I would ignore this album for another year or so, until one day I had myself convinced that Amnesiac was, far and away, as good as music could get. Clearly, those were tumultuous times. Turbulent times, to say the least. With my rediscovery of Amnesiac, I began delving into the rest of my Radiohead catalog. I still ignored Kid A. I still did not like the album, so it was still not worth my valuable delving time - a grudge with yourself can be the hardest to come to terms with. Instead, I found new Radiohead songs online, unreleased songs, b-sides, live songs, cover versions. I found a cover of "Kid A" by John Mayer. This blew my mind. Shattered my world. Let me down, brought me up, killed me, brought me back. Gone was all the pretentious robotic bullshit I hated; stripped away was the noise, the useless sound that I just didn't want. This was impossible…I fucking hated John Mayer! This wasn't the same Radiohead song - it was human! This song had life! I had trouble reaching a conclusion to this predicament. Either (A) I was wrong, and Kid A just might as human as me or (B) John Mayer was wrong, and Kid A was just throwaway garbage concerning some band's freaky dreams of roboticism. The answer is (A). But you knew that already.

Fucking John Mayer.

With this bombshell, I also realized that my years of classifying music as "Not ______ enough" had to come to a complete halt. Now I had to go back. There was no choice. I had tossed off numerous albums because they weren't punk enough, weren't cool enough, weren't spacey enough, weren't fast enough, weren't nothing enough. What was I missing? Why had I been such a damn fool! But oddly enough, I didn't go to Kid A first. In case you weren't sure yet, this is a story about how I'm an idiot. About how I ignore the best things because they aren't ______ enough. About how I couldn't see the incredible beauty of a line like "I will see you in the next life…" sung over a pipe organ, harp-plucking, and layered harmonies until I heard some adult-contempo asshole with a silly haircut mumble "We've got heads on sticks" in that goddamn pseudo-bluesy, I-could-totally-sleep-with-your-daughter-and-not-even-call-her-the-next-day-
if-I-didn't-want-to smug voice of his. Over an acoustic guitar! The bastard!