Certain things kind make me want to cry. Obviously, the fact that George W. Bush and Dick Cheney will have spent eight years in the White House is one of them. But sometimes it’s the little things that make me weep inside.

The little things that comprise the surface of pop culture, for instance, are so excruciatingly vapid sometimes that I just want to smash oranges against my head in a fit of impotent rage. I was going to write an entire rant about how “J-Simp” is the dumbest nickname ever, and in fact the whole nickname craze, along with the conjoining-celebrity-couple name trend, is just out of control. This rant was going to go deeper than my own irritation at headlines. I was going to speak about how the pattern of taking something clever and trying so desperately to recreate it and failing so many times just spoils the fun of the original. For example, “Bennifer” was not only cute because it rhymed with “Jennifer,” but it was smartly satirical because of the way that Jennifer Lopez had systematically taken over Ben Affleck’s entire life. But every single attempt since then has not only failed to point out some sharp observation about the couple, but they also all sound dumb. (“Brangelina?” Seriously.)

But I stopped myself before writing this rant. I think I’ve written it before. It’s the same tirade I go on every time one of these awful names comes up.

Instead, I asked myself why I even let these bug me at all. As I said, it is the surface of pop culture – and, like an iceberg, there’s so much more beneath it all. Instead of getting upset at what’s on top, I told myself I should focus on the good stuff that’s hidden.

Then again, I replied to myself, I already do that. I appreciate the underground, and revel in it. I’m not a “scenester” by any means, but I do like indie films. And indie rock. And indie publications and indie websites and public radio and free art museums and iceberg similes and sidewalk chalk drawings and nonprofit theatre and all kinds of things that never get the same kind of exposure as, well, J-Simp and the rest.

So why, then, does that stuff get on my nerves?

I thought about that one for a while, and it occurred to me that mixed into my feelings of righteous indignation is a fair amount of shame and embarrassment. And I probed that even further, and I realized that I do actually enjoy this country quite a bit, despite its obnoxious exterior. When I say, “This stupid country,” I say it with a broken heart. And I want so much for all the good things to come to light and be appreciated by the population that when I see “J-Simp” come up in the headlines without the quotation marks (thus making it valid, or as valid something like this can be in the mire of a media-driven pop culture such) I cringe and shake my head. It’s the same kind of feeling you’d get watching your buddy make a total ass of himself at the bar – drunk, obviously not acting as smart as he is, and kind of pissing you off because he’s being disrespectful to strange women. You just want to punch him in the jaw.

I want to punch pop culture in the jaw.

But I can’t, because it’s not a tangible thing, so I’m stuck with my futile resentment. Maybe, though, since these things are a fad, if we push it so far that the dam breaks, so to speak, the trend will pass. People will get tired of it, and they will stop responding. If we just go ahead and give all our celebrities these stupid nicknames now, at the same time, maybe we won’t have to put up with them later.

I’ll start.

J-Simp.
A-Simp.
Johnica.
Gyllenspoon.
G-Stef.
Av-Lav.
D-Chen.
A-Hath.
Wizzle Ferrizzle.
F-Whit.
P-Man.
O-Bloom.
T-Danz.
Bon-O.
F-Sav.
Sarobbins.
K-Jam.
NicKeith.
Pam-An.
Barrybraff.
Timberdiaz.
Lee-yo DiCapree-yo.
G-Cloo.
Wolfowitzzz.
And-Coop 3-6-0.
Brizzle Dennehizzle.
Reeg-Philb.
O-J-Simp.
P-Hamm.
J-Dench.

And myself, for when I’m rich and famous:
B-Gai. (Wait – “be gay?” Maybe not.)

That’s all I can think of. I feel better already. Can anyone else think of any? Let’s get them all out, right now.

Filed by Bil at 9:50 pm under Pop Culture, The Media