Saturday, November 27, 2010

I am the Dancing King

(The below was submitted on one of my college applications. I forget the prompt. I find it amusing. Enjoy.)

Maybe it’s my Swedish heritage. Maybe I seek an avenue of rebellion against the negative themes in today’s music. Or maybe I was simply born a generation too late. But whatever the reason for my love of ABBA, I remain too embarrassed to admit it to my peers. Hiding my adoration is made easier by my eclectic taste in music: I can bob my head to pretty much anything my friends happen to have on the radio. But I would bet there are many other closeted ABBA fans out there just like me. Who can resist tapping their feet to such innocent, upbeat music? Fellow ABBA fans can be found all over Europe, which is part of the reason the Swedish trio is the fourth best selling musical group of all time (behind the Beatles, Elvis, and Michael Jackson, respectively). Nevertheless, many American males fancy themselves too manly to jam out to Dancing Queen. These are usually the same men who feel inclined to buy pickup trucks because they’re “Built Ford Tough”. They may get eight miles per gallon, but at least they can haul a big pile of rocks should the need arise. The machismo acquired through years of red meat, cold beer, monster truck rallies and WWE fights could be lost instantaneously were they to be caught humming along to Fernando. I, on the other hand, am secure enough in my masculinity to crank up Mamma Mia in my beat-up Cavalier -- even if I do make sure the school parking lot is out of earshot first!