Idolwild

Now there's no doubt in anyone's mind that American Idol gave new meaning to the phrase "socially acceptable cruelty". Why do we feel little or no guilt in watching people embarrass themselves and get laughed at and/or ridiculed for it on AI? It's really no mystery. Simon Cowell is just the living embodiment of every snarky thought we've ever had about anyone else (never mind whether we have the cajones to utter them out loud or not). Why even Mother Theresa in her moments of weakness must have felt a giggle come on when some bow-legged, malnourished kid with a bulging belly (Oh the irony that is protein deficiency) streaked nude across the entrance of her tent/shack/wherever-the-fuck-she-lived. (On a side note: the only reason why I ever watched Haarudhan, or as it was called in its previous incarnation, Haarusoanaa, was for the sight of old or retarded or ugly people prancing about on live TV doing things which they obviously never had the talent to do to begin with.)

I for one feel no shame in saying exactly what I think. There's a childlike honesty to bluntness that I, and the Simon Cowells of the world, feel carries more weight than Paula-esque roundaboutedness. But for some inexplicable reason (probably a loaded revolver pointed at Cowell's forehead by a TV exec from behind the camera) even [insert tired, over-used adjective synonymous with the word "mean"] Simon doesn't go far enough. Therefore I have taken it upon myself to go the distance and say what's on everyone's mind but left unspoken at primetime Tuesday and Wednesday nights on Fox (brought to you by Diet Coke and Ford...among others).

Gina Glockson: I'll say one thing for her. She's pale enough to pull off the whole Goth-Chick image that's been pushed on her by the judges but I swear one of her eyes are smaller than the other (or bigger for you half-full-glass kinda people) and she can't sing to save her life. Now there's an interesting concept for a TV show. Let Al Qaida kidnap her, put a black hood on her head, cut a hole for her mouth, let her sing and ask America to vote on whether she gets decapitated or not. Let's hope for her sake that she doesn't go into a rousing chorus of Hava Nagila.

Haley Scarnato: She reminds me of that Lahufa Faez chick from our own Maldivian Idol. Translation: she looks annoying, sounds like nails on a chalkboard and makes up for mediocrity with silly stage antics.

Blake Lewis: I have a feeling if I knew this beat-boxer personally I would actually like him but that's what the people who watch this show (mostly pre-teen girls, old women on life support and me) need to realize. We DON'T KNOW these people. Their stage personas shouldn't be taken at face value. The fact of the matter is that this dude is a unique choice for this show because of only two reasons. 1. He's slightly more urban than your Carrie Underwoods or Kellie Picklers, and 2. Technically speaking, he's a horrible singer.

Brandon Rogers: I actually recognized this guy way before the revelation that he was a backup singer for big stars. Why? Because I remembered him warbling in the background when Christina Aguilera performed Come On Over (All I Want Is You) on AOL Live. A reason I would have been too ashamed to admit before my sister (lovely girl that she is) made sure that everyone and their grandpa knew just how fey I can be sometimes. Most of the time. Ok! All of the time. Now why did I go off on a tangent about my borderline gayness instead of discussing the strengths or weaknesses of Brandon. Ah elementary my dear Watsons! Because that's what anyone would do when they see Bland-on Rogers perform. Think about their laundry. Or grocery lists. Or the condom wrapper they might have left lying around where their mom could see (Isn't it interesting how fear of condom wrappers being discovered by parents is universal across genders?).

Jordin Sparks: Can sing. Too bubbly. Better suited for a beauty pageant.

Lakisha Jones: Obligatory fat, black, belter (those of you who don't pay attention to punctuation marks, feel free to assume that Ms. Jones can take on Jackie Chan anytime, anyplace) who finds her way onto almost every season (anybody remember a certain someone called Jennifer Hudson?).

Chris Richardson: I would point out that he's a Justin Timberlake-wannabe but that's already so obvious and probably (ugh!) part of his appeal. However, aside from his many, MANY, flaws, Timberlake can actually sing. Through his mouth. Not his nose unlike Chris. Still, kudos to Chris for dedicating Jason Mraz's sublime Geek in the Pink (which he butchered) to his Grandmother (Those are sarcastic kudos by the way. Google the meaning of the song if you've actually read this and don't get what I mean).

Chris Sligh: Kinda sorta funny although I do admit anyone can see his jokes coming from a mile away. Self-deprecation is so blase' these days anyway. He does sound a lot like Elton John though. And if there's anyone who could win American Idol it would be the fairy Knight himself.

Stephanie Edwards: I think the people behind the show still can't get enough of Fantasia Barrino so they just incubated a clone which came out lighter-skinned with a weaker voice.

Phil Stacy: I have no interest in even discussing baldie with the scary smile. He's probably going to be the first to leave next week.

Sanjaya Malakar: I don't understand why Simon and co. just won't come out and say it. This guy is too gay. Even for the show which made a star out of Clay Aiken. He hula dances and being seventeen is no excuse for having a girl's voice either (yours truly could do Marvin Gaye on his fifteenth birthday). Don't get me wrong. I'm not a homophobe. But the key demographic to which AI caters to surely are. He really can't sing for sour apples too. I blame Janet Jackson for making impressionable young queers like Sanjaya think that whispering in a girly voice is singing.

Melinda Doolittle: Had to save the best for last. Melinda is by far the only real talent on the whole fucking show. If I had to criticize her (which, to be fair, I do), I would say she has absolutely no neck. None at all. But neither does Nelly and he seems to be doing pretty well. I also think her deer-in-the-headlights schtick is a well-executed ploy to win votes. But she doesn't really need to do that. She's got more talent in her half-an-inch of neck than all the other contestants combined. Whether she wins AI or not, one thing is for certain, she gets the you-tube embed award for this post. Congratulations Melinda. You might as well leave the show now completely satisfied.

Have Your Cake And Eat It Too

Posting about the American show Friends would be a mortal sin without mentioning Britain's brasher and more intellectual answer to it - Coupling (the circular logic that TV executives operate on forced them to make an American version of this too but trying to watch it is about as enjoyable as trying to tweeze out hairs from your big toe).

There are four main things which are likeable about BBC's Coupling and they are :-

1. Jeff,


2. The inventive dialogue about relationships and sex,


3. Jeff,


4. and the theme song Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps.

So there's a reason why I'm including Cake's tongue-in-cheek version of this timeless classic below (but no reason why I should be nominated for a Nobel Prize but that doesn't mean that's not going to happen either). Please press the pretty pink play button.

Hello Old Friend

I wanted to be the first to blog about Courteney Cox's new show, Dirt on FX. Matt LeBlanc had his chance with Joey but it turned out to be such a crapfest that the name Joey instantly became a synonym for anything bad and/or unwatchable (e.g:- The TV show Supernatural is SO joey. Or. Jay Leno, that joey bastard!). Matthew Perry went under the radar with Studio 60. I'm still waiting for it to turn into a real cult favorite before watching it (like Arrested Development) but I won't stop the clocks or let a cake rot in the background (never expected a Great Expectations reference didja? No matter how forced or unnecessary to the context). But good old Monica Geller just hit pay dirt (which will be my first and last wordplay with the title of this show).

She made the right decision not bringing in any baggage from Friends (we're still waiting for Jennifer Aniston to get out of character). This show isn't politically correct, it's not warm and fuzzy and it doesn't pretend that the United States of America consists of only good-looking, white heterosexuals who never have sex in front of a camera (and for those of you who are wondering, yes that is Spawn's cape Cox is wearing in the picture and no she isn't anemic, she's actually a vampire!)

So all you extremely unpathetic and sexually fulfilled people out there who are valiantly keeping the faith that six middle-aged men and women will once again sit down at Central Perk for a rousing chorus of Smelly Cat, I'd like to wish you a very happy upside-down-day. Throw a hat on me and call me mad already (I'm on fire with the lit-refs today).

**UPDATE** - Here's a little something for anyone even remotely interested in this show.

Dirt S01E01 - http://d01.megashares.com/?d01=c3d5eb9
Dirt S01E02 - http://d01.megashares.com/?d01=a16fe92

In the immortal words of Christina Aguilera - "Gonna get dirty..".

In 24 Hours We'll Be Laying Flowers

Sunday, January 07, 2007 -

10:21 AM - 24 is back!! More Jack Bauer. More fast-paced neurotic suspense. Of course, season 6 will be better than all seasons before it and season 7 will trump season 6 and so on and so forth. Right now Jack and co. share the topspot of the pinnacle of my affections with Battlestar Galactica.

10:23 AM - I've got to find the right picture with all the counter-terrorist chutzpah.

11:02 AM - This real-time thing doesn't work as well in real life when you get interrupted in the middle of posting on your blog. I wonder what Jack Bauer does when he has to take a dump or someone messages him on MSN. Anyway watch 24 for the time of your life. Get it? Time? Comedy thy name is Hamzah.

Plastic Surgery For Your Rashes

The tragedy! The bittersweet tamarindishness of it all! The fourth season of Nip/Tuck has come to a close. Oh how I'll miss Julian MchMahon's ubiquitous ass and the parade of almost perfect tens who invariably end up between his black satin sheets. Never to hear the uncannily well-chosen background music that Roma Maffia plays from a stereo she reaches through glass doors with a seemingly telekinetic swish of her hands, while the Doctors, Troy and McNamara, nip, tuck, suck, uplift or just generally gross-out the audience. Until the start of the fifth season that is!

If you haven't seen Nip/Tuck ever before, I would strongly suggest starting from the first season. It's an unequaled masterpiece which sadly even the writers of said show themselves haven't been able to duplicate and these were no ordinary two-cent hacks but the geniuses...genii(?)...very smart people who came up with the idea of coke mules smuggling their stash in breast implants. Substance and allegory aside, the very sight of Kelly Carlson (a cardinal sin to be confused with lesser female specimen, Kelly Clarkson. Its as easy as telling the difference between potbelly pigs and birds of paradise but to complement my skillfull use of animals as metaphor, the difference between both Kellies is shown below) is enough to keep you coming back for more.

It's also rumored that unless you watch Nip/Tuck you will end up impotent/barren and contract horrible eczema (thank you two hour seminar on advertizing with subtlety and grace). So watch the trailer below or stock up on Dove soaps and steroid ointments.



FYI; that beautiful song those people are awkwardly mouthing is Brighter Discontent by The Submarines. Buy their single too. Same risk of childlessness and skin mutilation applies.

L Is For Lesbians

I've spent the better part of last week catching up on my newest obsession. Showtime's The L Word. It's unclear for me exactly why I started watching this show. I know two important things. I'm a straight guy and this show is about physically attractive lesbians. But I can't for the life of me figure out the connection between them. It's the world's most complicated two-piece puzzle.

To say the show exceeds expectations would be an understatement. Even the kind of expectations someone who bought a Barker Lounger, twelve rolls of toilet paper and a bottle of baby oil especially for viewing comfort would have had before watching three seasons of this show. It's so well-written that it can distract you from all the girl-on-girl action going on (and that, my friends, is no small feat).

A word of caution though. This is not a show for everyone as the warnings, before the show's trademark retrospective prologue, intone in a deeply forbidding voice (do they use the same viewer-discretion-is-advised-guy for all the shows or is there some kind of training camp?). Still, if you're able to overcome any prejudices you have against alternative lifestyles and decide to stop ignoring the elephants in your rooms (especially when those elephants are slender, undeniably hot, lesbians) then start tivo-ing mainstream schlock like Desperate Housewives/Prison Break/Lost etc. so that you can watch them after a two day marathon of The L Word.

Just to give you a taste of what the show is about without giving too much away, here's a trailer for the third season which was tastefully done to Fisher's version of the Nat King Cole classic L.O.V.E.. Why? Because the L in The L Word stands for love you dirty-minded simpletons!

One Less Wiggle In Their Step

Lately, I've been too sad and confused to update my blog. Sad, because Greg Page (the Laa Laa of the gang) from The Wiggles has retired (Why, God? Why?!). Confused, because I have no idea who he or The Wiggles are. Regardless, I'm sure he will be missed. By whom I can't say. I'm not god after all. But the truth is he's gone. And all because of some mysterious disease that causes nausea and dizziness in him for some inexplicable reason. Crabs? The Clap? The Bubonic Plague? Who can say? What's even sadder is the thought of all the lawsuits he and the other Wiggles will face from people who now know for sure where they caught the nausea and dizziness they got from watching their show.

We should take this opportunity to remember all the great artists who have been stolen from us too early in their careers by death or disease. Janis Joplin, Jim Morrisson, Kurt Cobain, and now Greg Page. Audioslave is right. The original fire truly has died and gone. Take it away Chris Cornell. (Play the video below or the dramatic ending to my eulogy is completely ruined)

Ephen Stephen

Watching the news: Something to be tolerated for a few hours out of your day if you share a television set with your parents like I do. Synonym: The sight of unflushed, used tampons in the toilet, that is if you also share a bathroom with your sisters like i do. God! I've just realized I have nothing in my life I can call my own. Except my dignity! You can never take that away from me.

And my love of Stephen Colbert. That's all me. Stephen's The Colbert Report, an offshoot of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, (both on Comedy Central, the only Cable channel worth paying for) is far and away one of the only reasons why anyone below the age of fifty can pick Dick Cheney or Karl Rove out of a line up nowadays. I still have no idea what things like fiscal reform or senatorial filibustering means but they sure do sound funny in a sentence. And that's what i want when I hear about the deaths in Darfur or huge tidal waves wiping out half of Asia. Good comedy. Laughter is the true panacea after all.

Seriously though, Colbert is the funniest man on earth. And maybe even Krypton. Watch the video below to judge for yourself.

Drawn to Drawn Together

In the mood for a reality show? No? Didn't think so. As reality shows have consistently failed to simulate the elusive (to TV show writers) concept that is everyday life, most people with three digit IQs have stopped watching them.

Comedy Central's animated show, Drawn Together, is as far from a reality show in the contemporary sense of the word as can be. It's satire at its cleverest and least pretentious. The show stars a sexist, racist (everything else-ist) superhero who goes by the name of Captain Hero, a crass internet download called Spanky Ham, an "ill-conceived" (the show's words. I think it's dead-on) take on SpongeBob Squarepants called Wooldoor Sockbat, a broad caricature of African-Americana in the 70s called Foxxy Love, a grossly unsexy 20's era sex symbol called Toot, a gay computer-game character called Xander, a bible-thumping homophobe and all-around bigot who also happens to be a fairytale princess called Princess Clara and a tiny pokemon-type japanime monster by the name of Ling-Ling who, sadly, represents the entirety of the Asian community.

If that long-winded and, consequently, grammatically-fucked-up sentence isn't enough to get you interested in this show then here's a link (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKc_et8g5L0&mode=user&search=) to a trailer of it's 3rd season. As my grandma always said, an animated picture's worth a thousand useless words. Actually that's a lie. She never said that. Poor woman would probably end up in the fetal position, in a pool of her own urine, if she ever saw this show. God bless old people.