Middle Gel:  Dad! I had a dream last night that you and I had to go to a Lady Gaga concert.  It was horrible!

Self:  Sounds like a real nightmare.  I wonder what it meant?

Eldest Gel:  I like some of Lady Gaga.

Self:  Oh, sweetie, I wish you wouldn’t listen to that stuff – it’s soul-rotting garbage.

Eldest:  Well, I don’t like Lady Gaga herself, just her music.

Self:  There’s no difference.  It’s all the same package.

Eldest: Nuh-uuuuh!

Self:  In fact, that pretty much goes for all pop music – soul-rotting garbage.

Eldest:  Look, Dad, just because you were born 2000 years ago doesn’t mean everyone else was.  Your music is old.  And boring.

Self:  I don’t care whether it’s old, but it certainly isn’t boring.  Thumpa-Thumpa-Thumpa-Oh, Baybee over and over again.  Now that’s boring!

Eldest:  You can’t just condemn all pop like that!

Self:  Well of course I can.  When the shoe fits.