I really tried to be a “Belieber.” Not that I was ever into your music or dance moves (OK, I downloaded “Baby” – albeit, illegally – but only because it’s upbeat, and I’m running out of songs to jog to).
The reason I wanted to believe in you was that my 11-year-old niece is a big fan of yours. And in this day and age, kids need good role models, some more than others.
I didn’t know much about you until my niece began singing your songs two years ago. She has posters of you on her bedroom wall. When your songs come on the radio, and I try to change the station, she slaps my hand away. When I mispronounce your last name as “By-ber” instead of “Bee-ber”, she hisses and corrects me.
Once I realized you were important to her, I did my homework. I read about your rise to fame on Youtube. You seemed a little smug in an interview with the New Yorker, but I looked past it. Maybe you just didn’t get much sleep the night before. I’m cranky on days like that too.
But then I saw the news about your profanity-laced tirade with a photographer in London, and how you threatened to beat “the **** out of him.” You looked like a thug, with your pants hanging halfway down your legs and your boxers showing. You looked and sounded like … like the kind of person I WOULDN’T want my niece to be around.
Silly me for trying. I should have known that anyone your age, with quick rise to fame and money would eventually have a meltdown. That’s just how the universe works in Teen Idol Land – every rising star will have a crash landing equal in force to its ascent. Kind of sounds like something Einstein might have said, doesn’t it?
Sorry to talk physics. Like being a good role model for my niece, it’s probably not your strong point.