Argyle Nation

As I’ve written before, I spent much of my youth trying to emulate those older than me without having a firm grasp on what, exactly, I was trying to ape. While cleaning out my parents’ basement, my mom stumbled upon another artifact from my childhood that perfectly encapsulates this trend.

Back before I knew how to read or write more than a handful of words, I wanted to be an author. My sister was already an aspiring writer, and I’d watch her fill up notebooks on car trips with story after story. Not to be outdone, I decided to do the same. It’s just that I didn’t use, you know….words.

In Chapter 2, the plot thickened. And by thickened, I mean that it used another actual word: my name. Not clue about the context.

In Chapter 3, I blew the door off the story by introducing “No,” “Ma,” and “Major Dan” (or was that “Ma Jordan” split over two lines? Only the author knows)

In Chapter 4, I tried to break free from the constricting shackles that my, uh…”words” had me in, and added an illustration to really drive home my point…whatever that was.

Chapter 5, which I’m calling the Epilogue, found me providing a gentle conclusion to the story by switching from aggressive pen to a more tranquil pencil. Or I ran out of ink. Your call, really.

Looking over this lost masterwork, it’s clear that, as an author, I peaked young. All I can do from here on out is try in vain to recapture my former glory.

On today’s (slightly late) episode, the guys talk about their ambivalence toward the new iPad, their strange driver’s ed. experiences, Justin Bieber’s new line of greetings cards for “Just Because” moments and Taco Bell’s latest and greatest invention. Also: a reading of Jordan’s proposed screenplay for the upcoming Ouija board movie leads to a discussion of the only board game movie that matters, Jumanji.

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On today’s episode, we talk about a recently-discovered VIP podcaster-colleague, how Twitter is the new Pop Culture Cliff’s Notes, Dave’s idea for a Netflix dating service, fake phone calls in public, and publishing a novel on a piece of fruit.

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On today’s episode, I get really mad about “clever t-shits” and “2 Broke Girls,” Dave comes up with a new sure-fire book idea, “The Hipster’s Dilemma,” and we both debate whether or not the new “Generation C” moniker is stupid (spoiler alert: it is). Also up for discussion: the scientist who messed up a potentially world-changing experiment, texting with your parents, and YouTube’s attempt keep you from ever using your TV again.

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All right. This one’s admittedly kinda strange.

A few weeks ago, Dan was on the cusp of losing 600 text messages he’d already paid for as he stared down the start of a new billing cycle. So as not to have them go to waste, I advised him to text me a song. Instead of just re-typing an existing piece, he wrote a series of weird stream-of-consciousness rhymes that I absolutely wanted to turn into a song because that’s exactly something I’d want to do.

And so that’s what I did yesterday.

Here’s the song, and below are all the texts. I had to revise them slightly to fit into the song’s structure, but left them alone whenever possible. FYI, my nickname for Dan is “The Gambler,” based on the ubiquity of that Kenny Rogers song on his playlists freshman year of college.

Short version: I love ‘em.

Long version: I understand lots of folks disagree, either because of an earnest preference for an artist’s original, “definitive” take or because it’s simply the zeitgeist to thumb their nose at covers by default (and sometimes you’ve got a bit of a venn diagram overlap going on).

And, yes, sometimes it’s just an infatuation rather than a true love affair. Sometimes the newness of the arrangement, the promise of something better mixed with something familiar, creates a slightly dishonest emotional connection in my brain. But who can blame me? Who isn’t taken with something that simultaneously calls back the past while teasing the future?

I look at it like this: the original recording is a starting point, and, no matter how good it is…it can’t possibly “do everything” that the song is capable of. It’s “1.” And 1 may be very good, and already explore a lot of options and possibilities locked within the structure of the melody and the changes. But it’s a launchpad. There are a thousand possibilities for each song, and for someone like me, who has such a hard time finishing my own stuff, this way of thinking is liberating.

Good cover songs show us the unlimited possibilities of music, and how just because you’re adhering to the basic structure of a piece doesn’t mean you have to necessarily take the approach you think you have to take (MAYBE THAT ALSO APPLIES TO LIFE LOLZ BIG PICTURE).

Also, the idea that the first interpretation is the best has always confused me. This doesn’t just apply to others re-imaging an artist’s work, either. Often times when a new song has become an old one, after years of evolving on the road, it takes on a greater focus and brighter shine and provides a more interesting experience than the original one-off track ever could.

And yes, to be fair, there have been plenty of terrible covers of great songs. But I meet too many people who are so infatuated with the idea of being seen as artistically pure that they refuse to admit that an outsider’s re-imagining of somebody else’s art could ever have merit.

To me, the song and the recording are two different beasts, and their individual greatness is often mutually exclusive. Let one’s brilliance feed the other’s inventiveness.

There’s nothing like a romantic getaway.  The excitement of travel, combined with the presence of the one you love, is a powerful aphrodisiac.  However, we can’t always be on vacation; eventually, we have to return to our normal, everyday lives.

But what if there was a way to feel like you’re constantly on one of these excursions?  Gentlemen, I give you “Ode de Motel,” a fragrance meant to remind you—and the one you let get close—of your time away from home.  Patterned after that distinct smell of new carpet, cleaning supplies and an unrelenting air conditioner, “Ode de Motel” will use the powerful memory trigger of this pleasant* odor to make you feel like you’ve always just arrived on vacation. 

* Actual pleasant reactions may vary.

Going to the eye doctor is stressful because I feel like I’m going to get the answer wrong to a question without a right answer. “Is this lens better, worse or about the same?” my doctor will ask and I’ll struggle to remember the subtle differences between lens 1 and 3, followed by the nuances that made lens 2 stand out from lens 4. And, since there is truly no wrong response to a question only I can know the answer to, I realize my stress level over an eye exam is both A) stupid, and B) probably indicative of some deeper issues. But dammit if I don’t still worry.