I've been feeling rather pleased with myself lately. See, I love cheese, and not just the kind you eat. I also consume all sorts of low-brow pop culture with a vengeance, and I don't hide it. I own my cheese, yo.
For years, I've been counting Die Hard among my top five favorite films. I think it's the perfect action movie. Many people have taken issue with this; I've even gotten diatribes as introductory e-mails from potential dates surfing match.com. They take my love for John McClane and Hans Gruber (Is there a better villian out there than Alan Rickman? Come on.) as an opportunity to pitch a Clint Eastwood movie.
I don't e-mail them back.
But maybe I will now. Last week, Entertainment Weekly named Die Hard as the best action movie ever. Eat that, Dirty Harry fans.
And my go-to karaoke song, also a favorite, was the final song selection for the Sopranos: Don't Stop Believin'. I won't, Steve Perry, I won't. I am a small-town girl, livin' in a lonely world. I haven't taken a midnight train going anywhere but close enough.
And then there's The Office. Andy and Jim, trashed on Jager, start singing Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls. I wouldn't call Amy and Emily cheese, but they are probably my second-favorite band so even if the song was used to comic effect, I felt validated.
And that brings me to Bon Jovi, my all-time favorite band. People always, always raise an eyebrow when I proclaim my love for JBJ but I have to tell you, like Die Hard, this band knows its place in the world and does it better than anyone else. Pure cheese, yes, but also pure gold.
Back in ’87, when I saw Jon Bon Jovi swing over me at Cobo Hall in Detroit on the Slippery when Wet tour, I knew I was witnessing grade-A cheese. And I ate it up.