The Beatles say I want a revolution. I never realized the revolution involved dancing like a fool with my roommates in our living room.

I didn’t think it could ever happen to me, but one of Japan’s biggest imports has finally found a soft spot in my heart. That’s right, I’ve caught the bug — I’m hooked on Dance Dance Revolution.

This was never supposed to happen. I’d witnessed and dismissed the frenzied video game before, complete with its candy-coated graphics and contestants who, regardless of skill level, look like the silliest people to ever risk public scrutiny.

But after only a few minutes of trying the game on my niece’s PlayStation over break, I knew I’d be buying it the second the student loan money hit my bank account.

Within a matter of days, I’ve gone from the chuckling bystander to the moron on the dance pad. It doesn’t even bother me anymore when friends stop by and laugh at my “mad skills,” which are pretty close to what a Twister-induced seizure must look like.

Our DDR sessions have become so sweaty and physically intense, we’re often tempted to prop open the front door, but we aren’t quite brave enough to let the judgmental stares of passersby into our home. Obviously, this level of self-consciousness is about more than a silly video game. This a perfect example of the tiny joys in life we hate to love.

It’s the movie you rent when all of the roommates are out of town. It’s the CD that only touches the car stereo when no one else is in the vehicle. It’s the trashy romance novel that would make your more educated friends question your sanity.

Dance Dance Revolution may be my latest obsession, but it’s certainly not the first. For example, I’ve always had a penchant for cheesy ’80s and early ’90s movies. I’m not talking about the campy, lovable John Cusack flicks with a few cute catch phrases, although those are fun as well. This is about the completely over-the-top, ridiculously cheesy films the actors must have to block from their memories later in life. The bigger the hair, the louder the clothes, the more obnoxious the makeup, the better.

For some reason, movies starring Corey Haim and Corey Feldman, the original Tiger Beat heartthrobs, are the perfect example of ’80s excessiveness. While just watching “The Goonies” is OK, it’s more fun to view all of the pair’s films in chronological order. Don’t believe me? Check out “Prayer of the Rollerboys” and “License to Drive” just to see the drug habits getting worse. You can actually hear careers shattering.

My music collection isn’t much better. I try to restrain myself from paying hard-earned money for CDs that I’ll later have to lock away, but a quick scan through my mp3 collection will tell you something different about my downloading habits. Pretty Girls Make Graves and The Replacements may line my CD rack, but Ace of Base and “Barbie Girl” are almost always within reach. This isn’t just me, either — just ask M-Shop Coordinator Eric Yarwood. He may be great at booking great bands, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the Ethel Merman disco album stashed somewhere in his office.

From film to music, our dirty little entertainment secrets will always put a twinkle in our eyes. Personally, I’m tired of hiding my Vanilla Ice collection for fear of persecution. We must stand tall and proud behind our poor listening and watching habits. We must shout at the top of our lungs, “I own ‘Monster Ballads,’ and I’m proud of it!”

After all, if we don’t indulge in a little worthless fun now and then, how will we be able to recognize the good stuff?