There are few things in life more satisfying than having bad taste redeemed. Such redemption is rare because the label “bad taste” usually applies to pop culture, and once we label something as bad taste, the label is permanent. There are exceptions, of course, mostly outside of pop culture—Nabokov’s Lolita was considered in bad taste but only by the uptight literati whom no one pays much attention to anyway, unless you buy your clothes from J. Peterman and refuse to watch television and scoff at things like Bruce Willis movies.
Pop culture sets the bar low. But low doesn’t necessarily mean “terrible,” except 90% of the time. So when we look back and rediscover the joy of bad taste…damn if it isn’t satisfying. And thus we are brought to this week’s column, a tasty blend of 80’s hair metal band Winger, really bad mix tapes, and the worst break-up of my college days.
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