It is one of my cherished ambitions in life to be a wino. I would love to have an extensive wine cellar in my basement, to know how to smell a glass of wine and know everything there is to know about it. I want to go to wine country and frequent wine tastings. I want to be able to take one look at wine list and know if I am at a classy establishment or a bargain basement joint. Basically I want to be a pretentious wine snob. But there is a problem. I only like one kind of wine. I don't know how this happened, but I have basically come to the conclusion that I only enjoy Pinot Grigio, and not just that but basically only Pinot Grigio from Italy. How did this happen? I want to like all wines but I take one sip of Sauvignon Blanc and want to do a spit take. Reds? Don't even get me started. I have loved one other wine, and that was a 400/dollar bottle that I got to have a sip from at French winery. So I don't think that's something I'll be buying by the case. Am I doomed to be a sad Pinot Grigio hermet afraid of all other wines? For now I think sadly yes.
So there are animals in the walls of my house. And I only wish this was some kind of metaphor. I don't know how this happened but every night for the last week I have been woken not once but several times by frantic scurrying and occasionally squeaking right near my head in the wall behind my bed. I have to calm myself down and convince myself that there is no way a small rodent could punch their way through a plaster wall. There's not right? What does one do in this situation after the landlord has been alerted? Buy a gun and go hunting? I'm all for animal rights but once those little creatures are in my domain I'm a little less friendly. If a squirrel got onto my bed I would have no qualms about sending it right to squirrel heaven. I sincerely hope this does not make me a bad person. However last night it was kind of pathetic. I woke up around 3 am to what sounded like an animal running from one end of the wall to the other. It was squeaking hysterically, and I kept hearing loud thuds that must have meant it was ramming itself into the walls. I can't think about this too much or I will start to envision a poor little squirrel in one of those little helmets with a flashlight on it, separated from his squirrel buddies, trying desperately to make his way to the surface. And now I feel bad for the squirrel. Precisely why I try not too think about it too much. I just really am tired of nature sounds in my city apartment.
I was thinking about it the other day and when does a guilty pleasure stop being guilty and start just being a pleasure? Because I'd feel a lot better about myself if so many of my pleasures weren't guilty. How great would it be if a Matchbox 20 song came on the radio and instead of loudly intoning "lame" as to impress my friends, I could fully admit my love for Matchbox 20. When I am alone you better believe I'm blasting that stuff like there's no tomorrow. Also Sherryl Crow - I'm sorry but I love her music. I even love her music when she steals it from Rod Stewart. I downloaded The First Cut is the Deepest and still get excited when IPod shuffle chooses to play it. See, my IPod doesn't discriminate. And sadly it doesn't end there. The first song at my wedding WILL be Bryan Adams "When You Love Someone", even if I haven't necessarily admitted that yet to most. Also I have several High School Musical songs in my music library. And I know them well. Like all the words well. And sure I pretend to love them ironically in a "its so bad its good" way, but really I just love them. They're so joyous. Plus it makes me thing of Zac Efron - yet another guilty pleasure but I don't care. It's confession time right? So yes, I love Zac Efron and his feathered hair. I also loved Jesse McCartney before he disappeared or went to rehab or wherever pretty, non-threatening actor/singer/dancers go. It doesn't end with music though. My favorite TV programming block is on Soap Net weekday afternoons; two hours of 90210, followed by the OC, followed by One Tree Hill. Yes, One Tree Hill. One of my favorite movies of all time is Newsies, yes Newsies, about singing and dancing newspaper boys in New York who go on strike. And before admitting these things might have made me feel a rush of shame and dread, but I am ending that now. I will no longer feel guilty about my guilty pleasures. I am embracing the cheesy and the low-brow and the sappy.
Matchbox 20 rocks. Yes you heard me.
Also in the time I wrote all of this I could have been working on either of the two ginormous papers I have due this week, or studying for my Politics of Africa test on Wednesday, or working on my internship work. Clearly my priorities are in order.