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Morbid Curiosity

It’s eleven o’clock at night.

My flask of whiskey is nestled close in my peacoat.

I’m in Downtown Stockton; of course I’m going to see the new Justin Bieber movie… but not in 3D, that shit gives me a headache.

How did this sound like a good idea? I mean, at least it wasn’t my idea. I had just gotten home from another school day, and as I walked into my apartment, my neighbor, Caroline, mentioned that she and a few of our friends were going to see the Justin Bieber movie, “Never Say Never” at the downtown theaters that night. Now, even as I explain this to you now now, I can’t fathom what caused me to agree, but when extended the offer to go, I respond with an unfathomable, “sure.”

Realizing that I wouldn’t be able to handle this atrocity sober, I immediately ran into my apartment and downed three Pabst Blue Ribbons, barely grasping on to whatever hipster cred I had left. As our crew left for the theater, I filled up a flask with $20 whiskey from S-Mart.

So now I’m sitting in the dark theater, trying to remember why I agreed to see this movie in the first place. I fucking hate this kid. Who the hell is he and why does he have his own goddamn movie… AND in 3-D! Who, in their right, mind wants to watch a 16 year old kid dance and mouth the words to his songs on a giant screen… IN 3-D?

Fuck it. Time to get drunk.

The credits roll and my eyes are immediately filled with a screenful of Bieber. There is no way that this kid is really sixteen. I remember what it’s like to be sixteen and there is no way in hell I would have ever wanted my pimply, awkwardly shaped body projected on to a screen bigger than my house. How big must your ego be, to even be comfortable with that?

I’m Too Old For This Shit

This music is too damn loud. The bass is at least 4 times louder than it needs to be. This movie theater is four spinning rims away from being a lifted Hummer.

Another couple sips of my Jim Beam. It burns as it makes its way down my throat, a burning that could only be matched by the searing pain in my retinas after a few more scenes featuring purple strobe lights. Everything in this goddamn movie is purple.

Most of the beginning of the movie is set up to show you that the Biebs grew up just like you and I, just playing songs on the steps of a humble theater, on a humble street corner in a humble city. You’re right Disney… he is just like me. I guess the only real difference is that no one would pay real money to see a 3-D movie about ME, but that’s really it. The movie does a good job of this, though, and 30 minutes in, I’m actually starting to lighten up on this kid.

Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all. I mean, he’s just a fuckin’ kid, who got pushed into stardom at a crazy young age, and now he’s just trying to stay sane in this crazy world of ours. Justin Bieber, you may make a “belieber” out of me after all.

What am I thinking? This kid is crazy.

Now, I’m not saying he’s clinically crazy, but Bieber is kind of a douchebag. I’m not sure if it’s ok for a 21 year old college student to be calling a 16 year old kid a douchebag, but seriously… this fucking kid!

Pure Unadulterated Hatred

I don’t have a lot of hate inside of me, but the next scene in this consumer-whoring pop-orgy made my heart shrink ten sizes… like watching “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” in reverse. I’m staring at the screen and my eyes have weakened from the punishment they’ve received thus far. All is not lost, though, as Boyz II Men comes on screen. This is good, because I like Boyz II Men, and when I’m drunk I love Boyz II Men. There is no way Justin Bieber can ruin what is arguably the best pop singing group of the past twenty years.

It should be noted that I am often quite wrong in my assumptions.

He had them sing back-up for his song “U Smile.” This sixteen year old kid, with less life experience than a goldfish, made Boyz II Men, sing back up on a song called “U Smile”. They didn’t even bother adding the two extra letters that would make it a real word! My friends tell me that I actually screamed out loud in the theater at this point, though I still contest that I was only using my “inside voice.” I find brief moments of comfort in the fact that I have never actually heard a Justin Bieber song before this night.

Is This Real Life?

Miley Cyrus joins Justin Bieber on stage and a black hole is created. My mind can’t even comprehend what’s going on right now. Luckily, before my brain vomits, I’m distracted by a text message. My friend Greg is wondering where I am for rehearsal.

Goddamnit.

It just now occurs to me that I was supposed to be at a late-night rehearsal for my one of my best friend’s senior recital. How am I supposed to explain this to someone without sounding like an absolute crazy person? “Sorry, Greg, I can’t be at rehearsal right now because I’m drunk at the Justin Bieber movie.” It’s times like these that I like to remind myself that I’m a real-life adult, who will, next year, hopefully be a contributing member of society in the REAL WORLD. I hope I never have to text my boss explaining that I’m wasted at a movie whose target audience is mostly 12 year-old girls. Luckily, Greg accepts my half-assed apology, and I can return to hating this movie with my whole body.

I know I haven’t mentioned my friends much at this point, and that’s for a very simple reason: they really liked it. As I sat, breath stinking of cheap whiskey, Caroline, my next door neighbor, is singing (every word) and dancing (every step) to every single song this kid has ever made. I don’t even…

The Last Stage of Grief is Acceptance

My flask is empty. Fuck. How long is this movie? I glance at my phone for the time and we’re 90 minutes into the 105 minute running time. For all you math kids out there, that is exactly 105 minutes longer than this movie needed to be. This is his big scene, though, and he’s playing Madison Square Garden. Every time he points his finger directly at the camera, which I’m assuming looks SO COOL in 3-D, I imagine he’s pointing right at me and taunting me. “You paid five dollars to see this, and you’re an adult,” my interior Justin Bieber monologue whispers.

And he’s right. I paid real money to see his movie.

The final credits roll, and I stumble out of the theater. I’m searching for a moral to be found in this experience. Was I supposed to learn something? As a music student, maybe I should have gained some tiny bits of knowledge that’ll carry into my professional life. Maybe, in the end, Justin Bieber’s “Never Say Never” was really just a beautiful character piece, profiling the life of a young man, struggling to find balance in a pop world that has ruined so many lives. Maybe it’s really just a postmodern commentary on the nature of fame,

Just kidding, it was fucking terrible.