March 08, 2005


1. I am about four epochs late catching the John Darnielle bus, as I realized this afternoon, I like his writing .

2. My brain is being teabagged by my vivid, best left forgotten high school memories (Sorry, I had to use a cringe-worthy analogy to really punch it home.) It started yesterday with Britt blogging about a prom I didn't remember being at (I wasn;t there, I was playing a show, says Britt), and the 10th grade vietnam-of-puberty flashbacks continued on through today, as I am listening to the Dinosaur J reissues for hours at a go, for review assignment.

While every Dinosaur JR album up to & including Green Mind is a shimmery rainbow of amphetamine'd Rust Never Sleeps riffs made so hooky they never exit the skull once they enter, each one of those same albums is also inextricably tied to the memory of some nameless dude who never liked me back . Or, rather, a series of nameless dudes, all bound by their bell-shaped grunge hairstyles, unebbing devotion to J Mascis and polite disinterest in me.

I remember hanging out with a dude in the woods (what all young Minnesotans do for fun), whom I had met at a Dinosaur show. We had hung out a few times, and I was hoping our woodsventure was going to go into some romantic territory... you know, us two sitting there on a log, at dusk, staring at our matching Converse hi-tops, him regaling me every bit of J. Mascis related fact or gossip he had stored up in his brain for a full 90 minutes (a common indie-rock courting ritual of the day). Me, hoping that nodding attentively was enough to charm him, and make him forget what I was aware of in every spec of my DNA: That despite being 16 I easily passed for 12, that I had braces and that if I let him know I knew more about Dinosaur JR (or all of his favorite bands for that matter) than he did, that it would intimidate him and make him not want to hang out on this log with me, so it was best to act a little docile and try not to show my braces when I laughed.

Finally when his Dinologue ended, he confided to me, with a very purposeful drama, about how the summer before, his girlfriend broke up with him, and he tried to kill himself by taking 25 tylenols . After his ball-less OD attempt, he immediately realized he wanted to live and so he got his mom to take him to the emergency room, where they pumped his stomach. I think he thought that sharing some vulnerable moment would bridge the emotional boy-girl chasm between us, or that it woould further demonstrate he was a deep soul and not a secret jock. Instead, it just made me think he was a total pussy for taking so few aspirin, and a dick for scaring his parents. Everyone knows 25 aspirin will not kill you. If yr going to go through the trouble of the "cry for help suicide attempt" - take 50, throw in some of yr parents 'scrips - at least make it worth yr mom's frantic trip to the hospital. With that confession, all desire or ability to span time on that log and listen to him talk about why Dinosaur was better without Lou Barlow floated into the ether.

And so, now, we move onto Bug and continue to till the emotional swamp that hold all of 1991-92's missteps with socially stunted grunge loving virgins of the Twin Cities.

Posted by Jessica at March 8, 2005 08:28 PM | TrackBack