It’s an unfortunate reality that not everyone in the Universe can know Jaime Lefcovich. Those of us who do have the pleasure miss her awfully, as she has escaped the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave for the adventure of discovering Thailand, where she can master the art of ayurvedic medicine (which is not Thai in origin, but is what she’s practicing there) while eating all the เนื้อผัดพริก she can fit into her purdy mouth.
Some of you aforementioned unfortunates may be asking yourself, “So what? Why should I care about this person?” to which I suggest you, first, keep an open mind to what I have to say and, second, don’t you use that tone of voice with me!
Herb Shop Records (third building on left, with red top & white pillars)
I first met Jaime when she was employed at the tiny but spunky record store I also worked at, Herb Shop Records, in downtown Nevada City, California. (Which burned down and was reborn as – against the will of its employees, I must stress – Love Shack Records. It was then I left for Los Angeles, at which point Jaime, along with indie sweetheart, Adam Kline, of Golden Shoulders fame, bought the shop and rechristened it After the Gold Rush Records, a much more suitable moniker considering the town in which it exists. It’s now owned by Mat “Lunchbox” Riley and is the best place to find rad used LP’s in Nevada County, amongst other things.)
The first significant thing I remember in my relationship with Jaime was getting in a fight. Because our small store only needed one person manning the shop at a time, the staff communicated everything via a notebook. We’d leave end-of-day briefings such as:
“Jake from Generic Name Distributors called and said that our shipment would be a day late because of the strike,” or…
“Does anyone wanna cover my shift on Thursday? I’m scheduled to have a caesarean section that day and wanna get there early,” or…
“Crazy Pat came into the store today and tried to stab the me with a plastic sword. He also claimed our mannequin was his girlfriend and tried to have his way with her but got confused when he couldn’t find any… orifices.”
Stuff like that. And as always happens in these situations, the notebook occasionally played host to passive aggressive behavior, of which I was guilty when I curtly reminded Jaime that leaving half-eaten plates of nachos atop the "R" section was not cool, and neither I nor Linda Ronstadt, Rudimentary Peni, Redd Kross, Lou Reed, or Joy Division appreciated it. Also, I complained that Joy Division had been misfiled in the R section.
NO CHEESE ZONE
When I returned for my next shift, I opened the notebook to discover an enraged rant, long enough to qualify as a novella, in which Jaime told me that I wasn’t the boss of her and that I wasn’t her real dad anyways and that she was gonna do what she wanted and if I didn’t like it she’d run away with Billy and marry him and I would never see her or my grandchildren EVER. At least, this is how I remember the whole conflict. Jaime may have her own version of the story.
Things only got better, and that fight remains the only one we’ve ever had. Of course, it helps that she developed an acute allergy to nachos. (For real – if she so much as tastes processed cheese with jalapeno bits her whole head will fall off.)
As a music trivia side note, the lyrics in the song This Side of the Blue (by Joanna Newsom) which go:
And Jaime has eyes black and shiny as boots
And they march at you, two-by-two, re-loo re-loo
When she looks at you, you know she's nowhere near through
It's the kindest heart beating this side of the blue
…are about our Jaime Lefcovich. You have to be pretty swell to inspire something like that, you know.
Anyway, as a kind of “miss you much” letter to Jaime, I’ve assembled the following items, all of which are things she loves. You should love them, too. For real.