Picture this scenario: you’ve just finished seeing your favorite big, summer blockbuster in theatres, and decide to meet up with some friends after. When asked what movie you saw, you tell them, only to receive looks similar to if you spontaneously grew a head out of your armpit that began singing broadway show tunes. The average opinion within your cadre is that said movie was crappy at best, and “utter trashdick” (hey, their words, not mine) at worst. For several minutes, to try in futility to defend the things you found good about it, but after being driven back by hordes of cynical derision, you relent to your only remaining weapon:
“Aww, c’mon guys, it was FUN…”
I think it’s reasonable to say that at some point, most of us have encountered a similar situation. You reveal one of your “guilty pleasures”, be it your love of low-budget 80s action films, the secret ABBA playlist that shall never be named, or that stack of Vampire Diaries books on your shelf, and eventually reach the point where you acquire that telltale, self-effacing pout in your voice, and do the social equivalent of a wolf rolling over onto its back in order to appease a series of snarling, geeky maws.
But since when did “fun” become a white flag?