[Randoms:]
This week, TIME released its annual "100 Most Influential People in the World" issue. Like the World Series, the issue's claim to represent "the World" should get a bit of an eye roll, since the list is comprised of people who are not only debatably influential but also overwhelmingly American, save for some obligatory nods to, say, Bengalese civil rights activists or Jamaican Prime Ministers.
In fact, I refuse to believe that TIME truly regards its claim to "the World" unironically. What passes as influential in pretty much any category uses a blatantly American yardstick. Claire Danes, Kristin Wiig, Rhianna, Jeremy Lin, and Stephen Colbert all make the list, whereas essentially all non-Americans who make the cut are really significant political leaders or protesters, whose common qualification appears to be having been nearly assassinated on more than three occasions.
Still, I enjoy reading the list, mostly because it not only honors, but is largely authored by, major cultural icons. Johnny Depp writes the blurb on why Harvey Weinstein makes the list; Kathy Griffin writes on Chelsea Handler; Mia Hamm on Lionel Messi; Jeb Bush on Marco Rubio; Pink on Adele. (Some of the match-ups inevitably wind up reading like punchlines. The entry on Colombian president Juan Manuel Santos is authored by Shakira.) Others are written by more run-of-the-mill TIME journalists like Fareed Zakaria or Joe Klein.
Regardless of prestige, the blurb-author is credited in the same way for every entry, with a one-line bio familiar to all magazine articles (e.g., "Roubini is an American economist who teaches at New York University's Stern School of Business"). While I appreciate this nod to journalistic form, since so many of the blurb-authors are painfully famous, some of the mini-bios become hilarious instances of comedic understatement. (Compare the bio, "Lacayo is TIME's art critic" with, "Jolie is an actress and director" or, my favorite, "Obama is the President of the United States.")
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I've become frustrated by the proliferation of "Forgive student loans!" petitions and advocacy groups that I've seen being hawked on my Facebook newsfeed. It's not that I don't empathize with the sentiment: I share a hatred for debt and an outrage that borders on disbelief regarding how much college tuition costs in the U.S. The higher-education system seems broken (or at least trudging along with a pretty ugly limp); it's unreasonable and deterring to ask students and their families to pay so much for college, essentially forcing them into monstrous debt, and it's bad for the economy (or so the Internet has told me) for so many of us to be burdened by tens of thousands of dollars in loans upon graduation.
Still: we signed contracts, guys. We accepted the offensively large price tags, asked Sallie Mae for the cash, and promised to pay back the amount that we borrowed. I know that not everyone went to college already prepared with a detailed loan spreadsheet and a multi-year money management plan. But I have to believe that most people (or at least the people I'm Facebook friends with) went to college with a ballpark figure of the debt they were taking on. If you have apoplectic sticker shock ("HOLY CRAP that's a lot of money why did I agree to pay that???") now that your loans have come to roost, it's a valid reason to petition for lower tuition rates, so that future generations won't have to suffer this insanity; but it's not reasonable justification for loan forgiveness.
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It's taken a while, but I think I've finally succeeded in not caring about music scenes. By "music scenes," I really mean "music snobs" -- those Big Brother musical judgment bureaus, epitomized by the A.V. Club, that constantly implicitly threaten to mock your music tastes (and therefore your soul) if you like the wrong thing. I originally fell into the trap, as I think we all do, as a teenager. At that point, trying to make it seem like your music tastes are unique and well-informed is practically a life-or-death priority. Liking a band in high school is a delicate social activity regulated by other people's opinions and disdain -- it's important to know what "type" of music you subscribe to, to disavow bands that have sold out or become too popular, and to either claim your prior knowledge or show a requisite level of guilt if you insist on continuing to enjoy overexposed groups. (Remember when we all had to stop liking Panic! At the Disco?)
Having spent the better part of ages 15-19 trying to silently convince myself that I really did listen to Green Day before they became mega-popular (fun fact: I didn't), at this point I'm willing to admit without blushing that I, like most people, am a bandwagoning music fan. When I discover an artist or song that I like, it's probably because they're in the process of becoming popular: I didn't know about Mumford & Sons until "Little Lion Man" started playing on the radio, I attended my first Tegan and Sara concert during their tour for The Con, and I became aware of Gotye this week because he performed on SNL. I will occasionally stumble upon a more obscure band by chance or recommendation, but I just don't care enough [about constantly listening to new music; about being original; about building my pitiful iTunes collection] to actively attempt to anticipate popular artists.
And I feel no shame. Because I have other things to fill my time.
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