Jessica Fu
I was supposed to write about Rush this week—to make up some funny quips about Neil Peart and how this jazz band kid I liked would not shut up about him.
But I can’t. It seems trivial. Frankly, that’s because it is trivial. I’ll never pretend this column is more than what it is—a humorous chronicle of my rocky, unsure teenage path to self-discovery, feminism, and a record collection I love. How I learned to shed social cues and trust my instincts and my ears.