Confessions of an HSM Addict, A Misplaced Endpaper

“Oh my God. Oh my God. I cannot believe my eyes right now. I. Cannot. Believe. My. Eyes.”

The five us of leaned forward in our seats with unspeakable delight, staring at the bright blues and yellows dancing before us. We were completely enraptured. We had somehow lost control of our limbs, which were flailing wildly. We looked—and felt—like a bunch of junkies tripping on acid.

We were watching “High School Musical 3.”

I feel your eyes rolling reader, and I don’t blame you. Frankly, it surprises me too. I hate most things, and you’d think that would cover Zac Efron and his band of twirling Wildcats. Things I hate include: people who smile too much, people who breathe loudly, people who rush me when I’m walking slowly, people who walk slowly in front of me when I’m in a rush, and people who have ever used the words “Nietzsche” or “post-modernism” in regular conversation. Both small children and old people make me very uncomfortable. And for the life of me, I cannot understand the fascination that so many of my friends have with that live video of little puppies.

In short, I am the anti-Disney.

So when somebody played me “Year 3000,” by the Jonas Brothers, I was ready to rail against it. Those Jonas boys looked too happy singing that “not much has changed, but they live underwater.” What were they smiling about all the time? How exactly would the future be the same if we were all submerged underwater? Were they really related, and if so, why was one so much uglier than the others? I was filled with both questions and hate.

But the more and more I was forced to hear these songs, the more I grew to like them, in some sort of ironic way. The Jonases had catchy songs. 66.6 percent of them were cute. And most importantly, their lyrics were great. They wanted to “battle dance against Hanson.” Who doesn’t? They informed us that “hugs are overrated, just FYI.” I also hate hugs! Clearly, the Jonases understood my obsession with personal space.

And thus the ironic love slowly became a little less ironic. Through it all, I reassured myself that at least I didn’t watch High School Musical. It was my last shred of dignity, Jonas be damned.

So it was under duress that I was coerced into finally watching HSM. I steeled myself against it. “No matter how many times they sing in unison, do not get sucked in,” I told myself. “They are engineered by Disney. They’re all a little funny-looking. For the love of God, please don’t like this.”

And I tried. I tried, but Zac Efron’s eyes sucked me in like some crazy, dancing black hole. I wanted the Wildcats to win. I also wanted Vanessa Hudgens’s character to be killed in some freak lab experiment, but I was too entranced by the unnaturally vibrant colors to really care.

Most people my age refuse to admit they like anything from Disney. It’s too commercial, too prepackaged. And that’s true. I am aware that a group of Disney employees, likely balding middle-aged men in their fifties, has somehow managed to tap into the pleasure portions of my brain. And it’s admittedly terrible stuff. It’s cheesy, unrealistic, and incredibly sappy.

But what’s wrong with that?

Here’s how I imagine a conversation between i-Pod boy and his friend probably sounds like:

“What are you listening to, man?”

“The Sad Porcupines.”

“Who?”

“Oh, you probably haven’t heard them yet. They’re really indie. It’s a parapalegic girl with her twin brother on the tambourine.”

“Awesome.”

Essentially, two things are required for music to be cool: it has to be kind of angsty, and it has to be pretty under-the-radar. Well, High School Musical is anything but angsty. And as far as popularity goes—I’m pretty sure the HSM cat is out of its glittery bag.

So why do I like it? Well, for starters I like how uncool it is here. Imagine if iPod boy had run into his friend while listening to HSM. The ensuing conversation would be hilariously awkward! I’ve had it many times. And Disney is so uncool, it becomes cool. This is a thing I like to tell myself.

As for the angsty thing—I’ve got plenty of my own inner angst. My list of pet peeves, as you could see, is pretty extensive. Statistically, if you’re reading this at a table filled with people, I probably hate around 50 percent of them. Odds are good its you.

So when it’s 12:08 p.m. and I’m stuck behind you, or if you’re trying to show me how brilliant your small sibling is because it can recognize its fingers, or if you’re in the carrel in front of me breathing like you just ran a 5k, you better hope I’m listening to Disney. So that instead of shoving you or mocking you or glaring at you aggressively, we can settle this the normal, civilized way.

A battle-dance. Hanson style.



—Jessica L. Fleischer ’10 is a History and Literature concentrator in Eliot House. And while she likes both Hanson and the Jonas Brothers, she still dislikes puppies of all kinds.