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The grown men in the audience of the Glee: The 3D Concert Movie, who were overjoyed and in some cases genuinely euphoric over performance taking place on stage, are not likely friendship material for me.
First, let me make it clear that I did not watch the Glee movie. I was flipping through the HBO channels when I stumbled upon the concert and stopped only because I saw one of these grown men, fist in the air, tears in his eyes as he sang along with Glee’s version of Don’t Stop Believin’.

I had to stop. I couldn’t help myself.

 

I’m also familiar with Glee. My wife and I watched the first season of the show, but I did not like it. I thought that the music was highly overproduced and inauthentic within the context of the show, making it unwatchable for me. Still, I know many people who watch Glee and like it a lot (including my wife). I have no qualms with someone appreciating the show.

I can even understand a grown man attending this kind of concert. In 1989 I brought my sister to a New Kids on the Block concert, and though I was not a fan of the band, I had to admit that they put on a good show.

Ten years later I brought a niece to a Britney Spears concert, which was expectedly atrocious. Spears lip-synced the entire show and oftentimes seemed disinterested and distracted on stage. On my way to the men’s room, I passed the father of one of my former students. We stopped, made eye contact, and I said, “Let us never speak of this moment.”

“Agreed,” he said and we went our separate ways.

Still, there’s nothing wrong with a father taking his daughter to a concert.

There’s even nothing wrong with a grown man wearing a “Gleek” tee-shirt and jumping up and down, screaming the songs at the top of his lungs at a Glee concert.

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I won’t even criticize the tears in the eyes of some of these men or the sheer euphoria that some of these men experienced during the five minutes that I was watching the concert.

It wouldn’t be my reaction to this kind of performance, but to each his own.

I just can’t see me and any of these men being friends someday. At best, I would be required to make fun of them for their obvious obsession on a  daily basis, and while many male relationships are rooted in constant ribbing, this would probably be too much.

Ironically, they might make great characters in the kinds of books that I write. While I can admire their willingness to be themselves and brave the mocking of jerks like me, it’s just not enough to make me want to play poker or golf with them anytime soon.