkly point to the air, convinced if he looked hard enough he could understand how rad that stand up bass is and he’d see how great this song is the second the high hat tinkled into the bass line.

I don’t think he ever saw it, but he’s still part of the memory.

Yesterday when I tossed on Ruby Vroom there you were the star of the memory. I closed my eyes and as soon as that bass started up there you were behind the bar at The G.I. making me a bloody mary with a side of lemon pepper popcorn. There I was thanking you kindly and begging you, drunkenly, to put on the counting song. Always with the counting song, remember?

Sometimes I would beg you to put Sugar in. Copper Blue, of course. “If I Can’t Change Your Mind,” specifically.

You were so kind to me. Reminding me about 6000 times what the name of the song was (“Casiotone Nation”) and the band (Soul Coughing).

Todd, you might be surprised to learn that not only did I eventually remember the band and the song, but that I still know every single word to “Casiotone Nation.” Still. After 28 years. And they say alcohol kills all your brain cells. I sure as hell tried to kill ’em all, didn’t I?

Thank you for being so patient and generous with the CD player. I’m happy your memory has given me some lightness is in a heavy, complicated time.

Hope you’re doing well or howling at the moon or something equally fulfilling,
Jodi aka Chromes aka Chromey Zone

The post The People’s Republic of Memory & Distraction appeared first on I Will Dare.

Dear Darling Ones,

A surprising number of conversations I have with my friends start like this: “I know you don’t listen to podcasts, but. . .”

Then they go on to describe in excruciatingly dull detail the podcast or the episode they think I should listen to. Most of the time I listen politely because obviously this is important to them. Sometimes though I am not my best self and instead I make obnoxious fart noises while giving two thumbs way way way all the way down.*

Imagine my surprise when not only did I listen to an episode of a podcast while showering this morning, I emailed a friend about the episode. He had told me about the “60 songs that explain the 90s” podcast a few weeks ago, complete with the “I know you don’t listen to podcasts” disclaimer. But he got me by telling me they spent an entire episode discussing Sinead O’Connor’s version of “Nothing Compares 2 U” and, well, apparently that’s all it takes. Since then I’ve been cherry-picking episodes based on if I like the song or artist.

This morning I listened to the episode about Cake’s “The Distance”, and of the four episodes I’ve listened to so far, this is the very best one. Mostly because Podcast Dude seems to have a real relationship and connection to Cake’s music and it’s not just something he’s researching like the other episodes I’ve listened to so far.

What I really, super loved is how Podcast Dude made a connection between Cake and Soul Coughing and the howl of glee I let out while getting dressed was almost loud enough to go back in time to 1996 when I tried to tell Corey the same thing and he refused to hear it.

Corey was a Christian-Slateresque rollerblader who worked at the gas station with me. I, of course, had a huge crush on him despite my aversion to rollerbladers. I was firmly in the skatepunks are the cutest of all wheeled-mammals camp.

Because I’m 95% awkward yeti I have no idea how to flirt. Because I was twenty-three and it was the 90s, I did not think trying to flirt with my co-worker was a bad idea. So I did what every rock & roll loving awkward yeti does, I argued with him about music. My brain was infected by romcoms and shitty tv sitcoms where arguing is the same thing as flirting. Like, why wouldn’t he fall in love with me as I passionately disassembled whatever he just said about the Mighty Mighty BossTones. I might not have know much about love, but I do know that men really love it when you vehemently disagree with them and lay out cogent arguments that make your case.**

Anyway, from 3 p.m. – 11 p.m. Corey and I would talk about music constantly stopping only to sell Mountain Dew and Camel Lights to the citizens of Shakopee or to chat with his roommate or my sisters when they would stop in.

One of Corey’s most endearing traits was that he loved Soul Coughing almost as much as I did and we spent many hours talking about Mike Doughty’s lyrical genius. One of his most unendearing traits was his dislike of Cake. He could not get behind “The Distance” no matter how many times Rev105 played it during our shift. I could not comprehend this because to me Soul Coughing and Cake were like blue M&Ms and green M&Ms. . . virtually the same damn thing with minor cosmetic differences.

I was a twenty-three-year-old absolutist. Everything was black or white. I had no time for namby pamby nuance. I like to think I’ve grown since 1996. However, I have to admit I have not grown so much that I didn’t wish for a flux capcitor so I could go back in time and wave my very excellent rectangle in Corey’s face and shout “I told you so, Soul Coughing and Cake do share a branch on the family tree.”

Unfortunately, Corey got lost to time. I think he went to work in a gas station in Chaska and I went to work at a different gas station in Shakopee. The last time I saw him was in the early-aughts. I was on a first date and we were going to see a movie at the shitty theater in the Eden Prairie mall. I literally bumped into Corey who had a cast on his arm. He was still pretty cute, but there with his girlfriend. It was like awakward yeti to the 107th power. I’m surprised EP didn’t implode from all the awkward I was pushing out.

So the moral of this story is, I was right. He was wrong. I’m bad at flirting, but good at arguing about rock & roll.

Jodi

P.S. I wrote this p.s. as the first two graphs of this letter, but then I made the editorial decision to put them at end since they have very little to do with today’s topic.

I’m cursing myself because I had the idea for this letter when I was filled with caffeine and sunshine and couch dancing to Cake’s phenomenal 1996 album “Fashion Nugget.” Usually when I am so moved I strike while the iron is hot and bang one out all quick and exuberant like. Instead, I tried to be responsible and do the work that people give me money to do.

Now it’s hours later and I am filled with tacos and a setting sun and sleepiness even though I am still listening to Cake’s phenomenal 1996 album “Fashion Nugget” this is zero couch dancing. There isn’t even a shoulder shimmy to be found. A bitch is tired.

 
*This happened to poor BFK recently when she tried to get me to listen to the Obama/Springsteen podcast. Not only did she get the above antics she also got to hear how I’m don’t care for Springsteen and mostly just think of him as a boring John Cougar Mellencamp. I blame MTV for playing the “Glory Days” video roughly 183 times a day the summer of 1985. She also got a small lecture on how I do not care even a little bit about what two super-wealthy men have to say about anything.

I’m a great friend and people love me.

 
**Patently false. Men do not love this and I have been called a boner-killer on more than one occasion because I do this all the time.

I am a great woman and men do not love me.

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Hey Darling Ones,

Ya girl is back. Can I pull of “ya girl?” I tried to pull off “hella” this weekend and I don’t think it worked. I’m not sure if girl works either. I’m a forty-eight-year-old woman and even when I was a girl nobody treated me like one. Being a 5’4″ seven year old does that to you.

So, I saw a human yesterday. It sucked, but I did not hate it. My nephew Max stopped by to pick up some stuff he had shipped here and to wrap some Hanukkah gifts for his girlfriend before joining her family for dinner. It sucked only because I was the kind of tired that makes your brain foggy and has you hating everything. We FaceTimed with the Portland people and I bah-humbugged all over the situation.

“You really are a grinch this year,” Sister #2 said. Usually I’m Christmas as fuck making hats and special treats and generally being giddy about this time of year. This year for a special treat I’m bitter and resentful and don’t want to do anything that doesn’t involve sitting on the couch alternately daydreaming and hating everything.

While I’m still cranky and annoyed with everything I’m doing it with a bunch of joie de vivre today. Why? Because I cratered into sleep at 8:45 last night and did not wake up until 7:30 this morning. I’m like a new woman. I’m like a recent convert to some religion and I want to ask everyone, “have you heard about sleep? It’s amazing!” Because I took a mittfulla melatonin on my way to the sleep crater I had roughly 29 weird dreams. The best one was where I was a really good singer and I convinced these dudes to let me join their band. Also, I downloaded the audiobook version Daisy Jones & The Six from the library and listened to it before I fell asleep.

Hours later. . .

Seems my body has decided we’re going to catch up on every single grain of missed sleep today. I did the very smallest amount of things, ate a couple of tacos, and then my body was ready for a nap. And it worked! More often than not I fail at napping. Now I’m trying not to be anxious about the nap ruining tonight’s sleep.

While I’m still livin’ la vida vivre* here’s four other good things.

• I showed Maxwell my cool, new rechargeable candle lighter and he was as impressed & amazed by it as I am.
• I picked up groceries today and I got a bunch of donuts.
• Burning candles is my new thing (kinda like lipstick) and I finally finished this giant, stinky bath & body works candle I bought 82 years ago and now I have one that smells like cinnamon and cardamom and if this candle were a man I’d change my facebook status to in a relationship.
• I spent most of the afternoon while not napping listening to Soul Coughing and it has made me nostalgic in a very sweet way.

My words burn the air like the names of candybars,
Jodi

*Yeah, I know that makes no sense. I got 780 days of Duolingo Spanish and one semester of 8th grade French from 1986 in my brain. I’m no dummy.

The post The COVID Diaries: I Saw a Human Yesterday appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hey Darling Ones,

I thought about skipping today because I’m so damn tired. Insomnia is kicking my ass and last night was the worst so far. I was doing laundry at 2:30 a.m. because sleep wasn’t near happening and I didn’t know what else to do. So I might not be sleeping but at least all my laundry is done.

Tonight I discovered “Pump Up the Volume” is on Amazon Prime and as a GenX woman I, of course, adore this movie. I don’t think I’ve seen it for two or three decades, but it’s still making me grin and cringe. Christian Slater just danced to a Beastie Boys song and in 1990 I probably thought that was te hottest thing ever. But let me tell you now, it was not good or attractive.

So I was gonna skip today but I wanted to write down two things to remember and I knew if I didn’t do that today then they would slip out into the ether and I’d forget them.

First, someone sent me some dollars for writing here on this website. This amazes me. I have a little section over on the right that says Support in case people want to. So far it’s happened three times and each time it makes my heart glow with happiness, and this time it’s glowing a little extra because I think the person who sent me the dollars is from alt.music.soulcoughing and that just takes me back to when I was a baby on the Internet in the 90s. Like the real 90s as they were meant to be (the real 90s are like 1992-1997 and if you count any other years as 90s you are wrong).

Second, tonight I was discussing mental health with my friend EM. We talked about the constant low-level anxiety and my increasing inability to sleep. “Maybe I have depression?” I asked.
“I don’t think so,” said this woman who knows of depression. “You are a level-headed paragon of mental health.”

I made her repeat it so I could write it down. Then we discussed why that might be and we decided it’s because I cry all the time about everything and feel my emotions as they happen.

Anyway, I gotta go. This is the part of “Pump Up the Volume” where Christian Slater makes out with Samantha Mathis and it’s gonna require my entire attention.

The truth is a virus,
Jodi

The post The COVID Diaries: A Level-Headed Paragon of Mental Health appeared first on I Will Dare.

Everyday I Write the Book, Elvis Costello: “All your compliments and cutting remarks are captured here in my quotation marks.”

City of Motors, Soul Coughing: “Flicks an ash like a wild, loose comma.”

Oxford Comma, Vampire Weekend: “Who gives a fuck about an Oxford comma?”

I Hear the Bells, Mike Doughty: “Glints in the nights commas and ampersands.”

I Love You Period, Dan Baird: “Please, please exclamation point. I want to hold you in parentheses.”

And another one from Paxton Holley in the comments:

Run-DMC, King of Rock: “We’re causing Hard Times, for Sucka MCs, cause they don’t make no songs like these. PERIOD.”

The post I Give a Fuck About the Oxford Comma: A Playlist in Honor of National Punctuation Day appeared first on I Will Dare.