A couple of things happened to me today after
Dan Krook posted his
Romeo and Juliet article, foolishly claiming that the Dire Straits
version of the song was superior to the Indigo Girls cover.
First, I was insulted at work. It was one of the insults that make you feel horrendous about yourself, too. With most insults, I am either blasé or pissed off. With this one, though, I was upset. I could barely even deal with the rest of the day at work. This person, with daggers of cruel pity stabbing from her eyes, said, "Oh, Jason. I feel sad for you. I just read that strongbrain article on Romeo and Juliet and it's obvious that there is truly only one version of that amazing song -- it's pathetic that you don't know that song. I am disappointed in you, Jason. I thought you were cool."
I was buried and remained listlessly useless the remainder of the day, moreso than usual I mean. I was reminded of the time that, trying to do a good deed for my mother, I vacuumed the ashes from the fireplace with one of those vacuums that you plug into the wall. Well, it was winter and there was a fire the evening before and hence still some burning embers. The same burning embers that got sucked through the wall and smoldered the carpet in several oh-so conspicuous places. I got the same pity today that I got from my mother that one time, just before I was assigned to chop, carry and stack several chords of wood that winter. This girl completely demolished my self-esteem.
But that was only until work was over and I started telling my girlfriend Julie the story. She couldn't make a judgment on which song was better because she had heard neither version. So, I started singing. Singing the Indigo Girls version, mind you. I sang a whole verse to her over the phone with my tone-deaf ear and equally tone-lacking larynx.
After I was through, she said, "Jason, you're so hot right now. Get over here quick so that I can have hot, kinky sex with you." Usually when she says that and I rush over there, she's all like, "Just kidding, can you take my trash out?" But, this time, I think she was serious.
And then later after work, when I downloaded the Dire Straits version for research purposes, I called her back. I sang her that version, but she stopped me halfway through and said, "Dude, stop. Can you come over and take out my trash? No, don't. I'll do it myself. Yeah, um, I gotta go. See ya."
*Click*
So, what version would you choose? The happy version? Or the frigid version? Pretty simple, right?
Regardless, Dan Krook owes a lot to this argument we've had over the years. He told me many years ago, before he met his current girlfriend who rules, that he scored major points for telling this story to some girl he took out for dinner. I forgot on which side of the Romeo and Juliet fence she landed, but the story is teeming with mature, yet manly, sensitivity that some women find attractive in a guy. I think he also used it as a pickup line in a bar once, too! "Hey, I argue with my friend about which is the better rendition of Romeo and Juliet, Dire Straits or Indigo Girls. Wanna come home with me?"
I think, Dan, you owe me thanks.
You're welcome.
Anyway, the song itself. As I said, I downloaded the version that Dan likes, the Dire Straits one. I wasn't going to viciously rebut his argument without doing the honorable thing first, which was to give his favorite version its due analysis. This analysis consisted of closemindedly letting it play in the background a few times and getting annoyed every time I felt that my honor bound me to play it one more time through. Yes, I'm all about the purity of the scientific method and double-blind studies with a solid control.
The Dire Straits version is plain and completely unobtrusive. But it's such a great poem, as Dan correctly states in his article. I want to be obtruded upon! I want passion! I want to feel the angst of the words! The Indigo Girls sang the song with emotion, and closed the song with one very large crescendo that left Amy Ray almost breathless. The Dire Straits lead singer, whoever he is, was most definitely not breathless.
I love to sing, despite my limitations. And I don't like to sing monotone. I like to yell the lyrics, at the top of my lungs. And then, when people are around, I'll pull a Michael Bolton from
Office Space and roll up the windows and quiet down. But, then, when I'm alone again, I'll even rewind the song and start over so I get enveloped into the passion of Indigo Girls. And then I'm left breathless at the end.
I just don't envision that ever happening with the Dire Straits version. Therefore, it sucks. Sorry, but it does.
Oh wait, no it doesn't. It entirely depends on which version you hear first. It's like the book and the movie. If you read the book first and then see the movie based on the book, the book is better. If it's vice versa, the movie is the more enjoyable of the two. This is known as the Chapman Principle and it is applicable here as well. That's it. "End'a story," as Tony Soprano often says. I may come to respect the Dire Straits version if I ever remove it from my trash, but, in my view, the brilliance of the Indigo Girls can never be transcended.
I don't care if I'm relentlessly pitied and insulted until the day that I die. I can still call my girlfriend and sing her the Indigo Girls version for fun, naked times. Like that visual?
SOME EXTRA BRILLIANT COMMENTARY FOR YOUR READING ENJOYMENT:
1. I learned how to play craps this weekend in Las Vegas, by far the most enjoyable game to play. It's rambunctious, almost the complete antithesis of blackjack. When I play blackjack, everyone is so somber and concentrating and entirely dependent on superstition. I always feel that if I hit on a 17 people will get angry with me. But, sometimes I really just wanna hit on a 17! Not so with craps. There's raucous applause and cheering and high-fives abound for the dice-thrower-person who might be on a roll. I won $200 Saturday night before losing $125 back the next day. Good thing I bet $100 on black in roulette three separate times (won twice) or else I might have had to pay for this vacation. But, as it turned out, I spent 24 straight hours in a town where I had many, many drinks, slept (barely) in a nice hotel, hung out by a pool with waterslides, saw crazy people (this one guy at the craps table was so drunk, but still throwing continuous 6's and 8's. But, he was doing something wrong, so some casino-dude in a suit was trying to correct him. But, all this guy would say in return was "Don't tell me how to win, man. Don't tell me how to win. I got it." I hugged that guy later for making me so much money.) ate too much food, enjoyed the spectacle, and didn't spend a dime. In fact, I had that ridiculous time and left with $150 more than when I started. I love that town ... but only when it pays me $150 to visit.
2. Yeah, that's it. I got nuthin'.
