The world around us is filled with thought-provoking mysteries to ponder. Was the universe created by a self-existent God, or is the universe itself actually eternal and self-existent? Does absolute morality, by definition, require an independent standard of measurement, or can it exist without the need for outside absolutes? And: who in the hell is hrie@yahoo.com?

Important questions, all. I've contemplated them, and I certainly have some thoughts and opinions. But of recent, there is a singular mystery more important than any of these, a question my mind has been returning to again and again for several months: How can we explain the popularity of Celine Dion?

Let's consider her body of work. Her hits have included Where Does My Heart Beat Now?, The Colour of My Love, It's All Coming Back to Me Now, and My Heart Will Go On. If anyone--anyone--over the age of 13 bought any of these songs, they should be taken outside and summarily shot. Why? Well, why the hell not? Would you miss anyone who enjoys lyrics such as "I'll be your cloud up in the sky / I'll be your shoulder when you cry / I'll hear your voices when you call me / I am your Angel"? I hope not, because if you would miss such a person, you should be taken outside and shot, as well.

Still, as wretchedly awkward and maudlin as most (okay: all) of her songs are, her performances are even worse. What's with the watch-me-pound-my-fist-against-my-chest move she does? What's with doing it numerous times during each performance? Has no one ever taken her aside and said, "Enough with the chest pounding--you look like you're having an epileptic seizure"?

Then, the Celine Dion perfume. And the Chrysler endorsement. And, good gravy, the whole Vegas thing. Her own $95 million theater? Sellout shows? Celine Dion? Celine frickin' Dion?

Unfortunately, my heart won't go on. Cut out my eyes. I've seen everything.