Heads all empty and I don't care

I was looking for some Terrapin Station videos online, and I came to an odd realization. There is an eerie similarity between admitting you like the Grateful Dead and admitting you do in fact dance with yourself. They both follow a simple arc.

Stage 1: Denial. "Listen to the Grateful Dead? Me? Whatever, those losers over there might spend all day listening, but not me."

Stage 2: Grudging admission. "Ok, I listen to Skeletons in the Closet every once in awhile, but I have lots of bands I'd rather listen to." In reality you have all the studio CDs and about 20 bootlegs. You would only need one or two bootlegs, but you keep looking for a version of Dark Star, that is just right.

Stage 3: Too much information. Now you are wearing it a bit too much on your sleeve. You put a copy of Robert Hunter's lyrics on your coffee table. You love telling people about your original promo posters from the Fillmore.

Stage 4: Comfortable acceptance. "What's the big deal? Everybody likes American Beauty."

I understand the name of this blog makes this post extra creepy, but there you go.