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We Can Dance If We Want To

February 11, 2011

This week is PET PEEVES  week and I had half a blog already written about how people who think that reading is stupid make me angry.

But then as I was studying/rocking out to some quality 80s dance music today, a friend of mine teased me about my music choices.

I realized I had an even bigger pet peeve:

People who act pretentious over music. I think that’s  the lamest thing a person can do.

As the Grammy commercials keep popping up, I am reminded of why it is my least favorite award show. The awards seem so silly and almost like a popularity contest. Music is so subjective, how are they picking the best song or artist or album? Why are they picking the best song or artist or album? Who is picking and what makes them qualified? How do you differentiate between the genres and can all music really fit into these categories? Can one song fit into one category? Can you really send the fashion police on Lady Gaga?  I could go on all day.

Brandon Flowers, you could be my Mr. Brightside anyday. Guyliner and all.

Judging someone’s favorite music is like being a judge at the Grammys. You don’t know why a certain band or song speaks to a person, how they were introduced to that song, what meaning they find in it. I have friends that I love to death, but they can be so ignorant of how rude they are when they talk about other’s music.

For Example: I love The Killers. I love practically every song on every album. On every trip from my home to Statesboro and back, I make sure I have one of their CDs on hand. And yet, I tend to restrain from expressing my adoration for fear of some holier-than-thou hipster making fun of my mainstream love for Brandon Flowers. NO MORE!

You can judge me on my choice to wear leggings, on my extreme love for Kevin Bacon or my addiction to the show Merlin on SyFy. You can tease me for still missing Lost or liking peanut butter on my hamburgers.  But I won’t stand for someone saying I have bad taste in music.  Because the idea of bad taste in music shouldn’t even exist.

The bottom line: The Safety Dance makes me happy and I will not apologize for it.  Stop making fun of me for it, World.

Ugh, how AWESOME is that?!?

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