Nice Work: Top Ten Lists and Other Such Nonsense

There’s a common dogma of self-importance and grasping for deeper identity that suggests that no one should be so superficial so as to be definable simply by their tastes.  In other words, if you’re the type of person who can be largely encapsulated by lists of your favorite music, movies, books, foods, etc., you must be fairly weaksauce and lacking in depth and dimension.

To this I say "meh"… no one is as enigmatic as they envision themselves, and usually the ones looking for depth or clinging to it as the last vestige of a meaningful existence are the ones with the most to hide.  We’re pretty simple things; rather, we’re not such black boxes as we hope or feign. 

I like lists.  I embrace reductionism of the top ten variety.  Sure, it involves a certain sacrifice of nuance, assassination of relativism, and disemboweling of the thorough, but in the "real world" these are day to day deaths that expediate day to day lives.

And thus, herein reside my top ten lists, and other such nonsense.  Or is it?