From time to time, something will come along that everyone around me is extremely into and won't stop telling me I HAVE to do. Something that no one can BELIEVE I haven't delved into or tried yet. It's usually some form of absolutely wretched, torturous, trade-marked exercise fad like Zumba, Pilates, or Bikram Yoga. Sometimes it's a horrid and trendy food, like figs. But it's also often some type of media.
The most recent example is the podcast Serial.
I've got lots of friends and family members who love podcasts, but I find them difficult to listen to because they require silence, thoughtfulness, attentiveness, and a block of uninterrupted time such as exercise--all of which are in shamefully short supply in my life.
I also bristle at all of the narrators' voices: most of the men sound like smarmy grad students from the Kennedy School of Government wearing Burberry scarves, and the women sound like perky, nose-ringed college interns at the Rachel Maddow Show. (I have a nose ring too, of course, so who am I to talk).
Anyway, everyone--and not just my podcast addict friends--insisted that I HAD to make an exception for Serial.
Serial is ground-breaking, they said. Serial is addictive, they said. Serial is poised to revolutionize the criminal justice system, they said. Serial will change your life forever, they said. No one who went to law school should continue to practice law without listening to Serial, they said. The woman who narrates Serial is a genius of the radio and podcast genre, they said. Even Ira Glass agrees. Serial is like a G-spot orgasm for your ears, they said. Even The New York Times has acknowledged the stratospheric amazeballsness of Serial, they said. Listening to Serial is the closest you will ever come to hearing a Greek chorus of pegasuses (pegasi?) singing Pachelbel's Canon acappella at the Pearly Gates of Heaven, they said.
Well, you know what I say to all that? Fuck Serial. Yeah bitchez, I said it!
I think what all the people telling me to listen to Serial don't realize is that I'm someone who comes home from work and thinks it's a perfectly good idea to taste a new flavor of ice cream (Macadamia Mocha Coconut Bliss, to be precise), like this:
Surely if they knew that, they'd give up on me completely. I still haven't listened to Serial, but if it involves forensic dental records (as these things often do), maybe I'll give it a shot after all.