A save doesn’t win a game, sometimes
Just as in hockey, a great save doesn’t win the Idol game. At least, not for Casey Abrams, who was sent home this evening. Funny how talent is not enough in the media game, because he was the whole package. The kind of guy you’d want at your jam session. And in return for constantly “delivering the merchandise”, he’s now a statistic.
As the world naps, in anticipation of The Wedding, the political class carry on. Tonight, the suppertime news carried an interview with the local MP that has been a “media darling” for the last five years. A pretty face, ready to smile on demand. Pity that the talking points are so well rehearsed, because the interview left me with a taste of lukewarm water. Anathema.
My medical rest is down to the final hours. I’ll be back to work on Monday, slightly richer (the insurance plan is not exactly a replacement for salary), slightly better exercised (my office has longer hallways and a need for movement), slightly blinder (maybe the coworkers won’t notice, or ask why I keep one eye closed). And this too shall pass; in a matter of weeks, I’ll just be another cog in the movement.
I finished another van Lustbader novel last evening. It’s not that his writing is bad; I just can’t get into the flow of events. A bus book shouldn’t require weeks to finish. It wasn’t War And Peace… I’m ready to make the move to my ebook reader, now that my personal library has reached the point of know return (shout out to Kansas, and 1977, and a simpler time in my life).
