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If I could ban any phrase, it would, without doubt, be that overused, viscerally irritating, and far-from-innocent term itself, the Guilty Pleasure. I don’t think I actually groan out loud when I’m asked, every time I’m interviewed, “What are your guilty pleasures?,” but from deep within the cacophonous orchestra of my mind, the woodwind section starts up a searing wail, the cellos come in with their melancholy sob, only giving way to the brass section to end with the wah wah wah waah of the sad trombone. I may be smiling, but I’m keening on the inside. My answer to...