sellout

Close friends know this about me, and I would suppose readers of this blog would have guessed by now, but I like to think of myself as being quite snobby with my taste in music and... pretty much everything else. I am a snob. I admit it. If there's a twelve-step program for music/movie/book snobbery, I'd be enlisted by the people who know me to enroll in that program.

It doesn't help when your friends encourage this kind of snobbery. The hearty disdain for classmates when they discovered (months past due) -- when the novelty had worn off and you had already gotten sick and tired of -- Verve Pipe's Freshmen. The cruel streak you shared with friends, knowing your insipid classmates would be aghast to learn that Freshmen was a fluke, and Verve Pipe actually rock harder than that.

Or when your thesis groupmate declares her love for Bicentennial Man (please. do NOT get me started on that crap). how it took all your self-restraint not to hit her over the head with the bound thesis draft (all 286 pages of it) at that declaration. Or when you hear people declare their love for Good Will Hunting because the guys were cute. Yes, they kind of were, but that's not the only thing to appreciate about that movie.

You (by you I mean I) revel in this snobbery. You like to know about movies and actors and actresses and songs and bands and artists and lyrics that you know people around you don't have a clue about. You love that you loved Girl, Interrupted before Winona bastardized that which you loved. You love that you loved Stardust before it was turned into a movie. There is a thrill to have worshipped Ewan McGregor as a heroin junkie, long before he became a Jedi. You relish having known and cared about Natalie Portman back when she was merely the apple of a French hitman and Timothy Hutton's individual eyes.

You loved South Park, until everyone around you declared to love Kenny, without realizing the filth that is Trey Parker and Matt Stone's creation. You loved Scarlett Johansson back when she was the kid in Manny and Lo, not so much these days. Loved Colin Firth as Darcy on Pride and Prejudice, until he became Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones.


And yet. Yet you forgive Ben Affleck for stupid movies like Reindeer Games because at the end of the day, he was Holden McNeil and Shannon Hamilton. You allow Ewan McGregor the shit that was Down with Love. You continue to allow Kelly James the crap that has become Stereophonics' sound based solely on your love for the first three albums. You forgive AM Homes for wasting writing talent on The L Word because she still wrote The Safety of Objects. You even allow Rob Thomas that ridiculous solo album simply because he's still the guy who wrote the songs on Yourself Or Someone Like You.

You can loathe Diane Keaton's career choices of late, because she's still Annie Hall, but hate anyone who dares speak her name in vain. You wonder if Paul Rudd or Gina Gershon need the money when they take part in crap like Over Her Dead Body and PS I Love You, but react violently when people wonder where they've seen him before (uh.. and forgive the pun, but: Clueless?) or mistake her for fucking Eva Mendes.

You love that Parker Posey is well aware that she whores herself out every now and then for Superman Returns and Blade 3, and loathe your friend for insisting she's selling out. For you it's bonus points for Parker to be self-aware, for your friends it's just wrong. For you the magic that is My So-Called Life should remain where it is, with heartfelt sighs and wistful thinking of what might have been. Your friends insist that it should have been picked up and gone on for longer.

You think Ryan Reynolds is asking for it when he dumped Alanis and is wary of interviews these days because she has an album coming up, for your friends that's just being mean.

You mock One Tree Hill, but you have to admit, you care whether Peyton will ever realize what a douche Lucas really is. And want them together anyway.
If asked, you will have an opinion regarding Serena and Blair (Gossip Girl, duh).
The Corrs suck lyrically, but (oh dear God, I'm going there) you love them anyway. (well, except for What Can I Do, because that song is just all kinds of wrong.)
Nina Gordon can frakking be the opening act for Savage Garden, but she's still the girl who wrote and sang "With David Bowie".


just when you begin to realize you're as cheesy as you know deep down you are, you're grateful for mags like Geek (I'm not even lying) to remind you of who your are. And for multimedia like Paste, because just listening to the podcast (with hosts including, among others, John Doe from X, who played guitar as part of the backing band for the movie Georgia, which starred Mare Winningham and Jennifer Jason Leigh, who's in Margot at the Wedding, the latest film by Noah Baumbach, who directed Kicking and Screaming that had an ensemble cast that includes Parker Posey.). Paste is like playing 6 Degrees of Geek-ery/Snobbery. And I love it.




"You need to access your uncrazy side."
(The Office)