Tuesday, November 3, 2009

A Thing That Wasn't, But Now Is

This is one of those secret projects I douchily hinted at several months ago.




A Thing That Wasn't

I'm so stoked we can finally start showing this around. It's so strange seeing this, because it's different than seeing an article I've written go up somewhere. These were characters and stories that didn't exist, and now they do. It's, like, a "thing" suddenly, when it used to just be ideas Michael and I were batting around. It's hard to explain exactly what type of weird this is. I had the same feeling when my first play was put on at Rutgers. When I figure out the best way to articulate it, I will. For now, I'll just say "Weird Awesome Crazy Exciting This Didn't Use to Exist and Now it Does Because We Made it."



Is This Real?

In the comments over at Cracked, more people than I anticipated have said "I hope this is a real series." Well, it is. It never occurred to me that anyone wouldn't think it was real, so it's actually kind of hilarious to me. We've apparently established a history of "Making shit up and pretending it's real."
The first season debuts next week, (Nov. 9), and we'll put out a new episode every single weekday until we're out of episodes.



Holy Shit What A Lot of Work

Fourteen episodes, written by Michael Swaim and I, shot by Abe Epperson, edited by Michael and Abe, with me occasionally behind them, meekly offering suggestions that were, in hindsight, largely irrelevant.
We spitballed ideas for about 40 episodes, whittled that list down to about twenty, and divided the ideas in half and we each scripted. It was written, edited and rewritten in a little under a month. We cut the weakest or weirdest scripts to get us down to 14 episodes. It was filmed over two weekends, one of which was a holiday weekend. The shooting days were long and with little room for breaks. We shot in the office, which meant I spent 19 straight days in the office, working for Cracked, writing and filming this thing. Abe's still doing graduate work for film, which means he was editing on nights and weekends.
It is the most work I've put into and the most fun I've gotten out of anything.


Bonus

The diehard readers of this blog, (all two of you?) will remember Tommy, the fictional older brother to Hank Donahue in Bartender. Agents of Cracked has a pretty badass opening theme song and Tommy, my real-life older brother, wrote it. Can't wait till you hear it.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

A Tale of Two Daniels

Some of you might not know this, but there's another Daniel O'Brien, and he happens to be an an Olympic Gold Medal-winning decathlete. My Dad, himself an avid runner, used to joke about how I'd be the next Olympic Gold Medal-winning Dan O'Brien. (I make dick jokes for the internet, Hi, how are you?) Two things came out of having this name:

1)Even if I defied all reason and DID make it to the Olympics and further punked logic by winning a decathlon, I would still, when the history books were written, not be the first Daniel O'Brien to do so, I'd be the second, sprinting along down a path that was already cleared for me. Which really makes the feat itself unimpressive and, at the end of the day, is probably the reason I never got into Olympic Gold Medal-winning in the first place.

2)Growing up, there was always a preexisting Daniel O'Brien who was objectively more famous than I was.


I accepted both of these facts with the sort of helpless, "That's life" attitude you can expect from someone in my position. OtherDan's got some pretty heavy accomplishments under his belt, but what can I do? The game may be rigged, but you play the hand you're dealt anyway, knowing that the player across from you sits with the odds heavily in his favor and that, in this game, the best you could ever hope to be is "second best."

Well, I am second best. But, and here's the kicker, I'm also first best. According to Google, which in my estimation sits as the unrivaled barometer of fame and popularity, I am now more popular and, as a result, much much better as a human being, than the other Daniel O'Brien. That's right. Time was, if you Googled "Daniel O'Brien," your first result would be that Olympic fella. Google it now, and what do you get?




Fucking Bam! Numbers One and Two, all me all day, baby, I got that shit on lockdown. I beat that son of a bitch twice. What you got, Other Dan? Mr. Yesterday's-News-Dan-O'Brien? You got NOTHING!


There are pictures of you with Gold Medals strapped around your stupid neck, but the first image in GIM is still a poorly photoshopped image of me sitting at Conan O'Brien's desk. That's an O'Brien double-team fucking your ass up, and there is nothing you can do about it. KAPOW!

Nice calf muscles, O'Brien, where did you get them? At the third place store? YOU SUCK! BLAM!

Yo, Danny Boy-I don't care how fast you run, it won't change the fact that you came in third to me and you'll never know your biological parents! EAT MY ASS, LOSER! BOOM!

Oh, and that's also true, he's an orphan. So technically, I beat him in popularity AND parent-having because he is a quitter who likes fucking pigs. FUCK YOURSELF, KABOOM!

Hey, Less-Famous-Daniel-O'Brien, 1996 called- They said FUCK YOU, IDIOT! I RULE!

I've been Salieri to this asshole's Mozart my entire life. It's his turn to taste Google's salty balls in his mouth for a while.

Good luck sleeping at night, Number Three. Don't ever fuck with me again.


UPDATE:
As several people have pointed out in the comments, Google customizes searches, evidently, and the Olympic D-Bag is still the number one result for the majority of searchers. I am going to choose to respectfully ignore that.

You can't touch this, you fat idiot!

Friday, October 16, 2009

Two Conversations With Two Different Davids

First, Depressing Conversation with David Wong:

Some context- I'd written an article over the summer, a series of email from Cyberdine's new Tech guy, (it was about Terminator), and it did well on digg. A few weeks ago, ONE of the emails went just as popular on digg. Even though a) it didn't have the context of an entire article and b) the audience had already seen it, it went popular. People still liked 1/7th of an article, (which certainly made me feel great about spending all that time making an entire email chain, let me tell you). If you're like me, you think about the internet, the future of journalism and everything in between on an almost constant basis, (there's a massive "Where I Think The Internet is Heading" blog post coming some day), so this conversation with Cracked Editor David Wong should depress you.

Daniel: Link.
Daniel: That got popular again today. One image from an article that already went popular 5 months ago.
Wong: huh
Daniel: Why did I even write all those other fake emails?!
Wong: Last month, for the first time, two of our top 10 articles were photoshop contests
Wong: the attention span has shrunk beyond lists now
Wong: now they just want one item
Wong: X reasons X happens is too much
Wong: they want one reason
Wong: one image
Wong: one entry
Wong: we're like the wall street journal to the new generation
Wong: old and stodgy with tons of confusing text
Wong: they want tweets
Daniel: I wonder, if someone was trying to publish a book online the way you did, if they'd be as successful if they tried it today.
Wong: sure, just do it 140 characters at a time

Eesh.

And now for something completely different,Pointless Conversation with David O'Brien:

Context- If you read the book on this blog, you know David as my brother. January Jones is an actress on best-show-on-television Mad Men and recently did a super hot photoshoot for GQ. In this retarded-pun-fille email conversation, you find irrefutable proof that David and I are brothers.

David: Did you see January Jones in GQ!?!? I'm sure you did, but holy shit. Its worth another mention anyway.
Daniel: More like “Tits worth another mention.” Another BOOB mention. And that one part, where she was super hot? So awesome.
David: January Jones, man. More like February Jones, right? Am I good at this? Let me try again. More like, January BONES! Like, I've heard January BONES really well! More like, March Jones. Or March Bones. As in, I'm gonna MARCH my BONES right into your ... etc.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Too Many Words Devoted to Robert Zemeckis's Back to the Future

Like any healthy, red-blooded American male, I set aside a certain amount of time every day to consider Back to the Future. Sometimes an hour, sometimes an entire afternoon, (I'm a purist, so I don't like being tied to a strict BTTF time limit, in case my spirit demands more of me). It's a terrific movie, to begin with, but it of course raises interesting and at times deeply troubling issues. There are superficial issues that most folks probably realize after one or two viewings. For example, in the alternate (end of movie) Present Day, there's the tricky issue of Marty's appearance. Specifically, his uncanny resemblance to the new, mysterious "Marty" that briefly attended high school with the (1955) teenage versions of George and Lorraine McFly. If I got married to a high school sweetheart, and if we have a kid that grows up to look exactly like someone else we went to high school with, I'd probably raise an eyebrow or two. It is nothing short of an act of God or tremendous stupidity that keeps George free of suspicion.
"Hey honey, remember that guy in high school, who you fell in love with and who performed bizarrely prophetic music at our prom? I can't help but notice that, as our son grows up, he looks exactly fucking like him and are you fucking sure there's nothing you want to fucking tell me because now is the fucking time!"

So, yes, that's odd. But there's more. Cracked.com's invaluable Editor in Chief, Jack "Not Related to Me" O'Brien loves thinking about the movie as much as I do, (as he is a healthy, red-blooded American male), and he always thought one of the most curious points was the role of Bigg in Alternate End-of-Movie Present. In the end of the movie, Biff is a neutered, meek pseudo-servant to the McFly's; he washes their car, does chores for them, takes their abuse- George McFly essentially keeps him around as a (we assume unpaid) butler. In all of their friendly banter, Jack wonders if anyone ever casually references the time Biff tried to rape Lorraine at their prom. Seriously. What happened between almost-rape and unofficial butler is very important for me to find out. What could Biff have done in the interim to earn such a position of trust and access? Because, really, if you need someone doing chores for you, it probably shouldn't be the only guy you know who once tried to rape your wife.
"Hey, honey, remember that guy who tried to rape you at Prom? Let's see if we can't work out some kind of arrangement that has him hanging around you and the kids as much as possible." Maybe this is some weird punishment for Biff but, still, someone should tell George that there are prisons just LOADED with rapists, because that's what we do in this nation. We haven't utilized involuntary servitude as punishment since, like, ever.

Still, my favorite "You Put Way Too Much Thought Into BTTF" moment comes in the form of retroactive racism. It's my favorite because even though everything in this post is the result of over-thinking a fun movie, this particular issue requires the most over-thought. This might require some concentration on your part, because most brains shouldn't really be equipped to handle this much BTTF, so if you feel yourself getting dizzy, stop reading immediately. Stay with me, now.
SO, Marty McFly decides to perofrm at his parents' prom, something young and hip and fresh, because he wants to get his parents excited enough to want to fuck each other. So, he plays Johnny B. Goode, the Chuck Berry song. In a clever little twist, Chuck Berry's cousin, (Marvin. Marvin Berry.) happens to be at this dance, so he calls up Chuck and lets him listen to the young Marty's song, as Chuck has been listening for a new sound. Chuck Berry, in an astonishing display of musicianship, learns the entire song over the phone, (even the parts he didn't hear), and quickly releases his hit single, Johnny B. Goode.

Now, here's a red flag already. Poor Chuck Berry, whose only real crime was loving white girls, (and armed robbery, and videotaping women while they urinated). In the BTTF mythology, Berry is an unapologetic thief. We know historically that "Marty McFly" isn't credited in the liner notes of the Johnny B. Goode single, so we have to assume that Berry rips Marty off without hesitation and passes the song off as his own. Was it really necessary to make Chuck Berry a thief? It was if you want to completely obliterate the black contribution to music.

Now, you may not know this, but I minored in music and wrote my final research paper on the evolution of hip-hop from its roots in Mississippi John Hurt's era blues to the present. And, (now, you certainly don't know this), but my roommate at the time was a History major who wrote his brilliant Senior Honors Thesis on the history of the Blues. I don't want to say I'm an expert on the birth of Rock n' Roll out of blues, but between my own research and everything I learned from my roommate, I hope you'll trust that, when I put forward these two premises, I know what I'm talking about. 1) Black people, Chuck Berry more than most, invented Rock n' Roll. 2) They did not get the credit they deserved.
When the Rolling Stones covered a Muddy Waters tune, it was called Rock n' Roll, but when Muddy played it, it was a slave record, God forbid they call it music.
Now, Chuck Berry, at the very least, co-invented rock n' roll, but doesn't often get recognized for it today, and CERTAINLY didn't get recognition at the time. In fact, the Beach Boys famously stole music from Chuck Berry and almost got away with it. Berry slept in his car, served time in prison thanks to a racist jury, and was turned away from clubs where he was already booked, because the club owners thought he was white based on his voice. One slight, posthumous comfort for Ole' Chuck is that Music History looks back on him fondly, with more admiration than his Music Present ever did. NOW we give Chuck Berry the credit he deserves.

But, what did BTTF do? Not only did they make the famously-robbed Chuck Berry a thief, they stole credit from him and gave it to a white guy. Even if the time paradoxes obfuscate things a little bit, (and, they do), the bottom line is that, according to the Back to the Future Universe, Marty McFly invented rock n' roll and the black folks stole it from him. Chuck Berry never got timely credit, he only received it as an afterthought, and Zemeckis took even that away, as if to say "Of COURSE Chuck Berry couldn't invent Rock n' Roll. It HAD to have been Marty." When I shared this with Jack, we started pitching a number of BTTF sequels, wherein Marty shows up on a bus and tells Rosa Parks to sit down, or shares up at Birmingham Jail to ghostwrite Martin Luther King's letters. A library of movies that systematically white wash all of his history.

Which, of course, made me give serious thought to a sitcom about a time-traveling racist. He's the only guy smart enough to master time travel, but he's also a passionate racist, so he only uses it to go back in time and pettily take away credit from black trailblazers. Every week he travels back and shows how HE orchestrated all black accomplishments.

I would watch that show.

HILARIOUS EDIT As Marigold in the comments points out, Chuck Berry is totally still alive, even though I fearlessly described his recognition as "posthumous." That. Is. Awesome. Robert Zemeckis may have stolen Berry's legacy, but I prematurely thought-murdered him. Who's the REAL monster here?

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The Michael Ian Black Interview

I don't really intend for this blog to be a place for pimping the stuff you can find on Cracked, but I did want to talk about this Michael Ian Black video for a minute or two. Mostly because a lot of strange planning went into it, the kind of planning that wouldn't immediately be apparent by watching the video. I also don't really want this blog to be about "process," because in most cases that limits the fun. Also, it's probably boring to you folks. You can watch the video and love it or hate it on its own merits; how we got there is irrelevant. BUT, despite all this, I'm going to violate my own rules and write about the process of making this video because, dammit, I want to.

"Would you like a ten minute video interview with Michael Ian Black for your website?"


That was all we had to go on in the beginning. Representatives of MIB, (or Comedy Central, or Klondike, or VH1 for all I know), contacted us, as I imagine they contacted various other websites, and offered us a ten minute block of time one afternoon to interview Michael Ian Black about his new show. Maybe a hundred or so blogs had spots reserved one Monday afternoon, one after the other, asking Michael Ian Black, presumably, the same questions over and over again. [Sidebar, that must have been exhausting for him. All those interviews, rapid fire. God damn.]

We don't really do interviews, obviously. All we said in response was "Yeah, we'll reserve the ten minutes, provided you let us do whatever we want within those ten minutes." They said "Sure!" It was really Cracked Super Editor in Chief Jack O'Brien who made this decision. He agreed to the interview on the understanding that we would do something funny or wild or inappropriate with the interview. Then, (because of the timing of the interview), Jack went on vacation. This isn't common, Jack almost never goes on vacation. It just so happens that the timing worked out this way. He says "Yes" based on an idea he has, and then disappears after giving me a few notes about it. I'll call this Road Block 1. The earliest version of this idea is Jack's, and he's not around to explain it to my simple caveman brain. I didn't want to let him down, which is made almost inevitable when I don't know exactly what he expects.

But, the good news, was that Jack asked if we could do something a little weirder than the usual interview, and they said "Yeah, totally, go nuts." They were enthusiastically behind us.

Now, once the interview was set and Jack was ballooning around the world, it was time to figure out what kind of sketch we were going to do and how we'd incorporate Michael Ian Black into it. With only ten minutes for the actual interview, and about five days to plan, we settled on this 'Interview goes from bad to worse to ridiculous in record time' angle, knowing that our eleven o'clock number would be the murder of Swaim. A decent idea for a sketch, I thought, especially given our constraints. Now, it was time to get MIB excited about it. I'm an enormous Michael Ian Black fan, so I was pretty stoked about what we'd be able to come up with. "He's doing a million repetitive interviews," I thought, "he'll be PSYCHED to do something new and exciting." I was all set to email him and explain the sketch and his part in it.

We're going to talk about celebrities for a second. Michael Ian Black seems like a really great person. In the brief moments where we spoke before and after the interview, he was incredibly friendly. I don't know too much about him because, like all moderately-to-super famous folks, he's surrounded by "people." That's the thing with celebrities. With one, beautiful exception, I've found this to be par for the course when dealing with celebrities out here. You get famous, and then you get handlers to deal with all the bullshit. That's the way it goes.

So, in the week leading up to the interview, I'm not emailing with Michael Ian Black, we're not brainstorming together. I'm not even explaining the idea of the sketch, because we're not even speaking. I'm talking to an agent, or a manager, or a public relations go-between. The lack of direct access to Michael Ian Black forms Road Block 2. We're basically indirectly co-starring in a sketch together, but I have absolutely no access to him. This is not a sketch-writing style that I recommend for anyone.

He's a comedian. It would have been easy to explain what was going on, because he *gets it,* for lack of a better phrase. It is not as easy to explain to a bunch of handlers, PR folks and sponsors why a sketch about someone getting stabbed in the eye is funny. I had to sell a murder sketch to a bunch of people who wanted an interview. And I will say that my contact was very understanding, had a great sense of humor and was incredibly open to us doing something new. But all of the people to whom he had to answer were not.

"Okay...but maybe don't show too much blood."
"Sure.... But how about the death is an accident instead of a murder?"
"Hey, can the murder take place off screen instead of on?"

Those were their actual concerns. My contact had to begrudgingly forward those concerns as they came, I could practically hear him sighing through the email. When I forwarded the concerns over to co-editor David Wong, his response was "They know we're not actually murdering anyone, right? They know this is just pretend...right?"

And we conceded, every time. We'd say "Sure, no blood." Then the next day we'd get the email about the death being accidental and we'd say "You got it." A day goes by, they want the murder off screen so we say "No problem." We're happy to oblige, if it meant working with Michael Ian Black in some way. Then came the kicker.

With two days till the interview, my contact sadly sends over one last concern.

"Hey, can you just not kill anyone at all?"


That’s the cost of indirectly working with someone famous, I suppose. That person has sponsors, and those sponsors have obligations and responsibilities and a ton of other things that I can't even fathom. I get that. I'm sure all they wanted was a bunch of internet interviews to GET HYPE and BUILD BUZZ, and then Cracked comes along with our stupid anti-interview and fake blood. We probably seemed like a lot more trouble than we were worth. We've all got jobs, and they were just doing theirs.

But, by that same token, I was going to do mine.

I explained to our contact that it looked like they were, from the beginning, trying to gradually turn our sketch into an interview. It seemed as if they were trying to surreptitiously rob this sketch of everything that made it stand out. They wanted to water it down to the point of uselessness and, I explained, that we'd sooner not do the interview. I pointed out that, hey, you guys contacted us. We're not an interview site. If you object to our approach, well, you should have done your research better, because you'd have found that it's completely in keeping with our sensibilities.

The email I sent was difficult. Not emotionally, or anything, it's just always hard when you need to explain a joke to someone. I had to explain the sketch about four different ways, each time emphasizing how a) the murder is fake and b) MIB will not be the one murdering, so it won't reflect poorly on him in any way and c) DID I MENTION THIS IS ALL MAKE BELIEVE?!?!

Our contact, always supportive, forwarded the info along, helped fight our battle and got the sponsors or handlers or whomever to capitulate. With a day remaining, we won this little war. Yay us.

Still, problems certainly existed. We still didn't have direct access to Michael Ian Black until the interview itself. For all I knew, he didn't even know we were doing a sketch, he just assumed we were another interview. Also, the sponsors and handlers wanted to make sure plugs for various projects were still in place. These were problems. All I had was ten minutes with Michael Ian Black. We needed to come up with a series of questions that would a) appease the sponsors and b) work for our sketch.

If you're wondering what it's like to write a sketch before you have the lines of the person you're playing opposite, I can tell you it's incredibly difficult. I couldn't very well sit there and write out lines for Michael Ian Black. I couldn't say "Now say 'Use anti-blood'" or anything. So, first, for my own benefit, I wrote out what an idealized version of the sketch would look like. I thought "If I could give MIB lines, what would they be," and I wrote out a little script. Next, I needed to write a series of interview questions that would, in theory, lead Michael Ian Black to give answers that were roughly in line with the idealized script I'd already written. I had to just sit down and write up a set of leading interview questions, ask them, and friggin' pray that Michael Ian Black's answers would be usable in the footage. This was delicate, because if he said something like "This feels like a prank" or "What are you doing" or "I'm hanging up the phone," the sketch would be ruined. But I still needed my answers. Road Block 3. And you know what? Road Block 4, too. I'm not a smart guy. This was a confusing pain in the ass.

Luckily, Michael Ian Black is unflappable. My greatest fear--that he'd get turned off by the questions and cancel the interview-- never came to pass, because he was prepared to answer any stupid question I asked. So thank you, Michael Ian Black, even though I'm positive you're not reading this.

Once we had the raw footage of his answers, everything became instantly more manageable. We no longer had sponsors and handlers to deal with and there was no more mystery of what he was going to say. We had his answers, it was just a matter of writing a script based off of those answers. That's cake. I can totally write a script where half the dialogue is already there. I wrote up the script, sent it off to Michael and Abe for rewrites and we were ready to shoot. We realized we needed a scene before the interview, so Michael and I improv'd a few times and, after a couple of hours late one Monday night, we'd wrapped filming.

Michael and Abe really made this project sing. Not just with the improv stuff in the beginning, but the filming and, god damn, the editing. Here's something I didn't know a few months ago and am very quickly learning. Editors are Writers. Editors are Writers. Editors are Writers.

It can't be overstated. They have as much control over the story as the writers and the actors, maybe more. An editor can ruin a film by screwing up the written timing, or an editor can bring a film to another level by building off of the raw materials. Thankfully, our editors are outstanding. They took the raw footage of MIB, the sketch footage that we shot, the audio of both and made something, in my opinion, that's really great. In editing, they straight up created moments. Awkward silences, weird faces, different beats, it all comes down to the sharp editing that Abe and Michael have perfected. The comedic timing of their editing is impeccable, and it's the editing that took this sketch from a B- to an A.

This post would get even longer and more unreadable if I sat here pointing out specific brand new moments that they created, but brother, you better believe I can go on and on about it. Instead, I'll stop now. I just wanted everyone to know exactly what went into this project. That some Guy said "Do you want to interview Michael Ian Black," and Jack, Michael, Abe and I took it and sprinted to this particular finish line.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

One Stupid Year

I've officially been out in Los Angeles for a year. A year ago, I was living in New Jersey, where I'd lived my whole life, and now I'm out here being (inconsistently) funny full-time, professionally.

Also in this year, I've stolen several bikes, run a half marathon, written a screenplay, [REDACTED], [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] a secret project with Michael Swaim, and perfected homemade pasta sauce, (fresh Thyme makes the difference). I'm ass deep in the second draft of the very book upon which this blog is based. I have a manager now, who tells me official, inside Hollywood stuff, like "Stop sending me your shitty fiction" and "I no longer wish to represent you." I have business cards, I successfully [REDACTED] a [REDACTED] for Cracked.com, (that's right, there are MORE secret projects), and I have an intern that works directly for me. I'm going to be on TV talking about Steven Seagal sometime in the near future, and I hiked about 50 miles in Topanga in the recent past. I survived being caught in the middle of a giant California wild fire, and I finally freaking finished Atlas Shrugged. I've been mentioned in the USA Today, the LA Times and AICN. I received a made up, borderline-offensive internet award.

I don't want this to sound like bragging. The opposite, in fact. I want to let anyone who reads this to know that I am completely unqualified to do all the things that I'm doing right now. The difference is that I was either brave enough or stupid enough to really try to take my shot at this whole comedy writing madness. Too stupid to say "No" when someone asked me to move out on my own without any money or contacts 3000 miles away, and WAY too stubborn to quit during those times when I should have realized how over-my-head I was.

And I still might end up totally failing and falling directly on my ass, (and I've recently accepted the fact that it's okay if that happens), but right now I'm excited, because it's a brand new year out here. I'm moving in a week, trading beaches for mountains, because I'm restless and I want a change of scenery. And there will be so many new opportunities to show off how stupid I can be, I can't even wait.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Too Many Words Devoted to Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl"

For reasons that are no longer clear to me, I've been talking and thinking about Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" pretty close to nonstop these last couple of weeks. It might be one of history's most perfect pop song whose musical and lyrical simplicity is matched only by its general inoffensiveness. Everyone knows it. Everyone likes it or is, at worst, indifferent towards it. It's a song that, if it came on in a bar, plenty of people would clap and sing along, but no one would ever request it. It's a song that every cover band will probably play at some point, but it will never be anyone's wedding song. It's likely that no one actively hates this song, and also fairly likely that "Jessie's Girl" is no one's all-time favorite song.


But these aren’t the things I find interesting about this song. Over drinks with two friends, a girl named Bridget and the real-life version of Joe, the topic of conversation switched to Rick Springfield, as is often the case. Specifically, Joe and Bridget bonded over their shared love of the line "I feel so dirty when they start talkin' cute/ I wanna tell her that I love her but the point is probably moot." Because, honestly, if you listen to the rest of the lyrics of this song or, if we can be real for a second, any other Rick Springfield song on any other album, you'll see just how ridiculous and out-of-place that line is. Rick Springfield is a working-class, car-loving everyman who likes good women and knows, on his best day, four different guitar chords. Rick Springfield is not a man who uses "moot" in casual conversation. This, as Joe and Bridget pointed out, is one of the clearest examples of hacky, yet, completely endearing songwriting. Can't you just see Rick Springfield huddled over a rhyming dictionary, desperately looking for something that rhymed with "cute" because God knows he is NOT losing that "I feel so dirty when they start talking cute" line? Yeah, you CAN.


They appreciated this line because it told you what kind of songwriter Rick Springfield was, pouring over words like klute, knute and loot before giddily stumbling upon "moot." That Rick Springfield is the type of artist who will resort to using words he's never heard before for the sake of forcing a rhyme that isn't even that good is probably why "Jessie's Girl" is exactly where it is, on the spectrum of beloved pop music. If he'd put an ounce more work into this song, he'd have realized that the line is absurd, and he'd have changed it to something else. It's the Moot Line that makes every flaw in "Jessie's Girl" forgivable: You think "Well, it's clear that Rick Springfield didn't think too hard about this song, so I won't get myself worked up thinking too hard about it either. I'll just take it for what it is, a light and catchy-as-hell pop song." Who knows what Rick would've put instead of "moot?" No one does, but I'm positive it would have drastically changed the DNA of the song for the worse.


Still, even that isn't exactly what I find interesting about this song. To me, what's more interesting than thinking of Springfield hunched over a rhyming dictionary is the fact that moot isn't even the best word to use. Contextually, it's clear that Rick Springfield thinks moot means "dead" or "inarguable" or "not up for debate."

But that's not what moot means. Or, well, sort of. Because I'm a very specific type of lunatic, years ago, I went and looked up the word "moot" and discovered, to my astonishment, that it meant precisely the opposite of what Rick Springfield's "Jessie's Girl" would lead you to believe. A "moot point" is :

"An issue that is subject to, or open for discussion or debate; originally, one to be definitively determined by an assembly of the people."


How fucking wonderful is that? It'd be wild enough if Springfield just used a bizarre word for the sake of forcing a rhyme, but he used a bizarre word incorrectly, because he's not even fully aware of what the word means.

Rick Springfield's Bassist, Jeff Rich:
Hey, Rick, why don't we just change the line?
Springfield: NO! I need to find a word that rhymes with cute, and makes sense, THAT'S the important thing.
Rich: This..This just isn't gonna happen.
Springfield:..Hm. Moot! Got it! Perfect!
Rich: Actually that's not exactly how you use moot in a sentence, that doesn't make sense.
Springfield: Yeah? Whelp, it rhymes, and that's the important thing, right?
Rich: Actually you just said the important thing was-
Springfield: Jessie is a friend...


This might, on a subtextual level, even be one of the reasons this song resonates with so many people. Despite how toe-tappingly catchy this song is, Rick Springfield is not a great songwriter. He's not great at rhyming, he doesn't have a huge vocabularic arsenal at his disposal, and the words he does use, he doesn't totally understand. He's an uncomplicated, inoffensive soul and we learn by the end of the song, (whether he knows it or not), that the only thing Rick Springfield is good at is loving Jessie's girl.Really, like, literally the only thing. And, come on. How do you not love that?

STILL, even all THAT isn't exactly what gets me going about this song, though I love every bit of it. I am and have always been more obsessed with a different line in the song that has nothing to do with Rick Springfield's poor grasp on words. The line "And I look in the mirror all the time, wondering what she don't see in me,/Yeah I've been funny I've been cool with the lines. Ain't that the way love's supposed to be?" Even though this is three and a half minutes of light, bouncy, disposable pop, this has always been one of the most heartbreaking lines to me, because it tells you exactly what Ricky's problem is and it completely informs the rest of the song. He's not in love with Jessie's girl, despite what he may boast throughout the rest of the song. He's in love with the idea of a relationship, specifically, the idea of Jessie's relationship to Jessie's Girl. He's in love with the relationship that he sees, and all he sees are the external, public bits. He sees two happy people in love. He doesn't see the fighting, or the jealousy or the insecurities or any one of the hundred and fifty fucking thousand mini irritants that make up any relationship. He never sees the meat of the relationship, which is to say, the parts that Jessie and his girl won't share with the public; all he sees is them holding hands, hugging, and hanging out, talking cute, we presume, and he says "I want that!" because that's what he thinks love is, and that's all he thinks love is.


Simple. Uncomplicated. He thinks it's all about being "funny" and "cool with the lines." That's what he thinks love is supposed to be. Being funny and cool with "the lines." That lyric proves that Rick Springfield only understands love on the basic, superficial, external levels, and that kind of shallow-thinking infects everything in the song. Think back to a few paragraphs ago. Rick Springfield thinks he doesn't need to come up with a good rhyme, he just wants a rhyme. Rick Springfield thinks he doesn't need to fully understand the words he uses, he just wants a cursory understanding, even if he's using the world semi-incorrectly. Rick Springfield doesn't think he needs develop any kind of connection to find love, he just needs to be "cool" and "funny" and then, boom, love will just happen for him.

This song is heartbreaking, not because Rick is in love with his best friend's girl, that's the least of his problems. No, this is a heartbreaking song because it shows us that Rick will never be able to establish a real connection with anyone, will never get beyond the surface and, what's more, he'll never really know why. We all know why, even if he doesn’t. Rick Springfield managed to construct a song where he explicitly asks why Jesse's girl can't be his, and where he implicitly tells us exactly why, in heartbreakingly honest detail.


And I take back what I said earlier. "Jessie's Girl" is my all-time favorite song.