Honestly, how many people do you know that are awesome enough to write about Death Cab for Cutie and tacos from Jack in the Box for a COLLEGE philosophy paper?

None. And that's why I'm cooler then anyone you'll ever know.

So one day, I was killing some time with my good friend Monroe Beardsley. We were hanging out at the Jack in the Box over on Garey, having the usual tacos and Diet Cokes. I believe it was number seventy-eight, but that’s beside the point, as fantastic of a statistic as that may be.

            Death Cab for Cutie was playing down in San Diego in a month and a half. It was a small show at the Casbah- meaning, not at Soma, and it was only $20 to get in. Not a whole grip of people, but a handful of faithful fans. Brilliant.

            Many may not understand what the big deal was. But it was a big deal.  Benjamin Gibbard’s amazing talent, a few fellow fans, and overwhelming talent, that starts at your ears and leaves your whole mind, body, and spirit feeling changed, in a sense.  I had to be there.

            “Beardsley,” I said between tacos, “There’s this show in a little over a month and we have to go. It’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever heard. It’ll change your life.”

            “Who’s playing?” he asked, his mouth full of fast food ambrosia

            “Death Cab. It’s one of my favorite bands. It’s an indie band. Hell- they define the word indie.”

            “Indie?” he spat out, “I hate indie.”

            “What!” I exclaimed, “How?”

            “’Cause it sucks. It’s all emo- my life metaphorically sucks because all I dwell on is broken hearts, broken families, and broken experiences. Indie’s wack.”

            “Whatever man,” I said, looking at Beardsley in a new light. We’re not friends anymore, just for a few seconds. This fool doesn’t understand my passion for music. My understanding. My undying love. “Fine. What do you like then?”

            “Rap, hip hop. You know. The albums you can actually find in stores.”

            “Rapl! PFT! What about the lyrics? What about the meaning? What about the beat?” I pause for a second to collect the rush of sudden thought, “Beardsley. I never took you for a G.”

            “Dude, don’t hate,” Beardsley said with a laugh, biting into his second taco, the crumbs falling onto his massive beard that ironically defined his last name. “Everybody has their own opinion of what they like, and what they don’t like. And I’m not a G.”

            “Yes, but rap still sucks, and indie still owns on it. Times ten, even. G.”

            “Alright. Why is indie so much better than rap, then?.” He had this stupid twinkle in his eye, the stupid twinkle that only means one thing: a fantastic debate was about to begin.

            “Because it is.” I don’t even understand how he can ask such a thing. How can he not understand? We’re supposed to be friends. He’s just supposed to know.

            “That’s not a reason! If you can’t convince someone that they’re wrong, or admit that maybe I might be right, you can never say that I’m wrong, and you’re right.”

            “Whatever man, how do you figure?”

            “Because then nobody can be right.” I hate to admit, but he does have a point, even if he may have just admitted that rap does suck. “You at least have to have a reason why rap sucks, or else you have nothing to back up your argument.”

            “Indie is better, plain and simple.”

            “According to who? You? That’s just your opinion. You and I have different tastes, because we’re different people. Take for example, these tacos.” he explains, picking up a packet of hot sauce, “I like two packets of hot sauce on mine. You like only one. What if I say that having two packets of hot sauce enriches the flavor of the meat- er.. whatever it is?”

            “One packet of sauce makes it less messy.”

            “Exactly. You have a reason for having one packet of hot sauce as opposed to using two. Now you have a start to an argument, and a basis to back it up with. You can’t have an argument based upon liking and disliking, because that’s not a rational argument. You have to have reasons as to why you think your opinion stands as it does.”

            “Okay, so, indie is better then rap because it’s less messy.” I said, as I stuck out my tongue. Beardsley is a punk.

            “Nice try.” He said with a laugh. “What if I told you that rap was better because it’s more popular?”

            “Then that contradicts what you just said. People are different from one another because they have different opinions. Everyone has a different appreciation for basically everything in life. Some people praise President Bush, while others would rather pay to have him assassinated. Some have an undying love for McDonalds, while others would never have anything but Burger King. It’s a pointless discussion. Ben and Jerry’s, or Hagen Daaz? Chicken, or egg?”

            “Indie, or rap?” He said with that stupid twinkle in his eye. I push him, and he laughs. I think he enjoys messing with me. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a good point. So if everyone has different opinions, is it even an argument anymore, or just a state of fact?”

            He had me pegged.

            “Maybe you cannot fully argue about differing tastes, but you can at least make them known.” he explained, “It doesn’t mean that we can’t disagree, or differ in taste, because we do, and so does everyone else. Take the Top 40 every week “

            “We don’t need to bring Seacrest into this.” I interrupted.

            “Seacrest aside, the Top 40 features different music each week. Sometimes it’s bubblegum pop and screaming pre-teens, sometimes it’s death metal and black eyeliner, sometimes it’s your precious indie with truckloads of heartache and shattered dreams. Even popular majority cannot make up their mind, and a lot of the time it influences what people like or dislike. Sometimes, even our own preferences change just like the Top 40. What about that website you made back in ninth grade about Tupac?”

            “Never mention that website again. And those people don’t have a true appreciation for music like I do.”

            “Alright, so say they all had that same appreciation that you do. Say everyone liked ‘real’ music, as you claim.”

            “Then everyone would be in good taste, duh.” I should have known that would be the wrong answer. It was too simple.

            “And you wouldn’t be able to go to your show, either, because everyone in the free world would be dying to get those tickets.” Foiled. “You can’t just go around telling people that something they like sucks because you don’t like it. We live in a democratic society, where people have the option to accept what they like, and to turn their backs on something they do not. Wouldn’t it be more in keeping with our laissez-faire spirit of tolerance, and less reminiscent of totalitarianism absolution and compulsion, to let others like and enjoy what they like and enjoy? Isn’t it their natural right?” (Gould, 599)

            “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean that I actually feel like you should like what I like just because I said. Man, I just want someone to go to the show with me.” I was starting to get frustrated.

            “But you do understand what I mean, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay then,” he replied calmly, “Try again. Why is indie better then rap?”

            I sighed, “I think indie is better then rap because the lyrics contain more meaning. To actually understand what the true meaning is, you have to analyze the lyrics, and you’re opened up to a whole new world, a whole new meaning, and you have a whole experience within a song. Not only the experience in the lyrics, but the experience of figuring them out and relating to them. Plus, I like the way it sounds better. Rap as a whole is kind of degrading, not only with the lyrics, but with the sound, as well.”

            “See, now you have a basis for a discussion.”

            “Plus they have cool lights, and cool shirts!” I quickly added. You can’t forget about the shirts and the lights.

            “Good point.” He said with a chuckle.

            “So will you go to the show with me?” I made the best puppy dog face in the world- a combination that no one can turn down.

            “Nope. I still don’t like indie.”

            “Oh come on man!” I felt like our argument was going in circles “Didn’t I just explain why indie is better then rap? Isn’t that good enough?”

            “Yes, you explained why you think indie is better then rap, but it’s still your opinion, and I am still unconvinced. You can’t change something that I dislike into something that I suddenly like by arguing why until you’re blue in the face, as cool as that may be. That doesn’t mean that my opinion is unchangeable, or that we can’t argue why it should be changed. You can still give reasons like you just did as to why I would I should like indie more then rap. Maybe if your argument was powerful enough you actually could sucker me into going into your precious show. But that doesn’t mean that I’d be giving up rap completely, maybe I’d just be broadening my horizons.”

            “You’re just a G to the core.” I tried to change the subject in my own mind by imagining him without his bushy beard that frankly, makes him who he is. He had to interrupt, of course.

            “And you’re being stubborn. So quit changing the subject. What if we came to a common ground, and went to a show that maybe we’d both enjoy? What if I introduced you to music that I might like, and you do the same for me?”

            “Yeah, okay, that’d work. Broadening horizons, right?”

            “Exactly- and what we have is no longer an argument. We’re just talking, and discussing, and sharing- not even contradicting each other.”

            “I’ll just go with Kelsi. She appreciates Death Cab.”

            Sometimes Beardsley is a grade A punk.