Nathan Rabin preaches to the choir: 

I think many of us process ubiquitous songs the way my sister did Celine Dion. At first, we’re annoyed by the glossy overproduction, shamelessness, and pathological catchiness of songs that dominate entire seasons, that blare from seemingly every passing car, store, and boom-box. The kids still use boom-boxes on some Radio Raheem shit, right? With the rapping and the baggy pants and the Jell-O pudding pops?

Eventually, resistance becomes futile. We’re going to fucking hear 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” or the newest Lady Gaga song 50 million times whether we want to or not, so we might as well at least attempt to enjoy the experience.

I think for the most part I purposely avoid popular things because I hate feeling like a part of “the group.” As The Redhead can tell you, the best way to ensure I avoid something is to tell me I have to do it. Questions like, “You haven’t seen Avatar yet?” will immediately piss me off, and only for the “yet.” Don’t tell me what to do and enjoy, and don’t assume we’re all the same. We’re not. It’s from this same, twisted place in my head that I will never, EVER Facebook, because every time I get that confused look, that “you DON’T Facebook?!” stare of shock and disbelief, my conviction grows even stronger. 

I guess I have more to say on this.

I’ll also fake it. I’ll pretend not to know what something is in an attempt to cheapen it’s value. “Who the hell is Robert Pattinson?” I’ll ask, just to show that he couldn’t be that popular since almighty Tucker hasn’t heard of him. But I know. Sadly, I know. I guess I just don’t like worship in any form. I’m not huge on concerts. I prefer studio cuts and recordings, blasted through headphones. Concerts just come across as all of this ridiculous gushing and screaming. Get over it, man. He’s just some schmuck in shiny pants singing the same song for the 100th time that month. I don’t know. I just can’t go nuts for something like that.

The Redhead worked some sort of Twilight event last night, and said she hasn’t seen fans go that ape shit in a long time. She said that while Pattinson and the rest were trying to talk and thank the crowd, the screaming was so non-stop and deafening you couldn’t hear a word. These weren’t all 13 year olds. This was a cross section of ages with booze on hand for the adults, and they were insane. When the buffet was opened, not a single person approached the tables for 20 minutes. They kept screaming for 20 minutes. When they finally discovered food, it was a rabid and ravenous attack on the tables, knocking one over completely and scaring the crap out of the staff. WTF?

Maybe it’s sad that I don’t feel excitement about stuff at that level. I don’t know if I even hold anybody that high. There’s a few dead people that I may be excited to meet, like Carson, Sinatra, or Phil Hartman, but even when faced with those situations I toughen up. It feels very important to me that I don’t convey even the slightest level of excitement or fanaticism. I smoked a cigarette with Brad Pitt the other day and had a brief conversation with Justin Timberlake, and while it’s fascinating, I almost wanted to act like they were nobody; to reverse the feeling everybody has (Oh my God, it’s the guy from Cool World!) that they are better than common folk. Politicians are the worst offenders. There is NO REASON AT ALL to get that excited about Sarah Palin, Barack Obama, George Bush or Glenn Beck. (Wow, did I just call Glenn Beck a Politician?) These people bringing their babies and little kids out to be touched by Sarah Palin, teaching them to worship these elected morons as if they were Royalty or Living Gods have officially lost touch.

I just wasn’t born to follow. I used to like Dave Matthews Band a lot. This was back in 1994, when a Radio Station I worked at got Under the Table and Dreaming sent to us. We all flipped out. It was incredible and we were all quickly big fans. Then… Crash Into Me came out. A good song on a great album, but all of those Frat-guy white baseball cap wearing date rapists that make up the majority of the country (In the 21st Century we simply call them “douchebags”) decided that Dave Matthews was their music. Now you had to prove your worth; you had to offer evidence that showed you were allowed to listen.  Fuck that, fuck them, and fuck Dave Matthews. I’ve talked about this before. It’s the same reason I roundly rejected Dazed and Confused. All of a sudden it was the exclusive property of some assholes. “No way do you like Dazed and Confused more than me. I LOVE that movie, man. Name 10 characters right now. Can you do it? I can name them all.” That conversation actually happened to me. I never watched that movie again.

Sorry. Pissy mood. I told you to skip this one.