Let the auditions begin
Further proof that the universe is unfolding as it should; last evening saw the first episode of American Idol VII. When anything gets to the point where Roman numerals are useful (football games, kings and popes, encyclopedia volumes) then there’s a whole mythology available to those who care about trivia. Will this be the meltdown season? Is there another Reuben in the wings? Should I be videotaping these programs for my grandchildren?
Some good advice from Paula: “Keep on singing for your own satisfaction”. The woman should be on the staff of an elementary school near you, teaching the arts to impressionable young minds. The hulking man who wrote a song about how he wanted to stalk (her) showed the powerful effect on impressionable older minds. Let’s spread the wealth around. Simon admitted that he was perplexed: “Why is it that you people are happy over the good fortune of someone else?” I predict a long altruistic career for the man of a thousand T-shirts. Randy still seeks a dog.
My son had a suggestion for the production crew. There should be three exits from the audition room. One for those who don’t make it through, one for those “going to Hollywood” and a third, clearly marked with circles and arrows, for those who have severe mental health issues. This exit will require a door with solid hinges, swinging in one direction. A lot of people line up for the opportunity to be mocked by a huge television audience. Thirty million people are ready to attest to the lack of your talent.
I love this show. For anyone that has ever sung in the shower, there is a place for you here. Perhaps not the fifteen minutes of fame mentioned by Mr. Warhol, (erosion of value from inflation) but a minimum of thirty seconds. Even if you’re over the age mentioned on the application form and your message is in favour of abstinence. Thanks to Mr. Milo Turk for that suggestion.
Geography is not a factor on AI; last night we visited Philly, tonight we take Dallas, tomorrow… at least this program suggests to youth that there are greener pastures in other places. For the poor girl that sold her horse and left Oregon, I wish you all the best in the weeks to come.
