Finding fault in everything

You wouldn't find music lovers or musicians, art collectors or artists, bibliophiles or authors hunched intently over offensively bad music, art or literature, for six hours, and paying for the privilege. But there we were: winemakers, wine students, writers, collectors, wine drinkers, wine lovers, all poring over increasingly stinky, unpleasant glasses of wine.

Perhaps it's because one can, to a certain extent, know beforehand whether music, art or books are going to be of dubious quality. There are previews. If one painting in an exhibition of 50 is bad, it costs nothing...