Big boys don't cry

I am fairly certain I've never been accused of being a metro sexual male. It's not like I am a neanderthal. I'm just a regular guy who likes regular guy things. I ascribe to the belief men are to keep their emotions in check. It pains me to see shows like The Bachelor where effeminate pretty boys feign heterosexual impulses while selecting from a bevy of low self-esteem, surgically enhanced fame seekers and then shed tears of regret for "the one that I should have chosen". My guess is the one they are tearing up for is listed in the show's scrolling credits as the "best boy" but an admission of that would kill their ratings.

I'll happily submit to any voir dire regarding my status as an old fashioned male of Renaissance values. So it is with a humbled ego but no regrets that I admit today I witnessed something that brought tears to my jaded eyes.

In the course of my daily reading and quest for a suitable blog topic, I kept coming across posts about a middle-aged frumpy Scottish woman who's popularity on You Tube was "Boyling" over after her appearance on Britain's Got Talent. With the same curiosity that normally get's one in trouble and infects laptops with a virus, I clicked an enticing link. WOW! [Note: the embedded video below has been edited. Follow the previous link for a full version.]



My analytical mind has struggled with what it is that has so profoundly affected many of the millions who have witnessed Susan Boyle's performance. Honestly, had she simply walked in to your average Irish pub on Karaoke night and belted the song out, she would have garnered the attention of everyone there but only for that fact she has an above average set of pipes. More tears would be shed at last call than at the end of the first refrain. So what happened on Britain's Got Talent?

I think what happened was a crowd of superficial, judgemental, cynics had their entrenched paradigm ripped out, chewed up and spit back in their faces by an unassuming, church going spinster.

I've never enjoyed American Idol, the United State's variation of Britain's Got Talent, for the same reason I don't enjoy escape artists. The first weeks of every season are the variety show equivalent of an amateur performance of a buried alive stunt or high wire straight jacket escape. People tune in hoping for failure and bloody carnage and find themselves mildly amused when, with a brief glimmer of talent, a tragic ending is avoided. I can only assume the Neilsen households who drive up Idol's ratings get some feeling of superiority watching ignorant, tone deaf hacks embarrassing themselves in a quest for instant fame. Once a score of marginally talented and visually appealing vocalists are selected, the show becomes a soap opera where the most deserving (read: needy) is often retained for another week instead of the most able.

When the eccentric, learning disabled, cat loving homebody walked on stage the crowd prepared itself for an easy chuckle at her expense. Perhaps Ms. Boyle benefited from the prejudice of low expectation but, seconds in to her performance, she burst from her caterpillar's cocoon to become the butterfly of the evening. The standing ovation she received was justly deserved although I fear it was spawned from guilt. Guilt borne of prejudice against the plain. Guilt over the hope that this woman would fall flat on her face and be subject to the show's judge's ridicule.

Judge Amanda Holden was most eloquent in her sincere apology and her statement that, "it was a complete privilege to listen to that". Yes it was a privilege. In this era of fame at any cost and undeserved popularity, to witness someone's pursuit of a dream in an altruistic endeavor instead of an assumed right to infamy is all the more special because the dreamer doesn't fit the mold, or the wardrobe, of your average overnight sensation.

Ms. Boyle has embarked on a journey to success and so far seems to be taking it all in stride. I pray she avoids the pitfalls and pratfalls that will surely be written in to the script of this unscripted reality show and that she does remain faithful to who she is. If she does succumb, she will become just another narcissist seeking fame instead of the ugly duckling who's swan does not emerge as outer beauty but instead is embodied in the reminder to us all that dreams can come true and no one can tell us otherwise if we believe in ourselves.

Beware of American idolizing false prophets of hope

I’ll admit I have never sat through an entire episode of American Idol. I’ve tried. Watching these superstar hopefuls as they churn through the grinder of competition hoping to emerge unscathed enough to have a chance at a recording career is akin to visiting a slaughterhouse and following Betsy the Bovine from the time Maxwell’s Silver Hammer goes bang upon her head until she shows up gently tenderized wearing a BBQ sauce cologne on my dinner plate. I don’t care to see what the cut of meat went through on its journey from just above the cow’s four stomachs to my stomach. I’d rather judge the taste of it on the merits of its final preparation. I also want to judge an artist by the quality of their music and I don’t really care to know their personal struggles or life’s story. A singer’s personal hardships may make for an interesting TV dinner time movie after a successful career but, frankly, they have nothing to do with how well they perform unless they lend themselves to the creation of a catchy tune.

Another skip in the record of American Idol is the fact many of these singers are nothing more than talented Karaoke enthusiasts who impressed Simon, Randy and the drunk chick enough to snag an invite to the broke state of California to pimp themselves out in front of America’s meat heads and couch potatoes. The winner is the one does the best rendition of a song made famous by someone else while successfully keeping the topless pictures they sold to pay the rent the previous year from coming to light. I have more respect for artists who look for greener pastures by working hard to separate themselves from the herd through hard work and dedication and don’t have fame thrust upon them in a stampede of attention by winning an image contest.

Normally, I’d be content to ignore the foolish goings on over at Fox Entertainment and graze the cable channels in search of anything else to stare blankly at but the practice of choosing image over substance has migrated to more important areas of our lives and is now infiltrating Fox News as well. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Rock Star receptions being given the First African American President of the United States at nearly every public appearance he makes. If you were to truly look at his (lack of) accomplishments on the way to the White House the veracity of

would be foregone.

So much is made of The ONE’s amazing public speaking abilities that to question the content of his pronouncements never seems to occur to anyone and visiting dignitaries are warned to not try to compete with him on the speaking stage. Just like those who watched the famed Nixon/Kennedy debate on television had a different opinion of the victor than those who listened on radio, reading Obama's speech leaves one with a feeling much like old Betsy the Cow might have in the back of the truck on the way to Slaughterhouse 5 if she had self-awareness.

If we as Americans remain a docile cattle-like electorate being swayed by oratory excellence we will soon become chattel to a Rancher Government that at times seems to hold us in udder (sic) contempt. Every time Obama speaks about his plans for the economy, Wall Street stumbles and I feel more like Billy Pilgrim in a Kurt Vonnegut novel; thinking I've heard all this before and knowing where it will lead.

This week in Washington was the annual Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC). Here too we were witness to flowery rhetoric and, at times, the scent was more akin to the fertilizer than the plant. Reporting on the speeches at this event is highlighting the occasional jab at the opposing party instead of chewing the cud of Conservative thinking being proposed. Just like Bobby Jindal's response to Obama's speech to the combined Congress was panned because his "performance" was weak even though the content was strong as a bull, so too will the performances of Conservative speakers at CPAC overshadow the substance that is the heart of the convention.

The next time you come across someone speaking of Change and singing the praises of The ONE, ask them if they watch American Idol. Then ask them to name specifically what some of the content of the stimulus package that was just signed in to law is and how that is going to stimulate anything. When people begin to learn the meat of the issues, they may soon begin singing another tune.

S2

I am ready for my close up Mr. Terrorist

News flash: Most of reality television sucks.

I know, call me Mr. Obvious.

News flash II: People still watch this tripe!

Its rise in popularity was all but destined given the desire for 15 minutes of Andy Warholian fame that many people in this country have. It isn’t even limited to the porous northern and southern borders that the United Sates protects as effectively as sun block level 2 on a Mexican Beach in August. It is a world wide problem.

Shows like Big Brother, Temptation Island, Survivor and the Big Kahuna American Idol take mostly no talent, no class and no clue narcissists and thrust them on the American populace and into instant and thankfully short-lived fame. I may get voted off the island for saying so but most of the winners of American Idol have no more talent than can be seen at Karaoke night in a dozen bars across town on a Friday night; although the beer in my living room is a lot cheaper.

Each season these supposedly unscripted bits of entertainment brilliance seem to try to showcase more bizarre, more extreme and more salacious people and events to hold our attention rapt in voyeuristic anticipation. The writers are like my dog after the postman drops a letter through the mail slot; they want to see just how far they can push the envelope. Unfortunately, they are doing it with about as much care and forethought to consequence as my Chow Lab mix takes with each new issue of People Magazine. It wasn’t until I saw a similar issue at the dentist’s office that I realized Nicole Kidman doesn’t always have drool on her face…and that Rosy O’Donnell does.

There have been articles, books and even movies predicting that reality shows will continue to devolve until the science fiction world of televised game show executions that currently exist only in the mind of Richard “can I call you Steven” Bachman become all too real. Unfortunately these shows are cash cows and they, like the extra fee for your checked baggage that was to offset the no longer outrageous fuel costs for airlines, won’t be going away anytime soon.

The same can’t be said of the news division. The networks need a way to pay for these cash…umm…what is the opposite of cow? The networks need to pay for these cash leeches (that is right in so many ways) that are the nightly newscasts. It is only recently that the networks began looking to news as a potential profit center. The networks pay huge sums of money to keep the likes of Katie perky and these also supposedly unscripted, unmanufactured and, really now, unbiased shows on the air.

News programs are not immune to sliding a few paper letter containers around either. I heard rumor that Brian Williams has “If it bleeds, it leads” tattooed on his right buttock. If it involves tragedy, no story is out of bounds.

It is at the intersection where unfeeling and uncaring reporters meet unthinking and “no longer wanting to be” unknowns where the traffic light of reason has burnt out. The most recent execution spree by the “religion of peace” adherents in India is a perfect example.

Two stories, one with an unsurprising tragic end have come to light.

The Shaws are a South Wales, UK couple who were trapped in one of the hotels. Their tale of danger is punctuated with this quote from the now media shy Mrs.

“The terrorists were watching CNN and they came down from where they were in a lift after hearing about us on television. For that reason I would appeal to the media to be very careful about what they broadcast.”

Hey lady, how about being careful who you talk to?

Sadly, the second story does have a tragic ending. A British business man, shortly after talking to the BBC was texting his son when suddenly the texts stopped. His body was later recovered.

While I feel for the family of Mr. Liveras I can’t help but wonder what the hell he was thinking. Have we come to a point where personal safety takes a back seat to cable TV exposure? How soon will it be until other survivors of this ungodly in the name of Allah act begin making the rounds to Oprah, Tyra, Ellen and Larry? If I were in that same situation, I would like to think that I’d be spending my time trying to figure out how to introduce as many of the cowardly gunmen to their promised stable of virgin camels in as painful a way as possible. If I needed to reach out and text someone, it would be to a S.W.A.T. sniper with directions to the closest Jihadist’s head along with wind speed and elevation and not to an info babe at CNN or the BBC!

As evidenced in India, fame can be fleeting. If you are going to stick your head out for no other reason than to get noticed, some less than human may just cut it off. If you feel the need to seek fame, make the reason for that fame worthwhile. If you do that, soon those being noticed will have a noticeably better affect on everyone.

S2