name game

a song whose title is a name you would want to have

I like my name. I enjoy having it.

My first instinct would be to say I like it and I have never wanted to change it, but I suppose that is only partially accurate. As a child I used to loathe my last name because the French spelling always seemed like a misspelling, something to point your nose at, or even just a frustrating Spelling Bee played with strangers. My comfort with my middle name was an even worse childhood embarrassment offense, as it seemed each substitute teacher seemed destined to become perplexed by my three first names and offer them all at once, revealing that middle mistake. I ultimately decided to buy back that affront toward my childhood by first professional and now personal use of my middle initial, because I find it balances out things nicely.

Nicknames have never stuck to me. Only two or three people have ever really attempted to drop them on me. One by an old friend from the fourth grade who grew up with me through all sorts of awkward years and would give me the inside joke of a name in the tenth grade after, you guessed it, a substitute teacher thought my name was Jamaal. Another few short-lived nicknames arose during my early years of college while I was sowing the oats in downtown Orlando and throughout UCF. These were names that implied that I was rather misunderstood, but nonetheless suggestive of something special, and were given by people whose faces are vague memories and whose names are unlikely to be recalled today.

I suppose on-line handles such as the one I have here that was inspired by a B-52s song or the film noir homage one that I once wore all across IMDB.com are the closest things to nicknames I have been able to muster in my first thirty-some-odd years. Now maybe someone will say something in passing. Recently a few have tried to ease up some of the duplicate name energy at my workplace, but with very little luck.

I think people, including myself, have really come to realize that my name just fits.

Sage advice teaches us to never go back and to look back only in guidance. I say, for the most part, why would we ever want to? I know enough movie paradox twists to recognize when the outcome is always poor if not outright cataclysmic. I can't think of a more fitting name than the one I have. This is maybe one of the best things I gained from my parents. I sometimes feel hard-pressed to find other things I have gladly inherited from them. I wouldn't say guidance was always their strong suit. I could say I got a name that makes me proud and a hundred examples of how I don't want to live my life - sad as that sounds.

But half of the fun with this exercise is to link to some fine tunes, so let's not disappoint. I wish I were called:

Jòga Carnival Bravado Sinequanon

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jòga

In my estimation the nerve slicing, intensely dramatic and consequently romantic second track on 1997's Homogenic stands out as Björk's most powerful and most organic song. Only a special sort of musical work evokes emotions and a visceral response by the mere thought of it. For me, this is one example. The song has a hell of a lot of meaning for me, and as an innocent bystander to its sheer measure of beauty, it has seeped into my depths and knocks me over with an emotional sucker punch.

CARNIVAL

I was given a 35mm camera as a high school graduation gift. It was the most apropos present I had received up to that point. Everything about my direction in life and where I found myself fitting was wrapped up in the concept of art, composition, and observation. I loved that camera! It became a bit of a companion. Unfortunately these were the days that pre-dated digital cameras by many years, which not only interfered with the finances a lot more, but I find that people were far less receptive to being on camera than they are nowadays.

That summer estranged 10,000 Maniacs lead singer and songstress Natalie Merchant released her debut solo record, whose release kicked off with the meandering single Carnival. The perhaps overly literal, but visually striking video is shot in black and white and follows Natalie through the side streets of New York City, professional grade camera in hand, taking gorgeous shots of the oddities and regulars found in the everyday. This song and its corresponding video express so much romanticism for New York and for life in general, and both genuinely speak to me.

BRAVADO

n. defiant or swaggering behavior
a pretense of courage; a false show of bravery.

Overtime very few have understood my connection to the oft-maligned Rush. According to their terrific 2010 documentary, Beyond the Lighted Stage, they are the third highest selling band of all time, just shy of the Beatles and the Stones. But as singer/bassist Geddy Lee jests, they are the world's most popular cult band. No one admits to liking them in the least, but many are quick to express their dislike. And many others I've come across would say they've never even heard of them. One evening last year, I was surprised to find myself in a detailed Rush conversation with an attractive Goth girl who expressed to me that they are her favorite band.

They are the band for the closet fan. They were never in the least cool, except to their fans and, much like the moody idiots who drool over the Smiths or those who can't get enough fuckin' Dead, Rush fans also have their stereotype. They are commonly understood to be socially awkward IT types who can't get dates. I, for one, am none of those things. Yet I own nineteen of their albums. Sure I've only seen them live once, which isn't particularly hardcore. Even though they released their last studio album in 2007 and are due a new one this year, since they formed in 1969 and put out their first couple albums in 1974, they are frequently considered classic rock. However, even the local classic rock station can't see beyond playing one or two predictable tracks.

Their loss, I say.

SINEQUANON

si·ne qua non
n. an essential element or condition

And finally, we have Sinequanon by Hybrid, that unappreciated British electronic act whose music is caught somewhere between the club and the concert hall. This track especially has the peculiar distinction of including not only Hybrid's brand of very listenable classical trance, but its paired with an extensive rap - in French. It's strangely beautiful to me, even though I don't understand word one. But the song's title cuts straight to my core. I feel we can all hope to be indispensable and necessary in our lives and in the world. Perhaps the goal is lofty. Maybe it's shrouded in vanity, but I think it's an integral part to striving to wake up everyday.

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