Not surprisingly, I still tend to shoot my mouth off and ask questions later like, "Why are you such a total idiot?" I can't help myself. Ask the other five people in the world who share my mentality and they will agree. It's hard being right all the time.

Deep down, I think this state of mind is shared by most people, well, at least the ones who aren't absolute idiots. We like what we like usually for very irrational reasons or for no reason at all. We just like it. Guilty pleasure is what makes the world go round...that, and a little gravity.

As for what we don't like, that can be just as irrational and I think everyone shares this particular quality. I know more than one person who absolutely hates Danny Kaye. They would cringe if you suggested they watch "The Court Jester" or "Hans Christian Andersen," two of my faves as a child. There are people who go into tirades at the mere mention of Jerry Lewis. Granted, it may be warranted to some degree, but I will defend "The Nutty Professor" every time. And I don't mean the Eddie Murphy remake. Now there is someone who makes me want to switch channels.

Yes, Eddie's on my list. He just annoys me. I don't know why. Maybe it's his laugh. It makes about as much sense as my distaste of Meg Ryan.

As my nephew likes to say, "I can't like it." The list goes on. Adam Sandler, Burt Lancaster, Ernest Borgnine. I'm simply unable to breath properly when these faces appear. It's unexplainable.

Some people, OK most people, hate mimes. They can't handle the silence or the oddly pursed lips. Those clowns are sort of asking for it. I know someone who, although she's a sweet person, admits that the sound of classical music makes her want to put her fist through a wall. Personally, I've never had this reaction to Bach or Brahms, but again, bluegrass makes me want to put my fist somewhere too.

My own sister expressed to me once how she "doesn't get jazz" by doing a bad impression of a rotten riff. I just had to bite off the bottom half of my face in order not to say anything. I love jazz. I think it's one of the most amazing musical forms out there. It's almost impossible to explain, just like her dislike for it.

And this brings me to the most absurd dislike I possess. I'm not proud of it. I don't know why this drives me insane. It just does. I can't stand tap dancing. "Can't stand ya!"

If Gregory Hines or Fred Astaire starts spazzin' out on TV, I have to grab a spoon to keep from going into convulsions. Donald O'Connor? Gene Kelly? Don't even think about it. There's something about that sound and those flailing limbs that gets right to the core of my madness. I think it's called the Mr. Bojangles Syndrome. Those wiggling legs! I can see them now! Those heavy shoes banging into the floor over and over! To me it's all just "sound and fury signifying nothing."

Sorry all you dance people. It's just not me. I like jazz, but not jazz hands. Beyond that, there's only one thing worse that I can think of, and not without shuddering, that causes me such utter discomfort. There is only one other sound I must persist in keeping from my tender ears. And that sound is the old soft shoe.

"The horror!...the horror!"

So I will continue to obsess over obscure bands like The Teardrop Explodes, Doll By Doll, The Fall and Throbbing Gristle. And I will continue to veer towards literature that is convoluted and difficult like "The Recognitions," and "Giles Goat Boy." I'm not saying I'm going to actually read them, but I will veer towards them. And I will continue to watch "Welcome TO The Dollhouse" and "Gummo" for the 150th time, alone if I have to. OK, most likely alone, but I serve a stern master, my personal taste. But so does everyone else, for that matter. It's that little voice muttering in the back of your head that says, "This is good. That is bad. You have a clue. Everyone else is an idiot."

Maybe you don't have a little voice muttering to you in the back of your head. Well then, as Baby Jane Hudson once said so succinctly, "Then you're an idiot!"

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