Flag of Defeat

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Permanent Flag of Defeat

Ernest Hemingway described the protagonist’s sail in The Old Man and the Sea as furled like a permanent flag of defeat. The description has stayed with me to this day because who doesn’t feel like that.

Conspicuous consumption is the coin in which reputations are made. We have been taught the most important thing is to be successful, and we have learned this lesson well.

I did not go to my five year high school reunion. The scars from my public education experience were too recent to voluntarily go back into the fray. Let’s just say that if Henry the Sixth would have personally tried to convince me to revisit my high school by saying “Once more into the fray, dear friends. Once more”, Shakespeare’s play of the same name would have had a different ending.

Against my better judgment, I went to my ten year high school reunion. I was the king of lowered expectations that night. They wanted to charge us something like $50 a plate. I decided to crash after spending $15 at the Bombay House for much better food. Jaron, Jason, Mike, and I went in our sweaty gym clothes after a session in the rock climbing. After all, I skipped out on yearbook day my junior year to go bouldering up Little Cottonwood Canyon, so there seemed to be a symmetry.

It would have worked out well, but our wives decided to shower and change into nice clothes. All men basically look like losers compared to their wives, but this was taking things a little too far. Also, they decided we didn’t have time for the Bombay House (sigh).

I attended Hillcrest High School, which means we had a large graduating class. In Utah education, we pack them deep and sell them short.  The people that showed up fit in a smallish room of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. I think most people did not come because A. Who wants to pay 100 bucks to drag your wife through an evening of embarrassing stories about gym class, and B. Our images of success end up making most people feel left out. Everybody there was dressed to impress, whereas my group would have easily earned the worst dressed award.

I spent most of the time talking to the friends I came with for the simple fact that they were my friends. Sure, there were a couple people it was neat to see again, but there is always the twenty year reunion for that. It was high school all over again: people were trying to outdress and boast, only most of them now had more resources with which to do so.

As I had quit my teaching job to earn my doctorate, I though it would be appropriate to tell people I was unemployed and living off of my wife. Some people try to keep up with the Jonses, I prefer to let them all migrate elsewhere so I can enjoy the peace and quiet. In looking at my peers that night, I decided I would rather be a failure than play their games.

In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Permanent Flag of Defeat”. Since Hemingway already came up with it, it has the added advantage of taking zero creative effort. We are supposed to recycle, but when we do it on term papers people call it plagiarism.

It has the feel of a counter-culture, I’m-a-young-rebel-and-I-don’t-have-to-succeed-in-the-corporate-version-of-the-American-dream statement. If you think about it, though, it falls apart in the long run. Even bands that try to make the I’m too cool for all that common stuff statements are lame sellouts. Consider the All-American Rejects. According to their name, they must be the best at what they do on a national level. What happened to all those rejects that got cut in the first round?

The guys in this band must have really made it, which kinda detracts from their band name. Besides, their music is just more nauseating teen trash pop. If people like it, the music can’t be all that cool. This rule is as well established as Newton’s laws of physics. Think about it: how can anyone other than Rage Against the Machine can really pull the anti-establishment thing off while being played on stations bigger than KRCL?

It all started because they have an amazing band name. It wouldn’t be the same if they were Politely Dissenting Against the Machine. Nobody is afraid of the Dread Pirate Wesley.

We could probably trade on George Clinton’s P-Funk and refer to ourselves as P-flag. Although the name is cool, I’m not sure I want to pigeonhole the band as purely funk. Besides, what do we do when someone tells us to ‘get the funk out’? Does that mean they want us to play our other stuff or more funk? Life gets too confusing. This is probably similar to my parents trying to understand what we meant when we called something ‘bad’. Great, I’m starting to relate to the older generation. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.

Games Theory

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Games Theory

Some people play video games all day. Some people approach life as a game. There is some good theory suggesting that we are governed by a set of rules known as games theory.

Richard Dawkins, in his classic book “The Selfish Gene” postulates that much of our behavior is driven by our genes. As a male, the excuse is infinitely appealing (although it seems like a lot to pin on one missing leg on one pair of the 23^rd chromosome).

The argument is that we are massively self-interested. As our children and other family members share a good deal of our genetic code, we are interested in their survival as well as our own. This is his explanation for altruism in the animal world, and possibly generalized into the human world.

It gets a little complicated, because we can tell our genes to go jump in a lake. For instance, I want my daughter to do well in life, but this is not because it will perpetuate a good deal of my unique genetic code. I’m interested in her being able to afford a really good old folks home.

Basically, games theory suggests there is such a thing as an ‘evolutionary stable strategy’ governing how animals behave. For example, consider food. One could gather food, or steal it. Since the animal world does not have ethical philosophy (at least so far as we know), there should be no guilt over stealing. However, if most people started stealing, there would be nothing left to steal, and the animals with sharper gathering skills might survive long enough to have offspring that are good at gathering. At some point, the ratio of freeloaders to hard workers balances out.

I have seen the same thing at work. No matter how frustratingly incompetent a boss is, there are enough competent workers to carry the day. They usually get fired, but the job pool has a higher percentage of competent people than the company, so it usually works out well enough for a company to continue limping onward year after year.

Perhaps this is the same idea behind Adam Smith’s famous invisible hand. Somehow we think that the free market is going to balance things out. Even in the absence of moral compulsions to do the right thing, businesses might just do so because it ends up working out.

Perhaps businesses would have figured out they can get better work out of a 40-hour employee without government regulation. Perhaps Detroit will design 50+ mpg cars because they will gain a greater market share in the brave new world of exponentially growing gas prices. I’m not holding my breath, but it is comforting to think that things might just work out even intervention from a bigger bully.

In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Games Theory”. Even though the name is based on serious evolutionary thought, we would probably play music similar to They Might Be Giants.

It would be fun, but I’ve always seen myself as more of a brooding, misunderstood genius. I don’t think anyone else sees me that way, but self-delusion and ego are important in the music industry. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.

Atypical Anglos

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Atypical Anglos

My nieces and nephews, as well as my own progeny, are going to have vastly different experiences in elementary school. Said formative experiences are going to create a lifetime of pain for the women of my family.

My nephews have ‘normal’ names: Ben, Corey, Sam, and Will. My Nieces are Alta and Osie, and my daughter’s name is Ksenia.

You might wonder how I’m defining normal. Many in educational circles, psychology, and many other fields have taken stabs at what normal is. The answers are complicated, comprehensible only to people who hold advanced degrees in a specialized field of study.

I’m a simple man: I say normal is whatever Bill Gates doesn’t underline in red. Alta, unlike her two cousins, escapes the red spellcheck mark of shame by virtue of the popular local ski resort. However, she lives with her family in Ohio, and you can’t snowboard there anyway, so she will probably get her unhealthy dose of torment.

Some parents choose family names for their children as a conscious attempt to connect the past to the future. As my wife spent time in Russia, she chose a perfectly normal Russian name for our daughter. Some parents choose the name a child will take with her throughout life on the basis of a deeper meaning. Others choose a name because they like the sound.

My wife tells me that women have been known to hear the word myconium in the hospital, and like the sound so much they name their child accordingly. This is unfortunate as it refers to the product of a child’s first bowel movement. The torment that child will undergo until she turns eighteen and can legally change her name will be unspeakable.

Which leads me to my point; parents should name their child with one thought foremost in their mind: what name will prevent my child from being made fun of in elementary school? Once you have found the answer, you have found the name.

Let me give you an example. My name is Thomas. You wouldn’t know it because in elementary school the other kids quickly learned to refer to me by the British spelling (Thom), and add an extra s at the end. You get the picture, and it ain’t pretty. A little foresight on my parent’s part would have prevented me from getting a name so easily turned into ridicule.

Some people might say my elementary school social woes were driven by poor social skills, but I’m pretty sure it was mostly the name. The two most popular boys in my grade, Wade and Doug, had perfect names (hence the popularity).

Granted, Wade is a little different than we were used to, but he came from California (I think), and the name conjured images of the ocean, something that was cool to little boys because man-eating sharks lived there. Anyone with a name like Wade obviously had survived many attacks and lived to tell about it. You just don’t make fun of a kid with a name like that.

Doug’s name could be easily changed into Dig-Doug, which was one of the first computer games. As the childhood obesity epidemic has shown us, video games are sacred and holy to most children. No boy in his right mind would make fun of a name that sounds like a video game.

In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Atypical Anglos”. As I am lacking in musical skill and creativity, we will be a cover band. I am choosing the name purely to minimize the likelihood of being asked to play ‘Freebird’ as an encore.

This is a good thing, as the guitar part is hard. However, come to think of it, who is the typical ‘white-bread’ musician? John Denver? Pete Seeger? Bob Dylan? John Lennon? In my moments of honesty, I’ve got a better shot at playing some three chord folk song than I ever will of rocking out on a Jimi Hendrix tune.

Bill Gates and his spell-checker goons don’t like Jimi’s name, and underline it in red. Why does corporate America not recognize one of the Rock Gods? Atypical Anglos is a stupid band name anyway. Why do we have to draw distinctions based on race? Why can’t we just all hang out and rock out together? Why can’t we “let Jimi come on over” as he asks in _______? On the other hand, I have a better shot at playing a ‘typical’ Anglo folk-rock song. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.

Fighting for Beer

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Fighting for Beer

My buddy just got home from Iraq yesterday. He was already three sheets to the wind by the time I made it to the party at 9 pm. I certainly don’t blame him. Getting back from camping in the desert for a year, on the other side of the globe from his wife and children, is as good of a reason to celebrate I can think of.

In the boy scouts, the most we ever camped out for was a week, and the only shots fired came from the other camper’s slingshots. This was before any of us ever heart of Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs). We only found one tarantula, and that was on the last day so it couldn’t screw up our sleep for fear of its friends and family.

Aaron, my friend, was particularly intent on getting drunk because he hadn’t had any alcohol during the year of his deployment aside from a brief furlough. I guess he was trying to maintain his composure or keep his game face on over there. Kind of like poker players not drinking during a tournament or boxers who refuse to have sex before a fight.

Aaron, so far as I know, refused to have sex while overseas as well. This is mostly due to the fact he was mostly surrounded by other sweaty and sunburned men. Combine this with the lack of alcohol, and I feel confident that he remained as celibate as one can be with the occasional solitary trip to the showers.

His wife told me that he reenlisted. That means he has another six years of service. In my humble but nevertheless accurate opinion, that will certainly mean at least another year away from home, risking life and limb in an inhospitable climate with a few people that would prefer he and the thousands of his friends not be there so that whatever atrocities can continue unabated.

There is a story that has been retold about a man who falls off a cliff. He prays to his higher power, and is miraculously caught by a tree. Ignoring the several improbabilities and impossibilities in the narrative, the man gives thanks and praise for his life, and asks if the holy he, she, or it could spare another moment to rescue him from the cliff. A voice instructs him to let go.

I imagine that is where Aaron is about now. His life has been spared so far, but when presented with the choice of safety in suburban America, he chose to let go. We got in a fight over this; partially due to the fact that he was drunk and partially due to the fact that it has been years since we’ve had a good wrestling match. I was reminded of the fact that he is not stopped by arm bars and choking because he doesn’t feel it until the next day.

            He will continue to serve his country because he wants to be happy. Instead of a privatized notion of well-feeling that we associate with the term today, he is going something closer to what the ancient Greeks meant by the term: a total life lived well – a state of well-being.

He wants to do something worthwhile and noble. Children are now getting access to education and other basic human services, partially because he is there risking his life. I am skeptical that America is really in a position to make lasting change for the better given the lies and torture, but skepticism is what I do best. Maybe historians will forget all the problems because somehow peace in the Middle East was achieved.

But, then again, maybe historians will forget all the horrible things American has done because we have hit the economic, social, and physical limits the human race and the earth will sustain. It certainly feels like it, but then again, look at what happened under Stalin. It seems like the world should have gone belly-up a long time ago.

So, what are we really fighting for? At the end of the day, who knows? In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Fighting for Beer”. We would probably be stuck playing heavy metal during 80s night, and most people wouldn’t get we have angst about more that the crowd at the bar.

I’m already a misunderstood star, and we don’t even have a drummer.

On the other hand, the crowd at eighties night is only getting older, balder, fatter, and less interested in going out at night, even on a weekend. Besides, I didn’t really like the 80’s that much the first time around. Why would you choose to do a retro decade that sucked so much? If we weren’t looking to repeat the screw-ups of the Regan-Bush the first years, what are we doing voting Republican and back in Iraq? Maybe we should find another historical context that would, in the words of John Stewart Mill, create the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest amount of people.  Or at the very least include drinkable beer for everybody that wants it. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.

Acceptably Soiled

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Acceptably Soiled

I have never gotten along with my parents. You might say it basically boils down to the fact that we are different people. This explanation doesn’t really explain anything as I’m different than pretty much everyone. However, I’m now a new parent and the shoe is on the other foot. As a new parent, I have come to realize the fundamental tension between me and my parents is the fact that they are my parents.

First of all, they took me out of a climate controlled environment in which all my needs were met, and everything has been downhill from there.

After I was born, I had to learn things like how to breathe and swallow milk. At this point, I’ve pretty much got it down. But back in the day it was tough, and the consequences of failure were high for someone who didn’t have control of his own bowels.

But the thing that was really problematic, that created the real lifelong tension between me and my parents, was the issue of clothing.

As a parent, I now know that changing baby clothes is a difficult job. I am stronger than my daughter, but she is stronger willed. Besides, she can sleep at any time. I am relegated to the hours of two am to five am on a good night. Let’s just say she hates having her clothes taken off as much as she hates having new ones put on.

Take two months of sleep deprivation, combine it with my daughter’s incessant bowel movements, and you have the foundations of a lifetime of hate.

My daughter, as I’m sure I did, sometimes soils her clothing. However, I have found my notions of personal cleanliness and hygiene warped to the point that I am starting to debate the exact amount of fecal matter that would necessitate a change of clothing for my daughter.

This means that my parents did the same thing to me, and I truly believe this is at the heart of our problems. Knowing that my parents probably were up late one night with a crying baby (me) and debating the merits of changing me versus letting me wallow in my own filth is definitely the root of our interpersonal issues.

Sure, some people might say our differences might be attributable to other things, like the fact that we have nothing in common. This is probably true, but really more a symptom than a cause.

In light of these recent revelations, I’ve been thinking of starting a band. We could call ourselves “Acceptably Soiled”. We would probably play angst ridden grunge music in coffee shops.

On the plus side, I still have many of my flannel shirts left over from the early nineties. Unfortunately, my idea hasn’t been cool for about as long. The first time I walked into a chain grocery store and realized that a Nirvana song was being played to lull the shoppers into spending, I wanted to cry.

I settled for making sure my bald spot was sufficiently covered by my pony tail. It took all my concentration to keep from singling along with the song as I’ve seen my dad do to old James Taylor songs in the supermarket. Besides, I hate that man. I reject him and his doctrine of acceptably soiled clothes as my daughter will one day do to me. Maybe I need to continue searching for the perfect band name.

Untitled

In Search of the Perfect Band Name: Untitled

            The thing about it is that every great band has got to have a great name. Sure it is possible to have a good song or two without a great name; just look at U2. Bono reportedly hates the band name, and I hate hearing the same song over and over again with a different title.

            There are certain predictable questions a band member is going to have to answer over and over again at every truck stop, pit stop, radio talk, and taco stand in America. It is not like it is a mystery: where did the name come from.

            How you answer that question will likely define who you are to the audience. Consider your options:

1.                  Well, we were all really drunk one night. We were broke and scrounging through the ashtrays for smokeable cigarette butts. Then we saw it on the side of the local Stop ‘N Go: “Cheap Christmas”. We all stood and stared until the patrol car drove up.

2.                  “Twits in drag” was basically the dumbest thing we could think of.

3.                  We thought it would impress girls if we said we played in “Satan’s Tricycle”.

4.                  We all happened to be watching the same daytime soap opera in different apartments when we all heard the phrase, “You are just a washed-up hustler.” We were all washed up at the time, and “The Washed-up Hustlers” just kinda stuck. We are taking suggestions for a better name in case we ever get rid of this one.

Clearly the most important thing an aspiring musician such as myself can do is to come up with a band name so good it won’t matter what you sound like. I plan to make a significant portion of my life a quest. I am in search of the perfect band name.

The easiest, and therefore best, thing to do is to examine the past masters of the art, and cull what I can learn (read steal) from the rock gods before someone else comes up with the perfect band name.

Let’s look at some of the greats. You, of course have your classic artists like Ozzie and Cat Stevens. The former is not someone I’d like to be like in fourty years, and the latter left the fame, women, and fans behind to pursue his spiritual path. I’m much more transparent than that.

Besides, I will not be known by my name, or an assumed stage name. It implies I’m a solo artist. To wit, I’m not much of an artist, and there is not a snowball’s chance I’m going to stand up in front of more than ten people without a couple other guys to take some of the blame. Even Jimi Hendrix had a band of gypsies. I will definitely need a band name.

Metallica? Can I put –ica at the end of another object? Ironica? Garagica? Formica? No, no, and no.

Then there is AC/DC and STP. What common abbreviations can I turn into something cool? If I get big enough, fans are going to abbreviate my name anyway. I think if you go triple platinum the arbiters of rock give you the nod. Even DMB and BNL are on the list with RAtM. How about SCUBA? No, most people don’t even know it is an acronym anymore. LOL? WWF? WTF has possibilities, but then Tipper Gore will slap a naughty (parental advisory) sticker on your albums and Wal-Mart won’t touch your work. Just to prove we music has come full circle, AC/DC just announced the aforementioned Evil Empire will have exclusive distributorship on their new album.

I could have a name that describes how the band meets or communicates, like the Postal Service. The story is the band members sent each other music parts through the mail, and that is how they ended up ruling the Indie scene while members of the band broke into the mainstream as Death Cab for Cutie. This ended up causing many fans much confusion. The short version is the Postal Service is better.

So maybe we (I don’t have anyone else in the band yet, but with the right name they will come running) could combine the abbreviation with computer chat all call ourselves IM. Fans will probably give us a hard time: you are what? No, we are just IM; it is short for instant messaging. Think of all the crap The Who had to put up with over this very point.

As much as I would have to admit it, boy bands do make a lot of money. What about Minudo? Nobody ever remembers them, likely because they are named after a soup. Everybody remembers the Backstreet Boys and N’Sync, but those band members are probably still trying to live that down. Maybe I could combine the ideas with the band name Soup Kitchen Harmony.

Really, I want to be cool enough to be fairly underground, but well known enough to make some money. The Shins are probably a good example. The Flaming Lips also spring to mind. Burning prostrate is right out, even though one in six men will develop prostrate cancer. Just because most people can relate to your name doesn’t mean you want them to. Simmering Subcutaneous fat is out for the same reason. Large and previously untapped market segment potential, but you can fit less of your fans in the venue.

In light of these recent revelations, I’m going to have to keep searching for the perfect band name. Stay tuned, but don’t drop out.