Is it possible to be nostalgic for nostalgia?

An addition to the charcuterie of mental activity

Hi, thanks for dropping by for a weekly dose of Disco Diaries. We’re on issue #2. Just getting started!

The unseasonably cold spring weather is finally letting up here in the Cincinnati, Ohio. The oncoming warmth and humidity brings on a default summery hopefulness, but also a new wave of virus-related disappointment as the lack of summer activities and events becomes more real. 

I go back and forth between seeing the cup as half empty and half full. It’s not always easy to end each day, each thought, on an up note. But this week I was reading Maggie Nelson’s book “Bluets” and she shared a Ralph Waldo Emerson that gave me some ease in accepting this:

“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.”

All colors are valid, and all hues will pass. 

Random nostalgia 

Anyone else experiencing random nostalgia? My guess is yes, since research shows that nostalgia is actually a natural way of responding to boredom, loneliness, and anxiety. Our oft bittersweet memories of the past tend to kick in when we’re uncomfortable or afraid as a means to connect us to a time when we felt safe, happy, and close to people we care about.

My attention span is low, and my daydream habits are real, so nostalgia is a natural addition to the charcuterie of mental activity. But during quarantine, my nostalgic tendencies have been on overdrive. 

It seems my subconscious sensed a need for greater distraction and comforting recollections. It queued up the full playlist of every random memory ever and turned it on shuffle. I’ll be in the middle of something, then suddenly transported to seemingly unimportant places, places so irrelevant they may as well have been stored in the un-emptied trash bin of my mind. 

One example is the bathrooms at an outdoor music venue near Dayton, Ohio called the Fraze Pavilion. If someone asked me to name a memory from the Fraze, I might have mentioned twirling drunkenly to the Beach Boys, or the summer I worked there and saw random acts like Martina McBride and Alice Cooper for free, but I definitely wouldn’t have said anything about the bathrooms.

So on the one hand it seems very odd that my mind took me to the bathrooms. On the other hand, it makes perfect symbolic sense, if quarantine is the bathroom break and life is the show.

It’s annoying to have to miss a few minutes of a concert to go to the restroom, but often unavoidable if you’ve had a few beverages. In my random memory of the bathroom, I’m speed-walking down the ramp so that I’ll miss as little as possible, passing strangers along the way. Almost everyone is relaxed and easy-going because, a) summer, b) live music, c) alcohol. It's a break in the night, but also a chance to reflect on my own good mood, and to enjoy the anticipation of returning to the show and my happy friends and family there with me. 

Ball pits 

Ball pits have been on my mind, and I couldn’t tell you when or why they showed up there. 

If memory serves, there was a ball pit at our local Burger King, where my family enjoyed the occasional dinner. My favorite order was chicken nuggets and fries, eaten together at a 1:3 ration, dunked into ketchup.

In my mental journey to the ball pit, the first detail that comes to me is the smell, which may be a collage of plastic, body odor, and greasy food. It’s the same smell as a Chuck E. Cheese, which contains the same ingredients. 

I approach the pit. Will I leap in? Ease in? When you’re bigger, a jump is a risky choice, because you might hit the bottom of the pit in an uncomfortable thud. Better to get in gently and then bounce around. The balls are cold, visibly dirty, grimy to the touch. All details that never weighed on me then.

I would love to be so carefree again. This week I vowed to stop lamenting that the lightheartedness of childhood is over, and start finding ways to bring a light, playful feeling into the context of now.

Soft feet 

In the midst of this shit, some media outlets have encouraged us to look at the silver linings. We’ve all seen the (debunked) videos of dolphins in the canals, or heard news of empty beaches in India making it possible for more baby sea turtles to hatch. 

Well, I have another caboose of positive change to add to the good news train, which is that my feet are softer than ever, because I never have reason to wear anything other than Birkenstocks for more than an hour per week. 

But I would give that up to play a set of music in uncomfortable boots. 

(like these:)

[picture by Jenn Noga!]

A song for you 

Yesterday I put on an old favorite — Dusk at Cubist CastleI by Olivia Tremor Control. Speaking of silver linings, this album has served as my stand in blue sky for many grey times in my life. The music is whimsical, pretty, and earnest. Favorite tracks include “Define a Transparent Dream,” “Holiday Surprise,” and the last “Green Typewriters.” Much of their music, and their website, is full of what I perceive as freeing, nonsensical creativity, which is very refreshing in a time when every post, comment, or gesture begs to have a purpose.   

Fortune cookie

A broken nail is the perfect time to plan for the future. 

Thanks for reading — goodbye for now! 

Katya