Don't believe the hype?

Talking with a friend last week, I had occasion to remember an incident from my college days that continues to amuse me.

Excepting my 20th century literature classes, my favorite courses in college were art history, for three reasons:

1. My exposure to classical and modern art had been limited (I lived in Maine, mind you, where most art included some form of raw-bark tree limb in its composition) so I delighted in learning about Albrecht Durer (cool) and Edvard Munch (enthralling) and Jan Vermeer (gorgeous).
2. While examining the pictures was wonderful, the examinations involved mostly rote memorization of facts (who did it, when, what style, back story, etc.) so I got regular A's, which helped to boost my GPA.
3. As a rule, the classes were populated by artsy, creative, gorgeous women and a few males who had discovered this interesting demographic trend. Because I got A's, I regularly found artsy, creative, gorgeous study partners.

One such woman is the star of this story. Sadly, I don't recall her name, though I think it was Susan. She looked like an extra in a movie scene that featured stylish women mingling at an Soho art gallery, the credits listing Susan as "Gallery attendee with improbably appealing derriere." Consequently, when she and her grade-challenged pal asked me and my friend Mike Sargent (who was also breezing through the course) to have a weekly study session, we readily agreed.

Back story: Mike and I both played guitar and were thoroughly immersed in the Beatles. I can understand a person not liking the Beatles, but it was then and remains to this day a display of utter stupidity to not acknowledge that the Beatles have few peers in terms of creativity, talent and influence. Every album maintained consummate quality while exploring new artistic terrain, and there isn't a throwaway album in the lot. If you say you don't like them, I honor your opinion; if you say they aren't good, you are an ignorant fool.

Cut to a study session with our voluptuous and semi-vacant classmates, where across the library table the following conversation occurred:

Susan: "So what music do you listen to?"
Bill: "Lots, though these days I'm mostly listening to the Beatles."
Susan: "Huh. I don't like the Beatles. They're all hype."
Bill (with incredulous expression): "All hype? Wow. What do you listen to?"
Susan: "Dance Music. Paula Abdul."

I was well aware that beauty was only skin deep, but it had never seemed so shallow as it had that day.

As you can imagine, Mike and I had quite a laugh in the car afterward as John, Paul, George and Ringo serenaded us on the drive home. Sure, they're no Paula Abdul, but they're my favorites none the less.