My favorite type of music isn’t a genre – it’s whatever the fewest people know. This statement is not to be confused for a hipster battle cry against all things “mainstream,” however. Unlike the many who celebrate music simply for its obscurity, I don’t boycott musicians who have ascended to higher levels of recognition, I don’t accuse one of my favorite lesser-known groups of selling out to the popular demand if they happen to score a hit, and I certainly don’t write off their artistic ability. Who says there has to be a distinction between what’s good and what’s mainstream?

So now that I, Dylan “the Dylan” Gallagher, am stating it in print, treat this as a gospel – nail this statement to record store doors, preach the message from atop a soapbox and put it as your Facebook status: it’s time for the musical war to stop.

Let me put it in perspective: in the world’s bottommost layer of expressed minor grievances, falling somewhere between fingerprints on your glasses lenses and the contents of my blog, resides the familiar complaint of “I used to like that song until it became popular.” In response to this I would like to issue a public service announcement to my readership/Planet Earth in general: stop saying this forever. A song’s composition doesn’t fall to pieces the more airplay it gets and the quality of its lyrics doesn’t just suddenly dissipate (unless it never existed to begin with; here’s looking at you, Ke$ha). In layman’s terms, the song was not better when you allegedly liked it before everyone else.

The only instance in which it can accurately be stated that going public has ruined a song is in the cases of songs such as “Rolling in the Deep” and “Party Rock Anthem,” – a fate that I like to refer to as death by ubiquity. I can’t speak for others, but by the summer’s end I began to react to the opening line “There’s a fire starting in my heart” like how I would imagine a dog reacts to a shock collar; the overexposure can genuinely begin to strip a song of its appeal and novelty. Other than this, though, a song’s publicity is no excuse to dismiss it entirely.

My tendency toward relatively unknown music is not a consciously developed habit; I just seem to instinctively gravitate away from songs that are more easily accessible on the radio. I don’t inherently rule out the possibility that a hooky Top 40 tune can find its way into my head, heart and iPod.

I would also like to take some of my remaining space to direct some flak at the readers on the other end of the bell curve. Yes, I’m speaking to you, fans of Katy Perry, LMFAO, and – Lord have mercy – Ke$ha. Elitist hipsters aren’t the only demographic culpable of the crime of unjustly marking music as good or bad; your neglect of the unfamiliar is the reason that talented “indie” artists such as Sky Ferreira, Marina & the Diamonds, Lykke Li and Frankmusik go virtually unnoticed in the mainstream. The fact that they don’t have a fanbase tantamount to Gaga’s brigade of Little Monsters isn’t a problem per se, but it’s an embarrassment that a singer like Robyn, who’s been in the pop writing/recording game since the early-to-mid ’90s, has gotten her most U.S. exposure in years as the opening act on Katy Perry’s California Dreams Tour.

As much as I talk about it in such a sweeping manner, I’m starting to think that perhaps the only just way to pass judgment on music is to stop thinking about it on such a grand scale. Perceive music independently of the artist’s status in the industry or the song’s position on any of the Billboard charts; remind yourself that it’s okay to think that Rihanna’s latest single is complete tripe or to admit to actually liking Justin Bieber. In the end, you’ll find that it won’t matter what other people have to say about your musical taste — you’ll always think yours is better anyway.

Love life issues? Friendship drama? Problems in the bedroom? DYLAN GALLAGHER won’t give advice on any of these things, but would still love to hear all about them at dylaaaaan@gmail.com or via cleverblog.tumblr.com/ask.

A friend e-mailed me last week and complimented my column. Sort of. He said my environmental one bored him. He wanted to hear about three things: the European Union, soccer and waffles.

Yes, it’s true; Brussels is basically the capital of the European Union. Brussels hosts the European Commission, Council of the European Union, European Council and the second seat of the European Parliament.

But I don’t really care about any of that. I’ve woken up and marched through the sea of EU employees, through the EU quarter, and I’ve even had a few beers among them. While the international politics thing definitely has a presence here, it doesn’t factor into my daily life.

Soccer is also not much of a factor. I’ve been to a match, and yes, it was a joyous occasion, even in the rain. Everyone was singing and drinking and waving flags. But the truth is, the Belgian team kind of sucks. I rarely hear anyone in Brussels talking about soccer for this reason – field hockey and tennis are far hotter topics.

That leaves waffles.

Out of the EU, soccer and waffles, there is no contest as to which is dominating my study abroad experience. It’s waffles.

Waffles are very popular in Brussels. In the touristy spots, you’ll see long lines for waffles buried under whipped cream, chocolate and strawberries. Downtown, you’ll see a businesswoman briskly walking to work with waffle in hand. In the super markets, you’ll find prepackaged assortments of waffles and waffle cookies.

But the image you have in your head of a Belgian waffle is probably wrong, because the term “Belgian waffle” only exists in America.

In Belgium, apart from the prepackaged cookie varieties, there are two types of waffles – the Brussels and the Liège.

The Brussels waffle is the most similar to the airy, crisp waffle you are picturing. They are perfectly rectangular, with deep pockets for catching powdered sugar. They’re light, thick and should be eaten sitting down. Eating them with more than just powdered sugar or butter – in other words, the mountains of cream, chocolate and fruit that make them taste so good – is unauthentic.

But the Liège is the waffle that has my heart. It’s the waffle that has everyone’s hearts, actually. It’s the waffle that makes travelers go home and say, “I LOVE BELGIAN WAFFLES.”

Imagine a waffle-cookie hybrid. It’s doughy, dense and chewy. It’s served warm. Its batter holds pearl sugar crystals, which then caramelize when baked, and can satisfy any sweet tooth. It’s perfect au natural. It can be made even more perfect with a healthy spread of melted Belgian chocolate. Or a slight dollop of whipped cream. Or vanilla-scented.

If you want to picture my Belgian diet, just consider what Brussels is most known for – waffles, French fries, chocolate and beer.

Belgians claim they invented the French fry in the 17th century, and I believe them. Belgians are way more into fries than the French. Belgians are way more into fries than anyone, for that matter.

Brussels is packed with friteries and various snack shops that primarily sell fries. A typical lunch is a cone of fries – double fried in animal fat and double salted – with a few dollops of sauce on top. The most popular accompaniment is mayonnaise, but friteries have long lists of mayonnaise variants, flavored with everything from curry to chili to cabbage.

The words “Belgian” and “chocolate” go together beautifully, as do “eating” and “pralines”. Godiva came from Belgium, and here it’s regarded as strictly mediocre. Think about it.

That leaves beer. Think about this: Stella Artois is probably the second most standard, boring beer in Belgium. The most widespread is Jupiler, but that’s at least what’s heavily consumed by locals. Each legitimate Belgian beer – even Stella, sometimes – is served in its own special chalice, designed so the beer can look and taste its absolute best.

For real beer connoisseurs, there’s Trappist beer. There are exactly seven Trappist monasteries in the world where the monks brew beer, and six of them are in Belgium. It’s rich. It’s special. Trust me.JANELLE BITKER is never drinking Keystone Light again. Ask her for beer recommendations at jlbitker@ucdavis.edu.

In this world, nothing is certain but death and taxes. And now, another unwanted fate has joined the ranks to complete a trio of utter distress: job interviews.

Back in the golden days when the U.S. was less populated and ice cream cost a measly one-cent per pop, most jobs lent themselves to on-the-job training. All you needed was a happy-go-lucky attitude and a willingness to work.

In today’s age, with a rising population of more skilled and more educated citizens and an economy that is in dire straits, you can’t get by with just a smile and a tucked-in shirt. So now, all employers require an interview in order to process desperate potentials, similar to how processed meat goes through a grinder.

These days, even jobs like mowing the lawn or filing papers in alphabetical order requires you to dress up all stuffy and answer a series of hard and irrelevant questions.

For example, a question that you might get for a job stocking merchandise onto a shelf could be: “How do you keep concentration while doing repetitive tasks?”

If you can answer that, then hats off to you. But if you are like me, then you most likely saw rejection flash before you eyes and in a frantic frenzy blurted out, “Meditation. I concentrate by meditating.”

It is questions like these that make you wonder whether employers need someone who can do the job or someone who can fabricate really articulate answers. Because when a question like, “List three adjectives that describe you and why?” comes up, any well-prepared schmuck could make up a whole book of flattering adjectives to portray himself and come up with examples to accompany them.

So is honesty still a factor? It seems as though honesty is a character trait that is highly sought, but employers have us playing the guessing game and doubting our morals when they ask questions that compel us to either exaggerate or flat out lie. What they ask can turn even the most honest of people into conniving, deceitful lying machines.

A seemingly innocent question like, “Why do you want to work for us?” could culminate with an answer that is as far off from the truth as Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. Let’s take a look at the options we have for answering that question.

Honest answer: “I need the money.”

Correct answer: “Well, your company has a remarkable reputation for work ethic, and hard work is a value that I deeply cherish. Since we share that same value, I will not only be a perfect fit for the company, but we, as a team, can share in the principles of hard labor and achieve great feats that will take this company to an even higher level of success.”

And this gives rise to a puzzling inquiry. Since employers are supposed to be smarter and more experienced, shouldn’t they have already developed some internal sensor that allows them to detect signs of ingratiation and brown-nosing? Or could it be that they are seeking a member for the team that is as phony as the interviews they conduct?

Aside from all this, nothing quite chaps my hide like when employers ask for experience – which is understandable if you’re 40. But when you’re a freshman in college and you’re looking for a minimum wage job making copies in an office, there’s no need to sit through a half-hour interrogation of your work history. Maybe asking me to copy a few pages from a book should be enough qualification.

But perhaps the worst part of an interview is not the actual interview itself. It’s the days leading up to it that make you lose nights of sleep and have you lingering on the edge of insanity. Rehearsing lines like, “Whatever I lack in experience, I make up for with passion,” as you go about your day pretty much constitutes being crazy.

Now that I’ve pointed out how ridiculous job interviews are, you can sleep easy knowing that they aren’t as grave as you make them to be. In all seriousness, employers are just looking for someone who can carry themselves well and keep composure under pressure.

So if you get a question thrown at you from left-field like, “What is the capital of Mongolia?” confidently utter some gibberish. Then when they correct you saying, “Actually, the capital is Ulan Bator,” you will reply with:

“Yes. That’s what I said. I’m sorry my Mongolian accent got in the way.”

MICHELLE NGUYEN can be reached at michellen1990@yahoo.com.

Friends are great … until they are nowhere to be found. If you have buddies who are as AWOL as the Hot Wheels, LEGOS, Nerf guns and other treasures your parents auctioned off in your absence, or who have made themselves as scarce as water in a sweltering desert, it’s sadly time you recognize them for the inconsiderate flakes they are.

The real friend is an endangered species of friend that tends to perish after migrating to college habitats, where acquaintanceship is a more valuable commodity. While a few of your fittest friends survive the trials of time, most evaporate off the face of your universe, leaving you as rich in friendship as a penniless man with torn pockets.

Though the absence of some friends may make the heart grow fonder, it inevitably makes the brain grow pissed that rather than cultivating your fragile friendship, they plucked it from the ground and trampled on it like a dozen wild six-year-olds fighting over bubble wrap.

Before you mentally chastise yourself for scaring off friends as consistently as a magnetic pole repels its match, remember that real friends are not susceptible to the sandpapers of time and conflict. Instead of flaking away, these friends will stick to you like gum melted onto cement by the summer sun.

Though your friends may deserve to have a dozen packages of extra-thick Bounty toilet paper glued to their houses by a couple hundred raw eggs, keep in mind that if college stress has turned you into a hermit who hides between library bookshelves or behind mountains of textbooks precariously piled on dorm-room desks, it’s not only their fault your friendship has faded.

You can only be righteously annoyed if you have honestly been trying to make plans with flighty friends who’ve decided they’d enjoy partying – or worse, tanning with the light of their weakly-lit computer screen – more than your company.

Since I once hated the disappointment of seeing friendships shrivel and wither away like thirsty plants, I won’t judge you for feeling upset if your own friends have been shirking their duties. I’ve realized, however, that it’s best not to take things too personally.

It may seem as though every bare rectangle and every crossed-out plan in your life calendar is mocking you, but the truth is that some people have the attention spans and time-management skills of third grade boys in math class on a sluggish Friday afternoon.

Sure, it’s disappointing that there are people who would waste away days by living in computer game simulations, or waste away brain cells guzzling alcohol rather than fortifying friendships. But life, especially college life, is a game of trial and error; you will need to encounter and contend with crappy friends if you hope to found lasting friendships with people who recognize you’re worth more than a forgotten penny in a dark, dirty, desolate alley.

Ten years from now, nobody will care to know who shot who in a game of Battlefield the night of Halloween, no matter how exhilarating it might have been. So make memories that you can look back upon fondly and make them with the people who appreciate all the time you have spent on their behalf.

Pull your thoughts out of nostalgia’s grasp and stare reality directly in the eye. If anyone is miserably failing to meet your standards for friendship, rather than worrying why, just let them go. Also, you need not waste time devising a solution for your unfulfilling social life. Simply get a job or internship, join some clubs, and do not hesitate to accost curious strangers who seem to share your interests. In Davis, potential friends are lurking around every corner.

Alternatively, if for some reason you have no luck meeting new people, I’ve heard the campus squirrels (and perhaps the horses of the equestrian center, as well) become quite animated and friendly once they’ve been fed a few slices of apple.

Lastly, if you feel you are the one guilty of stepping on friends’ self-esteems, shredding them to millions of pieces, burning them to ashes and kicking them into the staggering black hole of despair … I suggest you atone for your sins by apologizing and explaining why you’ve been too busy to maintain contact.

Good luck!

ZENITA SINGH will generously read any gossip, melodramatic life revelations or pleas for help you send to zensingh@ucdavis.edu!