I wonder if you are subjected to exposure issuing from the idiot-box early on Saturday nights? I am talking about the X-factor on the telly. It's compulsive compelling viewing and must have a tremendous audience judging by the rich array of adverts that occur every 5 minutes and last an eternity. Plenty of advertisers leaping on the band-wagon. It occurred to me that the programme panders to our sadistic delight in humiliating the poor untalented nonentities who think they are possessed with the lungs of a nightingale.
Certain contestants have improved their chances by recounting tales of hardship, disease and bad luck through which they have battled courageously to fling themselves on the mercy of 4 overpaid judges sitting in the middle of a baying crowd of music lovers. Yes we love a trier but even more so we love a loser who sings worse than us. Like the viewers in an art gallery standing bewildered before a Jackson Pollock, they know that little Tommy paints better than him, and he's only 6 yrs old and as for the black square by Rothko, how can you call it art? Unlike the mausoleum atmosphere of an art gallery, the X- factor is conducted in utter chaos with no shortage of loud opinion issuing from the orifices of the cultured multitude.
But what is not revealed to the viewers, but seems pretty obvious when you consider the masses of applicants, is that a team of pre-judges sift through the applicants before they get selected to go onto the stage in front of the cameras. Such pre-judges are tasked with looking out for contestants who think they are marvelous but in fact are possessed of the musical talent of a sewer drain in Calcutta. Hence when they start performing it feeds our sadism and humiliates the poor bugger who can't keep time, has no rhythm, forgets the words and croaks like a wounded bull frog.
We love it but is it good television or simply a Roman amphitheater with Cowell sitting there like a replete Nero with his thumb down, passing the death sentence of the very contestant who is enriching his coffers?
So I now know how to get that precious 3 minutes of glory. I will be unbelievably self confident, outrageously dressed and utterly failing the first interview as so to be sure of getting exposure. Then, when it is my turn, I will sing like an angel, make my relatives cry with schmaltz induced joy, wow the audience into stunned silence followed by explosive applause. Definitely off to boot camp and a decent meal at last.
Who cares about selling furniture - Simon's a good egg.