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American Midol: Why Does This Column Exist?
Jan 14 2004 by Lucky Lani
I believe it was Mark Twain who once said, "Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, but teach him to fish and he'll inevitably impale himself with the hook." While that quote has little relevance here, it does serve as proof that you, Dear Reader, will happily consume anything that claims to deal with American pop culture.
And that's exactly the point. Take Britney Spears, for instance. "Oh, that Britney Spears," your Educated, Articulate Self groans, "she's completely overexposed and wields no power over my life." You publicly dismiss her prurient appeal and showily reference cocktail party favorites like David Sedaris or Dave Eggers.
In private, however, you are a slave to Miss Spears' existence.
The mere mention of her name in your audio periphery causes your neck to turn and seek out the context in which she's cited. You find yourself judging every line, every bulge, every gyration of her lithe, young body, hoping for a visible flaw so you can damn her in your mind and, once and for all, end this sophomoric obsession.
You think about all the more pressing things that warrant your attention—like the slow disintegration of your 401(k), the war in Iraq, or the stealth strategies needed to win your Fantasy Football league.
"I am better than this," you say to yourself. And perhaps you are. Perhaps you have a degree in botany, or are fluent in seven languages, or know pi to the first 98 decimals. However, all of these traits and talents, while certainly deserving of bragging rights, are no match for one young woman's taut mid section.
And this, Dear Reader, is where a part of you, deep down, wants to stop using social niceties like deodorant and utensils, embrace your most primal, despicable, meat-loving, anonymous-sex-lusting instincts, and simply give up.
Friend—don't give up. Give in. You are not alone. American Midol is here to scratch your itch for all things Pop.
Stay tuned...
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