There's something of a mantra that permeates Daily Arts: If you don't hate things, you shouldn't be here. You've seen it in the back row of Psych 111, when we fry "Transformers" and Jack Johnson. And though you may despise it, there's a reason you see so many one-star reviews.

We fall victim to the problem of evil: No ultimate evil yields no ultimate good. Without the likes of Jessica Alba, you simply can't appreciate "Hills Like White Elephants" - the maddening dichotomy that rules the art world. Trying to reconcile the dilemma with arguments of subjectivity eventually proves circular: This is good because I like it. I like it because it's good.

Everything must be judged against its contemporaries, and frankly, "Law and Order" is worse than "The Wire." The pervasiveness of lackluster art inspires vitriol and is responsible for the cries of elitism that typically accompany the words "Daily Arts."

We've been relegated to a journalistic subculture, abandoning precious favorites the moment an art movement is co-opted by the mainstream. We sit in constant fear of our saviors being discovered by the bastardizing public, or simply relegating themselves to a commercialized, wet-blanket version of their former selves.

We hate things that we don't like. We don't like things that we hate. You have your taste, and we have ours.

HEATH LEDGER

The Australian accent might have been endearing for a time, but Heath Ledger's acting skills were anything but. This isn't an attack on the legacy of his character - it's an attack on his lackluster career that the public has been too disillusioned to recognize in the midst of recent Heath hype. Don't try to shroud his lack of talent in a heap of tragic sentiment just because you feel like a bad person for admitting the truth. Fifty-three days ago, "10 Things I Hate About You" was lame and "A Knight's Tale" embarrassing. His defining cowboy role in "Brokeback Mountain" proved a cinematic flop, even if the film did win three Oscars. Ledger's posthumous fame boost was inevitable (however misdirected) but warrants some serious review. Your post-overdose-career-bump/grace period is over, Heath, and there are some things Imdb.com can't hide.

HOPWOOD AWARDS

So you won a Hopwood. Good for you. You're basically set for life now. Your pen name - Amber Lovesalot or something equally overwrought - is kissing cousins with James Joyce. Hell, don't even worry about improving your skills anymore because a randomly selected group of professors thought your short story about the gutter of the big city was moderately better than all the other undergraduates' stories about the gutter of the big city. Listen, your Hopwood doesn't mean shit. All it amounts to is some extra cash for a couple of beers - and your East Quad crush will think you're totally deep. Get over yourself: You're a mediocre writer who won a mediocre award. Your 15 minutes is up.

HOPS SHORTAGES

You know, Michiganders have a lot of things to be cranky about: the weather, the economy, the weather. But damn we have some good local beer, no? Jolly Pumpkin, Bell's, Arcadia, Dark Horse - not to mention our bar-breweries: ABC, Grizzly Peak, Leopold's. If we can't bury our woes in the bottom of a brewsky, what else can we do? Take away our grog (or, at least, make it more expensive) and you risk our wrath. In one of those "you don't realize how awesome nature is until she fucks you over" moments, our wallets are taking the brunt of a statewide hops shortage. Beer prices have gone up, and Michigan's $25 million local beer industry is taking a beating. This is bullshit. Black Label will only bridge the gap for so long. Grow, little hops, GROW.

EXCESSIVE FACEBOOK RSVPING

I have a question: When you were in middle school and received an invitation to a bar mitzvah you couldn't attend, did you mail out your RSVP to everyone in a 30-mile radius? OK, so why do you find it necessary to post on Facebook Event walls to tell everyone on the fucking interweb that you wont be able to attend your friend's house party? We don't care if you're spending the weekend in Albuquerque to attend your cousin's rocketry competition. If you need to explain why you can't make it to some awesome event, pick up your goddamn phone and call the person who invited you. And while you're at it, disable your MySpace account, because I know you have one of those too.

J.J. ABRAMS