I always feel a little left out when people are talking about pop culture. I’ve never seen Glee. Lady GaGa is a rainbow-colored mystery to me. I feel that Twilight is an insult to literature. I don’t know who practically any actors or actresses are these days, I don’t even have a working TV (we have one that’s going on 21 years. We use it for movies on VHS), and the last article of clothing I got from a reasonably cool brand name was last summer at Goodwill (it’s an H&M coffee-colored shirt-dress with cream polka dots. It’s pretty cute and I plan on ruining it by sewing a big ruffle to the bottom edge).
However, if I want to discuss my kind of pop culture, no one knows what I’m talking about, unless they are
b) weird like me, or
c) an English teacher.
Every once in a while, I’ll spout out something like,
“Well, good-bye Mrs. Burns, and remember, keep smiling.”
Me: “Oh, never mind. It’s from a 1930’s radio show.”
Them: “………………. That’s nice, Sofia.”
Thus, I inevitably end up telling strange stories about my weekend adventures, which generally include knitting, getting lost, and conversations with the diverse population of weirdos to be met at bus stops.