Popular Culture Update

Well it is certainly unfortunate that the week that I finally succeeded, after many fruitless attempts, in talking my way onto Tim** and Tara’s dad’s American Idol listserv, I had nothing to contribute in the way of opinions! Let me assure you that this is not the norm. I firmly believe that AI is a societal pleasure that is best shared with others. Watching a particularly overwrought version of Martina McBride's Independence Day loses much of its appeal if there is no one with whom to exchange thoughts about whether the insufferable McBride catalogue should be nixed from AI for good, or whether Paula understands that this song is actually not a happy song, or whether there will ever again in the history of AI be a performer as enjoyable as Constantine. Maybe I alone hold that last opinion.

In the past several years, I have been lucky to find people who will watch with me, or, more commonly, who will subject themselves to 45-minute phone conversations following AI episodes. My parents have proven especially willing in this regard, which is nice for bonding purposes, even if they don’t spazz out when someone sings a Heart song and don’t especially understand why someone would. Before I had real live AI friends, I dabbled in posting on AI chatboards, but I quit that post-haste because people are just too mean on the internet.

However, this week I could not watch because my colleagues had scheduled a team dinner for Tuesday night. The event itself was quite enjoyable. I ordered a blood orange margarita. We all listened, rapt, to a co-worker’s description of his cousin’s exotic snake business, which operates through the cunningly-named website getsnaked.com. N thoughtfully texted me AI updates throughout the meal. But the next day, I was unquestionably disappointed not to have any first-hand knowledge to protest against ad hominems such as “Anoop is nothing but a WANNABE with no unique talent” that appeared on the listserv. Nevertheless, my buddy Anoop survived another week, and any of his haters should watch it, because next Wednesday morning I shall be prepared with all kinds of verbal ammunition for his defense.

**Dropping the whole “Rafael” thing, I have decided that pseudonyms are exhausting. Sorry, Rafe.