LOS ANGELES — Hello, “Glee” lovers, wherever you are! (And you are everywhere.) It has been a good year for your favorite show! Nineteen Emmy nominations! That’s two more than “Mad Men”! And you “Modern Family” fans — 14 Emmy nods is nothing to sneeze at!

Surely these are the season’s most beloved new TV series, praised by professional and amateur reviewers alike, the subject of much Twitter tweeting and Facebook posting and possibly even old-style, in-person, water-cooler conversational bonding. But they are not beloved by me.

I don’t say this to be contrary or controversial. If anything, I’m in a state of wonderment. It feels odd, critically, to remain so unmoved by things that have moved so many, to be left cold by what warms the multitudes. Do I think that people who like these shows are wrong? I suppose in some way I must, just as I imagine that they would pity my inability to enjoy them, as though I were unable to appreciate the taste of strawberries or the smell of cut grass.

When I reviewed “Glee,” at the time of its premiere, I did call it “one of the best new shows of the fall season.” That is a relative term, of course, and in the next sentence I also described it as “maddeningly schizophrenic” and went on to detail my caveats, which still substantially remain (cardboard characters, ridiculous situations). My own indifference has had, of course, not derailed this pop-cultural juggernaut on its path to world conquest. Madonna has allowed the use of her songs; Paul McCartney sent creator Ryan Murphy two CDs worth of his own stuff, hoping to be similarly celebrated. Britney Spears is lending her music and her person to the new season. And, in the final devotional melding of viewer and object, “Glee” nation has given itself a name: “gleeks.”

“Modern Family,” whose fans have no special name for themselves, as far as I know, is a more difficult, even puzzling, case. For while I can see perfectly well what people like about “Glee” — it has singing and dancing and underdogs who regularly triumph through performance, and a touching occasional story line involving a gay teen and his unexpectedly understanding dad — “Modern Family” does not work on me at all. It’s as if we existed on different planes, or came from different planets, or that I suffered from some sort of neurological deficit that denatured every joke and feel-good moment.

Just today (as I write these words), I was at a party where I was asked what I thought of “Modern Family,” the statically probable expectation being that I liked it as much as did my interlocutor, and that we would move on possibly to share our favorite scenes and characters. Instead, she got to hear something along the lines of what you’re reading now. This sort of thing has happened not infrequently over the past year, or nearly, with “Modern Family” fans of many ages and otherwise diverse tastes, some of them related to me.

Well, to each his own. Different strokes for different folks. There’s no accounting for taste — well, probably on some psychological, sociological or biological level there is some accounting for taste, but you are not required to account for it.