On a radio interview with Ryan Seacrest last week, the White-Stripped one asked 17-year-old Cyrus whether or not she was a fan of the show Glee. She laughed and said, in that blowsy, gum-cracking voice of one of Marge Simpson’s sisters, that she had never seen an episode. Recently someone asked her if she was a “Gleek” and she recoiled in disdain. “What the heck is a Gleek?” she said. “That’s not something I want to be.” (In a one-two punch Miley managed to get in another hit on Glee creator Ryan Murphy. Earlier in the interview she gave a vocal roll of the eyes to her mother’s recent obsession with “that Eat, Pray, Love thing,” Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-seller that Murphy will bring to the big screen this August.)
Now I do love me some Glee and just as I cannot understand why some people choose to live a life without pets, it’s hard for me to accept another’s lack of interest in New Directions. So I do worry over young Miley’s taste. I will say that the teenage superstar wasn’t being overly catty or snipey about my dear show. She admitted that she’s heard great things about it and that her little sister is obsessed. It’s just that, you know, “I’m not a huge musical whatever.” Good grief, now I’m worried about her articulateness as well as her career choice. I’ll let others fret over her leather bustiers and penchant for on-set lap dances.
So what say you Mighty Gleeks? First off, do we accept this moniker that conjures up images of saliva torpedoes? Do we forgive a music star who doesn’t appreciate musicals? Do we buy that she didn’t even watch the episode that featured Rachel’s busted version of The Climb? Most importantly, if Miley were in fact a student at McKinley would she be the meanest, glossiest Cheerio ever to stalk the halls?