10 Cover Songs that are in My Library (5-1)

Covering your tracks... 10 songs at a time.

#5. Somewhere Over The Rainbow // Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Judy Garland) 

When it came to The Wizard of Oz I usually had two different discussions, the first of the conversations (being from the older generations perspective) would be about how magical Judy Garland was, what a tragic story and how it should have ended better for her. The second conversation was (my sad generation) "Hey man! did you see that video clip online of the midget hanging himself in the woods!?". (ok bad start... *beeeeeeep* start over). But thank the Lord for Israel Kamakawiwo'ole for giving us conversation number 3. Man, what a voice on this guy. Upon my first listen, I had was astonished by the softness of this mans voice. It was like i was being swaddled in washcloths made of bacon in the middle of a Hawaiian hot spring. Yes, yes I did feel that, then I saw a picture of him and it made complete sense why I sensed bacon, but then I became less of an ass and realized how beautiful this cover is. There is something captivating about this song that I can't quite put my finger on. Israel delivers this sweet song to your ears, as if its the last song you hear at a funeral or the first song at a wedding. What ever it is, its great for mix cds, compilations and just a fine sunday morning with orange juice and toast.

#4. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun // Greg Laswell (Cindi Lauper)

Discovering new character/personality traits about people you've known for a long time can both be an amazing and/or horrifying discovery. For instance, I was at a house party some odd years ago. The yard was filled with friends and strangers, new and old, close and distant, it was the perfect cabbage patch of personalities, but at this party was a really close friend of mine, and she beyond intoxicated. Kate rushed up to me like a little girl, spilling her beverage like rose pedals down an isle and greeted me with her gaped tooth smile, "Eyy! Brady-dude, I need you...". As soon as she said I need you, her face swelled like a balloon and she dropped her equally colored cup full of beer on the side walk and hugged me. To make a long story short, that night she wanted to leave because the boy who had sexually abused her back in High School was there, she had never told me in the several years that I've known her. Kate collapsed in my car as I buckled her in, brushed her hair out her mouth, turned on some Otis Redding and I drove her home probably when I shouldn't have (sorry Mom&Dad). Greg Laswell's cover of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun is like this story for me. It's a classic that has been completely redone and I can never listen to it again the same. The lyrics cut deeper and something dark and honest reflects out of the tune.

#3. Bitches Ain't Shit // Ben Folds (Dr. Dre) 

If you've never listened to Dr. Dre before and you aren't a fan of "language" then you might want to scroll on down to #2. Just some friendly information.

When it comes to "old school" rap my two favorite albums are: Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) by The Wu-Tang Clan and The Chronic by Dr. Dre. "Bitches Ain't Shit" is the last track on the Dre's magnum opus and has been covered many, many times. But in 2005 Ben Folds released his cover of this priceless gem and it went to #71 on the billboard charts. Needless to say, it blew up and he was started to be commonly refereed to as "the bitch guy" because audiences loved his entirely different take on "g-funk, west-coast rap, gangsta-rap, etc...". When I first heard this I was so excited because I knew this would be the "sleeper-cell" on any mix CD I made for people. But then after it got way over popularized, I stopped using it. Sad day. BUT! Bitches Ain't Shit is my #3 because it's probably one of the most creatively original covers I have ever heard. I hope you think so too.

#2. Wonderwall // Ryan Adams (Oasis)



There are many reasons to love this song, First, in my personal opinion I'm just gonna come out and say it, the cover is better than the original by Oasis. I know that I may have just upset many people by saying that but hear me out. Much like the Greg Laswell cover, the song feels completely different after hearing Ryan Adams croon. The lyrics of the song contrast the rock vibe that Oasis "chugga chugga'd" out. I do understand that they have been an influential band of the 90's but still, a recovering alcoholic, nine years later just changed the ENTIRE feeling of that song. The second reason why I love this cover, which might completely invalidate everything I just said, is The OC. Again, many people might have just deleted me from their history, but you can't tell me that The OC did not have some awesome music on that show. (you can watch a clip from The OC Here) This song is featured on his album Love & Hate and it fits in so perfectly. I could write an entire paper on this song, but i'll just let the song speak for its self.

#1 Hurt // Johnny Cash (Nine Inch Nails)

I saved the best for last, my hero, Johnny Cash. I will always respect the Man in Black, and for many reasons too, but one of them being is that he never stopped writing and preforming. And his music was personal  to his life and friends and family. He didn't become a washed up country artist hoping to make the pop charts. When Johnny Cash covered Hurt I was blown away for two reasons. The first being that Trent Reznor wrote the song. I had never been a huge Nine Inch Nails fan, but this song made me fan of his writing. Secondly, the music video just kills me. It has to be one of the most beautifully sad music videos I have ever seen. Almost brings me to tears every time.  Johnny Cash will always be around and as it should it be, and this song should prove to those who never got him that it is possible to have all the fame and fortune and still be empty.

The music video was nominated for an MTV music video award but lost to Justin Timberlakes "Cry Me A River" video. Probably the day I stopped putting the "M" in front of MTV, its now "Bravo #2" to me.

So there it is!
My top 10 cover songs that should be in your music library.
Hope you enjoyed it.
Don't forget to e-mail me your favorites questions and or comments to: bradyeffler@gmail.com.


My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady

A Tribute.

And I will take you and leave you alone
Watching spirals of white softly flow
Over your eyelids and all you did
Will wait until the point when you let go

Circling All Around The Sun.

Back in March  I was asked by my good friend Dave to write a piece on how I found/discovered/first heard of Neutral Milk Hotel for a blog he was starting up. Dave asked me though to tell me the story of when Jeff Mangum, the lead singer/lyricist first "spoke to me". This may sound like a supremely gross hipster thing to say, because it is, but I got excited because I had the story!  Obviously I didn't dare hesitate and began to write as soon as we parted ways in the coffee shop, literally, I sat down 15 feet away from him and began to type. If you aren't familiar with the band, they started out around 1989 and broke up after 1999. I'd risk sounding like a retarded audiophile if I tried to describe how they sounded or even tried to explain their lyrics. But they are magical.

"And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see ..."

As the months have pasted I have become keenly aware of what has been important to my history. I've exhumed, from both paper and digital earth, journals and diary's from high school, Tumblr blogs from sophomore year of college, photos, letters and even the dreaded Myspace notes. These literary quarry's have inspired and become series such as the Keeping Track of History, You Already Know How I Feel: 5 Songs We Use Not To Talk. But tonight something incredibly important is happening, I am going to see Neutral Milk Hotel, live with my older sister and I can already feel the tears welling up in me. 

So pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty
Please, please don't leave me here

Since the diagnosis, it's been hard for me to mentally maintain my natural relationships. I often feel like a touchable leper, or an exhausted tree house that the kids used to rough house in. Why? I can't explain it, but when you get cancer you might be able to relate. I love my family with my whole heart, and they know that but it's also been hard with them as well, but the one person that I have missed the most during this process as been my older sister Emily. Without Emily, none of my musical life would have happened. And I'm more thankful now for her husband because his love for music is toxic. So what you'll find below is some music by Neutral Milk Hotel and the story how Jeff first spoke to me.

So with out further hesitation here is my Jeff Mangum story.

 

I have no fairy tale or a series of isotopic events that magically linked me to Jeff. Nor was there a chemical fire or an act of truancy, evading some mystical life lesson, Jeff simply just happened. You could have said that years back, because of sibling love and relation, I met Jeff at a party with my older sister.

Emily was my beacon of insight, the poster of nonconformity, she was the prima donna during the most important years of my life, the years when one actually begins to think about what is being poured into his soul via rhythm and tone. But what did I listen to? 

Tragedy.

Pure, unadulterated tragedy. I had recently purchased Britney Spears second studio album, Oops!... I Did It Again and also in my collection, sitting upon my night stand like a turd left by an oversized rodent, was Creed’s “Human Clay” on tape. Granted I did have some Metallica albums and also Live's Throwing Copper, but quiet simply, I was tunneling my way pucca shell necklaces and dock shoes. As a great teacher told me once, “What ever is worth doing is worth doing… poorly” and inspiration certainly did start out poorly.

It was a breezy Tennessee night and two California kids where locked inside their parents keep. Emily was in her overly sized bedroom, painting on her largest wall, meticulously completing her mural one oddity at a time. If the Berlin Wall was a symbol of art and freedom, it would have looked like Emily’s wall. It was littered with quotes, ranging from Green Day to Lisa Lobe. There were large portraits of the Cookie Monster and Big Bird from Sesame Street followed by elegant drawings of peacocks and traced hands. Emily was the artist and the move from California to Tennessee had been the hardest for her, so my parents aloud her to express that, I was to much of a little turd at the time to have any sort of "artistic medium". 

I was in my 4x4 cellar complete with an overly sized TV and the latest video game system. My walls were bland, maybe a Star Wars poster that could have come from a cereal box and models up on dusty shelves. There was sticky shit on the tape player and collared shirts scattered the floor like a river flowing from the closet. The collared shirts... signs of a dress coded school. 

That school was hell on earth. 

But that's besides the point.

It was past ten at night, the quiet hour were the wardens slept soundly but gingerly. Then I heard it, footsteps from downstairs slowly and delicately climbing the stairwell, then I saw the shadow past by underneath my door heading for my sisters room. I had deduced that from the sounds of the worn squishy converse and that who else would be going to Emily's room that night, it was John-Michael, the boyfriend was here.

If my parents had been right angles, JM was certainly the bevel. His contoured mental state came at a wide birth, where as my parents… an acute opening. There was never a dull moment when he was here, so I quickly followed. As I opened the door I could tell that Emily was mildly discomforted that I had appeared. She didn’t want father to know he was here and I was a liability. 

Emily beckoned me to leave at once but in my younger years was I was very firm, I would not leave or else I would tell daddy. 

I was a little shit.

JM eventually told her that it was ok for me to be here, but I could still see Emily’s discomfort, like a cat her hair was still raised. JM, hoping to diffuse the situation pulled out a cd from one of Emily’s large jewel case stacks, placed the disc into the boom-box and clicked the play button. It was her favorite cd, but I had never heard her say that before. How had I not known what her favorite was? I was agitated… I was supposed to know. 

The speakers popped, cracked, came to life and then it happened; strummed fuzz, organic hums and a manilla nasal voice crooned. 

What was this shit?

Emily and JM just began to talk, talk over the music and talk over my face exploding from the inside out. I had once thought that every song was about sex. “Danger Zone” by Kenny Logins is about fornication, right?! “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac is completely about sad coitus, duh. The Mortal Kombat theme song is about nerdy relations, I mean come on?! Every Beetles song is about the birds and bees just like every rap and/or pop and song in a Memorex commercial was about copulation. It was all about SEX!… But for the first time, my roasting puberty and 14 year old intellect couldn’t imagine a girl naked.

My sister was telling JM some story where she was at a party with Davy Havok (the lead singer of AFI) and how he made out with her friend. (I still don't know if that's true to this day...but) I couldn’t follow a thing they were saying. For the first time in my life I felt like a fraud. I didn’t know anything about music. And that’s where I met Jeff. 

My heart was floating in glass.

He lingered in my mind from that day on, slowly becoming a parable of youth. Like the song “Two-Headed Boy” I felt as if Jeff was listening to where I was. As if to touch a moment of present purity and offer solitude. A patience to a confused youth, a yielding and cuddling truth, whispering that all-time is truly a moment to be free. Temperance for tranquility, something much deeper than any intimacy I had experienced. When ever the trumpets sing, like that hollow breeze, I am transported back to a time where I knew nothing… and what a comforting feeling that still is.

The End.

My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady 

You Already Know How I Feel: 5 Songs We Use Not To Talk Pt. 3

#3 The Karaoke.

(The 1st half of Keep Track of History: The Legend of the Iron Curtain.)_

I had been preparing for this all week. I had been a grunt in the pop-punk trenches, suffering the sweet symphonies of Fallout Boy and Hellogoodbye. I constructed foxholes out of teenage angst and quotes on hot topic shirts; it's hard to find a hater of gooey pop magic in a foxhole (well, actually not really...). Back at the barracks I had begun to elegantly dishevel my hair like a good garage band king, brushed my teeth at least three times a day -- with whitener and Jack Daniels. I made sure that I had even washed my favorite Bon Iver t-shirt in that good smelling detergent. After the washing I would rub some dusty man musk on it, a.k.a. loading to the seams with Burberry Cologne. Why was I doing this, for a hot Russian girl of course? 


Gitte Kendel was going to be at least, based upon her lean, five inches away from me for the next who-ever-knows-how-long, or maybe only one and a half inches if I take that left turn extra sharp. Did I pay attention in physic, yes I did. Gitte was one of the most attractive visual pieces of art that God had made in my lifetime and by god, this diva (meaning MUh!) was going to make a run for it. She had tickets to a concert and I was the headliner.

I was practicing an adsorbent amount of self-tidiness but I was also working on that vocal-reflect-pop voice, it was my dream to start a pop group called, "Real Foxes". Some days I toyed with the idea of calling "Real Fauxs". My car had been the karaoke booth for months and every stoplight got a show until I choked and changed the tunes back to either Otis Redding or Bane. Realistically all I wanted to do was dance around with a corded microphone while doing torso twerks and make sassy hand motions. If this doesn't send up any red flags, then I'll fill in the blanks. I have had a rough time relationally in Cambridge and by the time I had gotten back, I had replaced loneliness with a flaming hot ego.

When you leave the country for a while, your mind goes a little hey-wire and my dream was to be famously sexy. I wanted groupies that just cried out in blood lust after my single sparkly glove; I would toss this glove after every show, or perhaps tear my shirt just so they could get a glimpse of these rockin pecks. I really only had written one song, it was about a dream I had with a hot nurse who enjoyed sunbathing and Campbell's soup. Needless to say the only line I had penned so far was "Hellllloooo Nurse!" followed by a minor chord; chicks love minor chords. Original, I know. 
I had been listening to Bastille, a band from the UK for the past two weeks and felt like that was the direction I wanted to go in. Imagine if Instagram filters had the audio quality of sprinkles and sexy bass licks, that was Bastille but with a British touch. 

I could not hamper my excitement. Gitte said yes to a lunch date and it was time for me to make my pop debut. The location of the concert was my trash littered, white and ugly, softball dented, Toyota Solar that I'm pretty sure was manufactured for retired, single soccer moms. 
Enter the Karaoke!

The Karaoke is a delicate art. Not only are you using someone else's poetry to convey how you are feeling, but you are becoming that artist and that song. It is the very less creepy and graphic version of Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Instead of swinging a chainsaw around, embodying the personality of the person’s face you are currently wearing, you are sonically absorbing and simultaneously discharging that very same power through your vocal chords; hopefully slaying the crowd with your hot torso twerks and corded microphone tricks.

Earlier that day, during Spanish class I had asked Gitte if she had wanted to grab lunch at the local this pastry place. After the words as escaped my lips like a virgins first words, she smiled, nodded and with one sultry accent said, "Why, yes."

YAHTZEE!

After class we walked back to my car, the white lightning stead was parked a good distance away, so it gave me plenty of time to focus on three things: How much I had to pee because I was so nervous, her obsidian hair reflecting it the summer breeze and hopefully this leads to a couple beers. By the time I got done sweating out the 1st and 3rd item on my mind I had popped the door open for her and walked around to my side of the car. I had listened that Ataris song, Your Boyfriend Sucks* a lot as a kid, and she didn't open my door... should have been a red flag. Oh well.


We pulled out into the summer wind; I readied my iPod like a gun and tighten my vocal chords like a helmet. 

And as the Joker said, "Heeeeere ... we ... Go!". 

"Here's a song I want you to listen to, I think you'll really like the band. They are Bastille", I said.

And with a smile she replied, "Oh I love new music! Play it!"  

"I hope you're ready for some pop-punk gooey goodness!", I mashed the play button and the Karaoke had begun.

The trickle of the keys and the fuzz of the mono bass crept their was through my speakers like friends in the doorway caught in mid laugh, I was ready. I started to belt the song as the chorus perfumed out of my stereo speakers, and it was magical.
"You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve”

Gitte was beaming. She placed her hands over her mouth to hide the dimples of her smile and snickered. Whenever we made eye contact it was like the super laser on the Deathstar striking Alderaan, but instead of a thousand voices crying out in pain, it was just my voice booming and crooning. I don't know how I didn't wreck my car because I worse than a drunk driver. I was either looking at the ceiling trying to hit the high notes, steering wheel drumming or focused like a puma on her sunlit smile. By the third chorus she had begun to sing along, it was like two distant star-ships docking after a long flight; two anointing airlocks saying welcome home, be at peace.

Gitte and I played that song over, and over again. We sang to each other for what seemed like hours. It felt safe, it felt right and most of all it bonded us together much better than a beer and cold hook up. The Karaoke is powerful song because it brings us out of our box and transports us into a reality that is not ours, but it still tends to the needs of the present reality around us. The Karaoke is much like cosplaying, or trick-or-treating. It gives us that much needed excuse to be someone else, but yet find it completely excusable to act on our hearts deepest desires. At that time, my desire was to be with her, thus there I was doing the Karaoke.

Even after that famous car ride we listened to that song whenever we were together. For the time that we spent together it became our song and its a fantastic one to have. The song has a beautiful message to it, stating that we are all human, we all have done wrong, but it out those flaws we would not be as beautiful as we are today. Do I ever regret having that Karaoke moment with Gitte? No, not ever. But I now know how power and intense it is to "not speak to someone that way."

Do you have a Karaoke Story? If so email me at Bradyeffler@gmail.com

But there is more to this story. Gitte is the Legend of the Iron Curtain and last chapter of Keeping Track of History. So to get ready for the the next piece here is a song that will lead you in the right "emotive" direction of what is about to happen. Wolves // Phosphorescent.

My name is Brady Effler and I am currently unemployed. That is the truth, but it is also not because I don't want to work, I do. I was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma at the end of July 2013, and now I'm fighting the good fight. I am currently going through chemo treatments. From the advisement and orders of my doctor, I am not supposed to be working. Currently I am in the waiting process to receive social security, but that is taking it's time. If you liked what you read, please feel free to donate. I am currently trying to pay off my student loans and other bills (pills, hospital visits, etc...). I'm not going to lie to you, some the donation money will go towards gasoline, or perhaps even a cup of coffee. Anything you give is awesome. Feel free to shoot me an email too if you'd like. I can also make you a gnarly playlist.
Thanks again for reading. I'm not begging, or trying to pull the wool over anyone, just being honest.
- Brady

*The quote from the Ataris song, Your Boyfriend Sucks

"Alright, listen to me. You pull up right where she is, right. You go get out of the car and you lock both doors. You walk over to her, bring her over to the car, take out the keys, put it in the lock, open the door for her, and you let her get in and you close the door. And you walk around to the back of the car and you look through the rear window. If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so you can get in, dump her!" "Just like that!?" "Listen to me Jim(?). If she doesn't reach over and lift up that button so you can get in, that means she's a selfish board and only seeing is the tip of the iceberg. You dump her and you dump her fast!"

"Prolegomenon" As the Boss would say...

 "Prolegomenon" As the Boss would say...

 “Come up for the rising.

Come on up for the rising, lay your hands in mine”.

Like all good Americana music, as to when Bruce Springsteen croons, a spirit is summoned. This spirit is better known as “memory”.The spirit of memory has a very tricky handshake as well. It's no Loki, but it might as well be just as blind as Lady Justice. I do not believe that I've ever listened to a song by Bruce or anything from the Americana genre and not have been immediately taken back to a distance place, firm and/or loose handshake. For me, personally, that’s also how I’ve felt about my writing. I can’t talk to you guys about baseball, GTA 5 (hookers) or how Mother’s should raise sons, but I can write about music, how it takes me back and hopefully you as well.


Even though the chorus section of the song "The Rising"  is the most “blast” worthy, as in “crank it to eleven Bruce!”, it’s not the part that hits home for me. Home is where the heart is, I am homeward bound and the Boss knows that I have kept track of everywhere I have been. At the very beginning he sings,

“Lost track of how far I've gone

How far I've gone, how high I've climbed…”

I remember when I was in Scotland and I hiked to the top of Arthur's Seat, the highest point in the city of Edinburgh. Like a retard, I didn’t dress the part for hiking… I had converse, some tight/skinny jeans and I even went shopping at the record store before hand. So like some portly kid, toting a shopping bag that invited himself on the adventure at the last second, I scrambled up the mountain. I took several photographic opportunities, or as the angel on my shoulder might say “a very sinful, angry but yet protectively mumbled rant”. When I got to the top, the wind touched my face with a cool smile and the city below was quietly humbled. I had totally forgotten about the struggle I had just experienced. I just stood there holding my bag of records taking in the beauty of nature. Life is like that sometimes. Everything from here has been a journey. From discussions of how Mum could be the “made for adult ears” version of Death Cab For Cutie or to how the song Night Moves still may be the most perfect jam to belt at the top your lungs while facing an uncertain dusk, top down and cold soda in hand; I’ve come a long way, and hopefully you have too. So here is your informal invite to start the ending of two series that are close to my heart, Keeping Track of History and You Already Know How I Feel: The 5 Songs We Use Not to Talk. The double feature is coming and I hope you're ready.

You maybe wondering why I am ending KToH, well that's just a surprise for you later down the road, but you can expect them to make a comeback with some different "clothes" next year. As for The 5 Songs... that one is kind of obvious, but hey, you still have two left after this one is done spinning.

As I was writing the other day (which was a Sunday in case you were curious) I couldn’t help but feel as though these two stories belonged together. Over my many years of "womanizing", (if you dare to even call it that -- I'm such a sweetheart) I don't think I've ever experienced more infatuation and stress in such a short amount of time than during the summer of 2012. There are a couple of things that you should know about the "2012 Effler" though. I had just returned from my study abroad in England and my beard was getting larger than my ego; all the beard wanted to do was make-out and write “glitorious” pop-music. I wouldn’t say that I deserved the lovey-dovey heart palpitations or that post-crack-fix stress twitch that this girl caused, but I could be guilted into thinking I needed both. I don't think this is the appropriate use of the term "hot flashes" but it might as well be the male equivalent. Our "hot flashes" could be defined as the relentless weakness to both strangle and in the same beat daintily adorn with silk-baby-bottom-soft rose petals our current beloved. These hot flashes are also how I feel about Robin, the boy wonder. I never understood how Batman dealt with "them", but for me “they” always caused both intense frustration and merriment.

Either way, there are only two types of girls that could cause such a brouhaha for me: Any girl cos-playing* as Princess Leia and this swank sexy Russian by the name of Gitte Kendel. Now to avoid connections, such as an angry phone call and/or letter-bomb, I changed the names for the consideration of others, well… just Gitte's. But you guys seem like a smart enough crowd to know that Gitte is Bavarian name, which suits her because her hair swung like a heavy obsidian axe while her matching eyes would have brought any retired jewel thief back to their shadowy feet. Gittie was a babe, she knew it, she owned it, I was snared and now she is part five of KToH: The Legend of Iron Curtain. Gitte is also how I stumbled upon number three for the The 5 Songs… series: the Karaoke. The Karaoke happens in the middle of the story, and I'm most positive that everyone can yoke my experience to when we've felt young and foolish. So from hot flashes, hopeful glitter ambitions, robin the boy wonder and one sexy Russian, this is really a summer's tale with a more awkward John Travolta. It's basic, guy stares at girl, girl ignores guy and by some freak accident, sparks fly. But this summer loving has a totally different sing along, it's all about flaws.

So later this week expect a rather large update. Your homework assignment is to re-read posts, tell me what you liked, what you didn't like and also send me some of your moments. I'm also playing with the idea of how I'm going to write this piece, so don't be bashful. I'm about to start responding to fan-mail/"dude this is my jam letters", so get involved.

*Cosplaying: short for "costume play", is an activity in which participants wear costumes and accessories to represent a specific character or idea from a work of fiction.