Walking in the Light

I have a confession:

I am a Belieber.

I know, I know. I hang my head in shame. I myself have tried ceaselessly to deny it, but I cannot ignore it anymore. The facts speak for themselves. I have been struck by the Bieber Fever.

I submit in defense of this statement three articles of evidence:

Exhibit A: Last week’s episode of Glee. It was masterfully done AND they rocked the Biebs’ music in a way that made me actually listen to it. I had spent so much time and energy avoiding the Biebs on principle that I never actually gave him a chance. And I learned, last week, that his music is pretty much everything I like in a song: light, fluffy, catchy, and irrelevant.

Exhibit B: Despite what you may think, I learned that Justin Bieber is an incredibly courageous kid. He spoke out against abortion in a recent Rolling Stones interview, even in cases of rape. (cf. http://www.newsmax.com/Hirsen/justin-bieber-rolling-stone/2011/02/21/id/386850)

Despite the fact that this was a grossly inappropriate question to ask a little teen starlet, Justin Bieber was strong enough to take a stand even though he surely knew it would be an unpopular one. You don’t have to respect him for his music (and, really, I don’t), but you do have to respect a kid with so much gumption.

Exhibit C: I had a dream about him last night.

Let me explain. My dreams are always really vivid, and really, really interesting. I love sleeping because I love the stories my subconscious creates in my dreams. It’s almost like there’s actually another whole world that I live in, with consistent characters and everything. For example, I have a group of regular dream friends who are NOT people I know in real life. It’s always kind of fun to visit them.

Well, anyway, last night I was hanging out with my dream friends when we stumbled across Justin Bieber – frightened, battered, beaten, and on the run from someone or someones who was/were hunting him down. We took Justin into our protection, tended to his wounds, and assisted him in fleeing from his pursuers and ultimately, taking them down.

That’s right. I rescued Justin Bieber.

Now I know this isn’t your typical tweeny-bopper Justin Bieber wet dream we’re talking about, as mine involved guns and multiple lacerations as well as an explosive gang fight, but the fact of the matter remains. I had a dream about the Biebs.

This last exhibit puts it beyond question. I love Justin Bieber. And I am ashamed.