When I was younger and had to clean my room I would fold my arms and blink like Jeannie hoping my room would be cleaned through genie-like magic. When that didn’t work, I’d try the Samantha nose-wiggle. When that didn’t work, I’d get yelled at for sitting around when I was supposed to be cleaning my room.
It’s been awhile since I’ve tried either of these tricks. Maybe the magic grew in you as you aged. It makes perfect sense. However, I just gave it a shot and it didn’t do diddly. Damn it.
I’ve missed most of the Olympics. When I tell people this they are surprised. I just say that I keep forgetting about them, but that’s not the truth. The truth is I am in current events denial and eschew the Olympics as a form of self-preservation.
Long about July or so, I stopped watching the TV news. All the economic doom and gloom was causing anxiety attacks. As Labor Day grows ever closer the anxiety has increased and I’ve given up most all network TV-watching lest some sort of news sneak in when I’m not paying attention. This leaves me with “A Different World” reruns and not much else. I still tip-toe around online news sources, and they’re about to get the boot too — but that has more to do with the impending Republican National Convention than anything else.
Oh fuck it. I can’t even craft a coherent narrative. I’m anxious and scared and that’s making me cranky. So cranky that I’ve taken to calling myself Captain Crank. Today has been a rough day. The mean reds have swept in and set up camp here at Supergenius HQ.
Way back in March when I lost my job I decided that I’d be working by Labor Day. I didn’t need to worry until Labor Day. I could take the summer off and be okay as long as I was pulling a paycheck by Labor Day.
Labor Day is upon us and I don’t have a job. I don’t even have any prospects. Hell, it seems that I can’t even get any callbacks anymore. It is terrifying.
But what’s more terrifying is my inability to make a damn decision. I am standing very firmly at the proverbial crossroads and my indecision has left me frozen and fearful. I simply don’t know what I want to do. And, if one more person asks me what I want to do I am going to punch them in the neck.
I keep saying that if I knew what I wanted to do then I’d go do it. But am I just using my indecision to not do anything? And more than that, what is a job anyway. I keep telling myself that I need to redefine what I think having a job means. I’ve said that what I really want to do is cobble together a living writing various things for different people who are willing to give me money to do it.
Yet there’s that nagging doubt. The worry that maybe I’m not good enough to do that, or that there will be no money coming in and then I’ll have to go work at SuperAmerica and Supergenius HQ will get forclosed on and then I’ll live in my parents’ den and turn 40 and then need to shove my head in an oven.
I just don’t know what to do and I can’t seem to work through this or get past it or, well, fucking do anything at all besides lay in my bed reading short stories and intermittently crying.
Generally, I am a big, big fan of Buzzfeed, but they’ve pissed me off twice this week. First, they called Olympic Gold Medalist Stephanie Brown-Trafton a giantess for being 6′4″ and some two-hundred pounds. That got my heckles all up in a tizzy. It feels derogatory. I can’t think of any situation where the giant (and/or giantess) is the good guy/girl. Giant is not a friendly, kind term. Hell, I still have nightmares about that one time in fourth grade (and I was 5′10″) when I wore a green shirt to school only to be chased around by rat boys shouting “ho, ho, ho green giant.” I don’t think I wore green again until I was in my twenties.
And now they’re calling this poor 7-foot tall 12-year-old a Mutant. Well, fuuuuccckk you Buzzfeed. Of the many things we can control in our lives, our height is not one of them.
Ever since I read that Juliana Hatfield had written a memoir that’s coming out next month, I’ve been jonesing for her and The Lemonheads. In my mind they go hand in hand.
Sadly, Eurydice was without any Juliana Hatfield. I knew I had a CD or two of hers in the closet but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. But then today I it came to my attention that if I didn’t listen to Arlo Guthrie’s “City of New Orleans” I would probably die. That wasn’t on Eurydice either.
8,967 songs on the stupid iPod and nothing that I wanted.
So I ventured into the closet. When I packed up the CDs three or so years ago, I put them all in one box. One big, heavy box of weak construction. The storage closet in Supergenius HQ is long and narrow. I am long and wide. Plus, I put some shelves in there making it even narrower. Also, that’s the closet where the kitty litterbox lives.
There I was holding a flimsy box full of CDs and maneuvering over the litterbox and out of the closet. At first my main goal was not to step in the litterbox. Because the closet is so narrow, I couldn’t really see where I was going. My second goal was to make it out of the narrow closet and the narrow entryway so then I could reposition the box before it fell apart.
Not so lucky. I took one step into the kitchen and KABOOM, 500 CDs on my feet. I yelled motherfuck so loud that it scared the cats. Now the tops of my feet are sort of puffy and tender. I can’t see any bruises but that doesn’t mean they won’t appear sometime tonight.
I am, of course, using it as an excuse to curl up in the La-Z-Grrl and do absolutely nothing.
10. Abby Morgan’s Funeral : First it includes “Whatever Makes You Happy” by Paul Westerberg. Second, death and near death makes for good TV (see “Blind School Fire” episode of Little House on the Prairie, Pinky Tuscadero bumps her head episode of Happy Days, and that episode of Scrubs where Brenden Fraser dies). Anyway, badgirl Abby Morgan dies by falling off the pier and at her funeral Jen flames the entire congregation, the death also causes mousy-Andie to lose her mind. Literally.
9. Jr. Prom: So Jack, who is gay, is denied tickets to the Jr. prom by some Christian hooha. Since Dawson is trying to woo Joey away from Pacey he sets up this alternative prom at Leery’s Fresh Fish, and brings Joey as his date. Pacey goes with Andie (who sports some funky glittering alien makeup) and tension abounds. Finally, Joey and Pacey dance and their love cannot be denied by anyone watching. Dawson is outraged. Andie is heartbroke. I am totally cheering because it’s so awesome.
8. The one before Albert Brooks dies: I had a soft spot for ol’ Mr. Brooks. This cranky shut-in befriends young Dawson Leery, after Dawson wrecks his boat trying to save Pacey and Jen from some sort of tropical storm. While working off his debt, Dawson discovers that Mr. Brooks was a big-wig movie director back in like the 40s. The two become BFFs and work together on a documentary about Mr. Brooks. Eventually we learn that Brooks (who is romancing Grams) has some sort of cancer. Brooks decided to die with dignity by offing himself. Before he takes a mittful of pills, he and Dawson have a great conversation where Brooks hugs the boy while Louis Armstrong’s “It’s a Wonderful World” swells in the background. Gets me every time.
7. Pacey and Joey get stuck in a K-Mart: Who hasn’t had a fantasy about getting stuck in their favorite store overnight? The first step in Pacey and Joey getting back together.
6. The Ski Trip: Joey and Pacey do it. Albert Brooks dies (see reasoning behind #10). So awesome.
J. Principal Green resigns: After some rich dirtbag vandalizes Joey’s unity mural, Principal Green expels him. The PTA is up in arms and the School Board calls for Green’s resignation. Joey rallies the Capeside troops and tries to save the principal’s job. Despite what the students want, Green refuses to let the dirtbag back in school and he’s let go. He exits the school as the students line the hall and give him one final slow clap. Makes me cry every. single. time.
4. Christmas at the Leery’s: Audrey was easily the best thing to ever happen to the Capeside gang. After some sort of date-rapesque incident and breaking up with Pacey, Audrey spends much of the fall semester drinking her ass off and singing in Hell’s Belles (Emma’s band). The gang gathers for Christmas at Dawson’s house along with various hangers on including Audrey (who is taking every pill and slugging back every drink she can get her hands on); Todd, the movie director; Natasha, the starlet boinking Dawson; Eddie, Joey’s blue-collar boyfriend; and Joey’s Dad, who was recently released from prison after serving time for trafficking marijuana (or cocaine). Audrey calls out all the phonies in a most uncomfortable, yet hilarious manner, then she drives Pacey’s beemer through the front door.
3. Dawson’s dad dies : Mitch Leery is cut down in the prime of his life by a dude who falls asleep at the wheel. The gang runs back to Capeside to be by the mourning Dawson’s side. Everyone relives their best Mitch memories. Just typing about it gives me goosebumps. Dawson loses his shit when he hears his dad’s voice on the answering machine, ends up crying in his Jeep after the cashier at the convenience store tells him how proud of him his dad was.
2. The Potter girls open a B&B: After their dad burns down the Ice House because he doesn’t want to get caught dealing cocaine, the Potter girls decide to use the insurance money to turn their home into a bed and breakfast. Once the remodeling is complete the Capeside gang try to help the sisters fool the B&B dude from the Times by posing as guests. Of course nothing goes well, the furnace is out and the B&B dude is cold, and the gang spends the night hanging out in front of the fireplace talking about what memories certain smells bring back. Grams talks about how love is the hardest wood or something and that love is being content watching someone you love sleep, or some other kind of Gram-like wisdom. Anyway, this is the first time that we really understand how much Pacey loves Joey, because in the end he just sits in a chair and watches her sleep. Also, there is a dancing in the kitchen scene that makes me cry with embarrassment for everyone involved. I still love this episode.
1. Jen dies and Joey picks Pacey : Come on! Really you had any doubt?
I'm Jodi Chromey, a writer who lives in Minnesota. This is the story of my life. You can reach me at jodi@iwilldare.com.
Minnesota Reads Paul Westerberg.net Bittersweetheart
