I was going to write my very second entry about teen pop sensation, Taylor Swift, and how much better she was than both Miley Cyrus and also Britney Spears. But I decided to erase it because it was stupid.
The strange man on my couch didn’t murder me, in case you were wondering. Nor did he enjoy any of the conversation I tried to have with him about Taylor Swift. I want to talk about her all the time. I want to make jokes about short-shorts and t-shirts and high-heels and tennis shoes, and that part of that song where she sings really high, and how good it is. And how angry I know I would have been about that song if I were 15. Not because it sucks, especially compared to, say, Ben Folds Five or The Smiths, the very best bands to 15-year-old-me, but because her lyrics reflect (somewhat craftlessly) the way I felt back then and kept feeling for years. And she’s really pretty. And she plays guitar. So she has NO RIGHT to claim those feelings as her own.