Survivors are part turtle

About a month ago, emboldened by caffeine and inspired by Knuckle Down, I logged into my facebook profile, clicked the editing icon, and decisively changed my music preferences from "I hate talking about music" to "Ani DiFranco."

Due to my tendency to resist change once I've found something I like (a personality characteristic I associate with my dad, who to this day insists on buying the exact same brand of drafter's mechanical pencils that he used in college), "I hate talking about music" had been on my profile since its birth in 2006. I liked it both because it was accurate and because it let me avoid actually listing any bands. While I could have, theoretically, thought up a few artists that I might call my favorites, the prospect of listing them always made me feel uncomfortable, as if I could already physically feel the disdainful glares of hypothetical indie music snobs who would look at my list, politely but condescendingly critique it, and then casually voice their own preferences for more obscure bands.

Such epidemic snoot is why I really do hate talking to people about music, most of the time. I don't really appreciate having otherwise pleasant conversations distorted into weird competitions for implied aesthetic superiority.

The real problem is, I don't listen to music critically, and so I get annoyed and offended when people apply critical or technical standards to what is, to me, a purely subjective and emotional activity. This is in contrast to, say, novels, to which I unconsciously apply all those fun-ruining analytical strategies and about which I therefore, in combination with my subjective preferences, am capable of making informed judgments. I occasionally wade into the pretentious waters of literary snobbery. But my music taste is much more Hooters-esque: delightfully tacky, yet unrefined. While I naturally appreciate, say, the genius behind Ani's and Bright Eyes' lyrics, I also like P!nk. And the Backstreet Boys. Shut up. I like what I like because what I like has the capacity to wrench my gut or heart in that kind of intimately personal way that is otherwise reserved for weddings and roller coasters. To me, music conversations often feel comparable to someone asking me to explain why I love my boyfriend, and then proceeding to imply that I'm wrong.

I hate talking about music.

Fortunately, I have since started listening to Ani DiFranco, whom I'm more than happy to, publicly, musically and maybe even cosmically align myself with.