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I tried. I swear to God, I tried. When “You Oughta Know” first appeared, I despised its essential dishonesty (“Why should he feel it when you scratch your nails down someone else’s back? He dumped you!” I yelled at the radio), while secretly admitting the force of Morissette’s too-late-for-self-respect persona. When “Hand in My Pocket” was unavoidable, I sneered along with everyone else at her forced cool, but I disgustedly found myself humming the song in private. Later, when repulsed pundits were pointing out that none of the bummers in “Ironic” actually lived up to the name, I remarked that to a personality so neurotically self-involved, any unfortunate occurrence is ironic. And my wife and I worked up a rendition of the song’s shockingly strident “It’s like rayeeayn” chorus, which we would maliciously sing to captive audiences in our car, inwardly thrilled by the harmony’s lack of restraint. That hair. Those videos. Four Alanises in a car? I’d sooner cut my wrists. But my will to hate her has been broken. She’s been wearing away at me for a year, and now when I hear “You Learn,” it sounds beautiful, even if it is just another paean to shamelessness. I can’t defend it, but I can’t resist anymore. She’s won. I love Alanis. With Radiohead at 8 p.m. at Nissan Pavilion, 7800 Cellar Door Dr., Bristow. $21.25-30.25. (703) 754-6400. (James Lochart)