I admit it: I'm weak.
Still, I don't care if she is ubiquitous.
I don't care if every song is pop music's version of "coy" weighted down with bling propaganda.
I don't even care if she was 2007's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue
cover model. There is a crazed 14 year-old teenage girl (circa 1964) in me that screams until she's hoarse and in tears every single time I hear Beyonce.