My name is Katie Beasley, and I have no taste.
Actually, to say I have no taste is a bit of a stretch. In reality, I’m probably what many would consider to be relatively cultured for a college student: I enjoy art, theater, ballet, orchestral music and a good glass of ... grape juice.
I follow blogs about existentialism and fine vegan cooking, and I read www.nytimes.com daily (or at least I did before it started charging $15 a month).
So when I say I lack taste, I don’t mean to say that all of my interests and preferences are completely unrefined. Rather, many of the things that I delight in are unabashedly kitschy, raffish and overtly eccentric and contrary to popular opinion, I think that might be a good thing.
When it comes to films, classics like “Schindler’s List” and “Aladdin” rank in my top 10, alongside (and perhaps after) director Tommy Wiseau’s cult classic “The Room,” which is often cited as being one of the worst movies of all time.
I was one of the first in line when Wiseau came to IU in February, and I belly-laughed through the entire screening, which included a myriad of awkward sex scenes, absurd lines, nonsensical plot holes and terrible acting. The amount of joy I experienced when watching “The Room” far exceeds what I have ever experienced watching a movie that is by definition “good.”
In terms of music, my preferences could be considered similarly puerile. Scroll through my iTunes library and you’ll find U2 and The Beatles. You’ll also find nasally, chronically off-pitch vocalists that would never lead you to believe I studied choral music for eight formative years of my life, and vulgar, misogynist rap music that would cause my fellow feminists to weep. I can’t tell you what causes me to enjoy said genres. It could be the shock value, irony or something else, but whatever the reason, I derive much pleasure from my technically “bad” music collection.
And let’s not forget the Internet. While many of my friends are practically wishing to go deaf as not to risk ever hearing Rebecca Black’s “Friday” one more time, I am, to their dismay, singing, humming and listening to the catchy tune several times a day. I just can’t get enough of the adolescent, auto-tuned vocals and the über-untalented rap artist. The seemingly innumerable repetitions of the word “fun” cause me to have fun. Any other Ark Music production, Turquoise Jeep music or Way-Ho girl video brings about a similar reaction.
The point I wish to reinforce here is that, despite being criticized and scoffed at for my entertainment choices, the wretched and horrendous bring humor to my life.
Day-to-day life can be incredibly monotonous. Bad films, music and Internet distractions add a little bit of comedy and playfulness to a seemingly infinite amount of days filled with classes and studying.
At the very least, they can give you a bit of a confidence boost: At least you weren’t the one so eccentric and clueless to have created such a work.
So next time your roommates turn on their awful, twangy country or sickeningly bubblegum pop music, don’t follow your gut instinct and chop their heads off in a fit of annoyed rage. Instead, bob your head along with them. Or better yet, become the annoying roommate.
You know what they say: One man’s ridiculous work of worthless, tasteless trash is another man’s endless source of amusement.
— kabeasle@indiana.edu
