For a number of years now it has been apparent that the deluded and the desperate have been prey to the producers of the X Factor. Like lambs to the slaughter they line up in their thousands and one by one file by the merciless butchers who lick their lips at the thought of the quick profits waiting to be made.
It's an easy formula, take a couple of handsome yet effeminate young lads who will wait until their second single is due for release before coming out in an 'explosive' interview, add a couple of barely legal girls and get them to sing some 80's hit with a provocative raunchy dance routine that obviously can't be in any way relevant to the song, there's nothing better than a John Lennon tune about social injustice being sung in skimpy hotpants, throw in a single parent in his or her early twenties get them to yak on about how much they want this for their kids, add a novelty act for cheap laughs and finish off with a middle aged wannabe that life has passed by with potential for a rags to riches 'journey' and there you have it , a collaborative charity Number One in early December followed by the all important Christmas Number One and a string of one hit wonders from the following October through to mid November.
The young and old alike, the deluded, the mentally unstable are all being exploited for our weekly viewing pleasure. Do I sympathise with them? Not in the least they deserve it. Exploit away is what I say. Exploit them to the extreme. We have seen it all before , heard it all before.
"There's nothing else I can do singing is my life,"- oh yeah I must remember that line when the bank comes for my house because I've stopped paying the bills because I can't do anything else but be a star.
"I want this so badly I just have to get through," - similarly I can't wait to go to the moon because I want to sooooo bad, when NASA asks if I've any experience flying a shuttle I will just remind them of how bad I want this.
"This isn't about me its about giving my kids the life they deserve," - of course it is, because every kid deserves a lone parent that tours 9 months a year and is never home as there always seems to be a new night club needing a ribbon cut.
And then there's the tears, they cry when they lose, when they win, when they are criticized and when they are praised. Is there really nobody out there who is able to get through two minutes of a song and hold it together without the threat of a nervous breakdown after every round of applause. Oh I forgot crying proves how much they want it. After all they are artists and all artists dedicate their lives to their art because they want the lifestyle of mansions and press exposure, hang on a sec. Cheryl Cole referring to herself as an artist? Diane Vickers talking about taking that step up to being an artist? Well if bawling your eyes out because you want a mansion like Simon's and croaking and whispering to a dance beat in hot pants is art then let me load the shot gun and get shove my big toe onto the trigger.
Fast tracking a wannabe singers career so that their greatest hits collection is recorded before their first single is released seems to work well for the 'pop by numbers' record labels and managers associated with the show. We need more though. The anti needs to be upped if the show is to survive. Cut to the chase and have the contestants experience their number ones and subsequent fall from grace within the short period of the live finals. I would have enjoyed last years show much more had it ended with a 20 stone Joe McEl(-whatever his name is) talking frankly about how he developed an addiction to chocolate muffins when Simon and Cheryl stopped taking his calls after his singles stopped selling or better still had Jedward broke down on stage as they plugged their latest release and then sobbed about a battle with solvent abuse and manic depression or at least ADHD.
I can only hope the exploitation increases and maybe someday soon we will see the contestants skip the 15 minute singing careers and go straight to self destruction which inevitably sees them curled up in a corner of a padded cell in rehab telling a shrink about how badly they want and need this lifestyle. After all chances are they won't be doing it for themselves but to provide their children with a better life.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Pain , The Pain the F**ing Pain
Being a self confessed current affairs junkie I have indulged in news programmes, economic debates and yet more news. Finally I can no longer bear to listen to grim news announced by overpaid newsreaders with mournful expressions talking sympathetically about the latest economic woes whilst trying to conceal their joy at such news-rich days of darkness. I can see them now sitting in make up being handed an update of breaking news they must digest and explain to us in words we can understand. Mr Newsreader thumps the air "oh this is big great copy great copy" before feeling obliged to feel remorseful for those whose lives are affected by the words on his page as he is now increasingly aware that the silence of the normally bubbly make up girl whose name he just can't ever seem to remember suggests she may be thinking of her vulnerable position as an average wage sub contracted employee. Time to shake the head uttering half sentences about "doesnt bear thinking...whatever next...gosh...tch tht (followed by heavy sigh)".
I just can't take it anymore. I've had enough. I can take listening to bad news , impending doom and all the rest, I can take and whats more I enjoy it. It's reality tv at its best. No more shall I devour popcorn until my lips shrivel from salt overdoses in front of the evening news bulletins. My enjoyment of the misery and panic has been ruined forever by one key word in a few different phrases. That word is Pain. My skin crawls when I hear the word pain slipped into any and every article, report, bulletin , interview and debate.
Only a few months ago my ears pricked and my head cocked as I noticed the doe eyed sombre newsman mention the phrase in question whilst interviewing a fumbling politician. It was an innocent remark about budget cuts where he asked in his best mid atlantic yawn "Who can we expect to take the pain?" I remember thinking he must be stuck for original words to refer to the whole economic situation, before I could voice my disapproval the politician in a generic west of Ireland scratchy voice mentioned "We all have to share the pain". Wow I thought to myself hang on has there been some sort of referendum held on replacing the word recession or economic woes, hardship etc with the word pain. As the days went by I noticed more and more whether it be in writing or on screen the word pain being tossed about without hesitation. It was official every journo, broadcaster, economics expert and politician had joined in one big conspiracy to use the word pain as an umbrella term for anything at all to do with cut backs, suffering, tax increases.
The rate of tax is not being increased we are told the pain is being shared, classrooms arent being stuffed to capacity due to cuts in education spending no they are taking the pain, health sector isn't one billion euro over budget it is now feeling the pain. I simply can't take it anymore the word pain has been bastardised forever, if theres one thing that sticks in my gullet leaving me raw and angry it is lazy reporting, lack of vocabulary and politicians being clever in throwing about new cool terms proving they are hip and down with the kids.
I pray at night, I beg the Lord to rid me of this evil, give me back my news and current affairs commentary that I loved so much that kept me sane. Give it back to me in its entirety with all the gorey details for no more can I take being pawned off by the pain, I can't take it anymore take the pain and shove it up the backsides of all the overpaid morons that spout on about the pain so much, give me the pain with 'The Pain'.
I just can't take it anymore. I've had enough. I can take listening to bad news , impending doom and all the rest, I can take and whats more I enjoy it. It's reality tv at its best. No more shall I devour popcorn until my lips shrivel from salt overdoses in front of the evening news bulletins. My enjoyment of the misery and panic has been ruined forever by one key word in a few different phrases. That word is Pain. My skin crawls when I hear the word pain slipped into any and every article, report, bulletin , interview and debate.
Only a few months ago my ears pricked and my head cocked as I noticed the doe eyed sombre newsman mention the phrase in question whilst interviewing a fumbling politician. It was an innocent remark about budget cuts where he asked in his best mid atlantic yawn "Who can we expect to take the pain?" I remember thinking he must be stuck for original words to refer to the whole economic situation, before I could voice my disapproval the politician in a generic west of Ireland scratchy voice mentioned "We all have to share the pain". Wow I thought to myself hang on has there been some sort of referendum held on replacing the word recession or economic woes, hardship etc with the word pain. As the days went by I noticed more and more whether it be in writing or on screen the word pain being tossed about without hesitation. It was official every journo, broadcaster, economics expert and politician had joined in one big conspiracy to use the word pain as an umbrella term for anything at all to do with cut backs, suffering, tax increases.
The rate of tax is not being increased we are told the pain is being shared, classrooms arent being stuffed to capacity due to cuts in education spending no they are taking the pain, health sector isn't one billion euro over budget it is now feeling the pain. I simply can't take it anymore the word pain has been bastardised forever, if theres one thing that sticks in my gullet leaving me raw and angry it is lazy reporting, lack of vocabulary and politicians being clever in throwing about new cool terms proving they are hip and down with the kids.
I pray at night, I beg the Lord to rid me of this evil, give me back my news and current affairs commentary that I loved so much that kept me sane. Give it back to me in its entirety with all the gorey details for no more can I take being pawned off by the pain, I can't take it anymore take the pain and shove it up the backsides of all the overpaid morons that spout on about the pain so much, give me the pain with 'The Pain'.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Facebook? More like Get A Life And Stop Annoying Me Book
To anyone who is fortunate enough to have not yet joined the Facebook community please read on before subjecting yourself to a barage of endless surveys, braindead quizzes and constant hounding from people who you just haven't been bothered with over the last ten years.
Recently as in over the past year I signed up to facebook and even more recently I decided to get the hell out of the social networking world. Never one to be called unreasonable I approached the whole fad of Facebook with an open mind. At first yes it may have been useful to keep in contact with a select few soon after though it was another story, getting notifications about getting notifications, being poked is it just me or is there anyone else in this world that doesn't understand the point or meaning of the phenomenon of poking on facebook. Then there are the friend requests , what is worse than getting a message from some inbred from the outback of Australia saying hi lets be friends?. Just the thought of some clown doing a search for anybody with a similar surname thinking how interesting it would be to 'connect' with somebody on the other side of the globe is enough to give me a stress rash. Connect more like harass. Having received a selection of these random requests I wasted precious seconds of my life contemplating if I should ignore or reply explaining exactly why Im ignoring . That in itself brought about more anxiety as when you are new to this kind of harassment you arent sure whether hitting the ignore button will notify the aforementioned freak to the fact you have snubbed their attempts at cross community bridge building. Questions like what if they are some nut job that will pester me with more requests having had their online ego bruised? What if it is some sort of hacking virus? With such contemplating and internal conflict the requests build up and everytime you log on there's another one of these requests . Just seeing the icon telling me I had unanswered requests made me want to dance on my computer before pulling it apart key by key using only my sharpest canine tooth.
Let's for the sake of objectiveness look beyond the friend requests from strangers and concentrate on friend requests from those who you may actually have known at some miserable stage of your life. Lets face it if you haven't been in contact with somebody in ten years there's probably good cause. Oh somebody who I went to school with has stumbled upon my profile and wants to be friends so we can compare achievements or keep each other informed of the goings on in our social lives. Hmm how hard is it to keep in contact with somebody you went to school with? Really if I wanted to get in touch it wouldn't have taken a the services of a private investigator to do so, chances are I would have an idea of where you lived, would know somebody that has your contact details or if needs be could perhaps even ask at the school for any personal contact information on a past pupil. If I haven't joined you at the bar, picked up that phone to see how things are then I just don't care. I don't care with such passion that I end up out of politeness and a fear of tipping a fragile mind over the edge that I accept the friend request from a past aquaintance only to be inundated with notifications and updates of whatever this ludite gets up to at past , present or future. As I broadened my friends list from being about six to being six plus a dozen who I was too polite to say no to just incase it sparked a self evaluation ultimately leading to a breakdown, as, if quizzed on reasons for saying no I would have to be brutally honest to the point of cruelty. Then come the updates on conversations between people you dont want to know and people you used to know, blah, blah, blah! Tit bits of dialogue of no use to anybody but the two people that are central to the conversation, why would anybody want to follow up on ends of conversations and quips here and there. Last time I checked I wasn't into voyeurism, so thanks for informing me that so and so said "Yeah I know lol", or "Great night out loved your new dress," or " You're definitely an alco ya mad yoke!", but simply I just don't care.
Already I can hear the pro Facebookers out there saying no its great. I got in touch with loads of friends who are travelling thanks to Facebook. Well if you are happy to lose contact with friends when in this era of communications it only takes the merest of efforts to 'find' someone then I wouldnt like to be a friend in need.
To anyone that says they enjoy keeping in touch via Facebook I say you don't enjoy keeping in touch you enjoy spying. Whether it be wanting to know if that ex has found someone else, lost weight, had kids, taking sneaky looks through that asshole you sat beside in school or college's recent photos seeing where he has been recently and who with, who's doing what, where, when, how well , how bad? Not so long ago that sort of behaviour would have you labelled as a voyeur, a peeping tom, a nosy busy body, a stalker but alas thanks to the joys of Facebook it is now simply called staying in touch.
In the days since ditching all that Facebook has to offer I have burst less blood vessels, had a clutter free inbox, and am safe in the knowledge that I no longer have to suffer the ramblings of those who I couldn't care less about. If writing about my experience saves even one innocent soul from the pain I endured for so long then it will have been all worthwhile.
Yours not contactable via Facebook,
Recently as in over the past year I signed up to facebook and even more recently I decided to get the hell out of the social networking world. Never one to be called unreasonable I approached the whole fad of Facebook with an open mind. At first yes it may have been useful to keep in contact with a select few soon after though it was another story, getting notifications about getting notifications, being poked is it just me or is there anyone else in this world that doesn't understand the point or meaning of the phenomenon of poking on facebook. Then there are the friend requests , what is worse than getting a message from some inbred from the outback of Australia saying hi lets be friends?. Just the thought of some clown doing a search for anybody with a similar surname thinking how interesting it would be to 'connect' with somebody on the other side of the globe is enough to give me a stress rash. Connect more like harass. Having received a selection of these random requests I wasted precious seconds of my life contemplating if I should ignore or reply explaining exactly why Im ignoring . That in itself brought about more anxiety as when you are new to this kind of harassment you arent sure whether hitting the ignore button will notify the aforementioned freak to the fact you have snubbed their attempts at cross community bridge building. Questions like what if they are some nut job that will pester me with more requests having had their online ego bruised? What if it is some sort of hacking virus? With such contemplating and internal conflict the requests build up and everytime you log on there's another one of these requests . Just seeing the icon telling me I had unanswered requests made me want to dance on my computer before pulling it apart key by key using only my sharpest canine tooth.
Let's for the sake of objectiveness look beyond the friend requests from strangers and concentrate on friend requests from those who you may actually have known at some miserable stage of your life. Lets face it if you haven't been in contact with somebody in ten years there's probably good cause. Oh somebody who I went to school with has stumbled upon my profile and wants to be friends so we can compare achievements or keep each other informed of the goings on in our social lives. Hmm how hard is it to keep in contact with somebody you went to school with? Really if I wanted to get in touch it wouldn't have taken a the services of a private investigator to do so, chances are I would have an idea of where you lived, would know somebody that has your contact details or if needs be could perhaps even ask at the school for any personal contact information on a past pupil. If I haven't joined you at the bar, picked up that phone to see how things are then I just don't care. I don't care with such passion that I end up out of politeness and a fear of tipping a fragile mind over the edge that I accept the friend request from a past aquaintance only to be inundated with notifications and updates of whatever this ludite gets up to at past , present or future. As I broadened my friends list from being about six to being six plus a dozen who I was too polite to say no to just incase it sparked a self evaluation ultimately leading to a breakdown, as, if quizzed on reasons for saying no I would have to be brutally honest to the point of cruelty. Then come the updates on conversations between people you dont want to know and people you used to know, blah, blah, blah! Tit bits of dialogue of no use to anybody but the two people that are central to the conversation, why would anybody want to follow up on ends of conversations and quips here and there. Last time I checked I wasn't into voyeurism, so thanks for informing me that so and so said "Yeah I know lol", or "Great night out loved your new dress," or " You're definitely an alco ya mad yoke!", but simply I just don't care.
Already I can hear the pro Facebookers out there saying no its great. I got in touch with loads of friends who are travelling thanks to Facebook. Well if you are happy to lose contact with friends when in this era of communications it only takes the merest of efforts to 'find' someone then I wouldnt like to be a friend in need.
To anyone that says they enjoy keeping in touch via Facebook I say you don't enjoy keeping in touch you enjoy spying. Whether it be wanting to know if that ex has found someone else, lost weight, had kids, taking sneaky looks through that asshole you sat beside in school or college's recent photos seeing where he has been recently and who with, who's doing what, where, when, how well , how bad? Not so long ago that sort of behaviour would have you labelled as a voyeur, a peeping tom, a nosy busy body, a stalker but alas thanks to the joys of Facebook it is now simply called staying in touch.
In the days since ditching all that Facebook has to offer I have burst less blood vessels, had a clutter free inbox, and am safe in the knowledge that I no longer have to suffer the ramblings of those who I couldn't care less about. If writing about my experience saves even one innocent soul from the pain I endured for so long then it will have been all worthwhile.
Yours not contactable via Facebook,
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Yes, Im Screwed Thank You For Reminding Me!
We're in a recession whoopdy doo daa, so far Im not finding it too tough. Alls ticking along, still earning a few quid,paying the bills as the fella says. Its not so bad seeing less items of bling about to remind me of how well I'm not doing, many cocky twats that were spinning about in finance plan BMW's, SUV's and other fancy dan motors seem to have hung up their keys for the time being. Suddenely its no longer shameful to be seen eating a packed lunch. That is of course without being on some new fad diet of course. Bragging doesn't seem to be as contagious as it was in recent times. I haven't heard much aboout around the world trips or holidays in six star hotels of late. Being flash is suddenely vulgar. So it's not all doom and gloom.
People are talking a lot about "The Recession", so much so that I think everyone is sick of hearing about the big R. Not me I could listen to it all day without feeling the need to book therapy sessions. One thing I cannot stand are people who feel the urge to remind you of how difficult life could get, for you (as in you personally not you as society in general) just in case you weren't aware of it.
Such conversations or more appropriately prophesies of doom normally begin, for me, with a casual query of 'so how are things for you?' type question. If I stay calm and reply with a non descript 'yeah things are ok nothing to worry about yet thank god' I seem to provoke an urgent response warning me of doom. "Well you know next year things are going to be so tough, I mean work is drying up, all businesses are going to fail, we are all going to be jobless and bankrupt?"
So how does one respond to a random aquaintance predicting one's imminant downfall. Well up to recently I personally chose the let the eyes glaze over and give a protracted yeah followed by a frown and a couple of hmmm's. No more softly softly my preferred response is the straight line of " Listen just because you are in the proverbial shitter and loaned up to your tits and beyond, don't presume that I'm in the same boat ...mate!"
Even last night I found myself sitting beside a woman at an event I was working at. There was only a two minute window that needed some chit chat small talk filler type banter. In those two minutes I managed to ask about how she was enjoying the event with some generic pleasantries about the weather . She on the other hand managed to point out that I am doomed that the industry I work in is collapsing and that I should be very worried if I'm not already. Even presuming Ive got a career change plan ready to go in the new year. When she finished I allowed a brief pause before politely thanking her for pointing this out to me and left in search of the point in the room which was geometrically the furthest point from her.
So to anybody who may have told, or is indeed planning on telling me of how screwed I in fact am, I would like to extend my most sincere gratitude, for without you I could never have failed as well as I have.
Yours Gratefully,
People are talking a lot about "The Recession", so much so that I think everyone is sick of hearing about the big R. Not me I could listen to it all day without feeling the need to book therapy sessions. One thing I cannot stand are people who feel the urge to remind you of how difficult life could get, for you (as in you personally not you as society in general) just in case you weren't aware of it.
Such conversations or more appropriately prophesies of doom normally begin, for me, with a casual query of 'so how are things for you?' type question. If I stay calm and reply with a non descript 'yeah things are ok nothing to worry about yet thank god' I seem to provoke an urgent response warning me of doom. "Well you know next year things are going to be so tough, I mean work is drying up, all businesses are going to fail, we are all going to be jobless and bankrupt?"
So how does one respond to a random aquaintance predicting one's imminant downfall. Well up to recently I personally chose the let the eyes glaze over and give a protracted yeah followed by a frown and a couple of hmmm's. No more softly softly my preferred response is the straight line of " Listen just because you are in the proverbial shitter and loaned up to your tits and beyond, don't presume that I'm in the same boat ...mate!"
Even last night I found myself sitting beside a woman at an event I was working at. There was only a two minute window that needed some chit chat small talk filler type banter. In those two minutes I managed to ask about how she was enjoying the event with some generic pleasantries about the weather . She on the other hand managed to point out that I am doomed that the industry I work in is collapsing and that I should be very worried if I'm not already. Even presuming Ive got a career change plan ready to go in the new year. When she finished I allowed a brief pause before politely thanking her for pointing this out to me and left in search of the point in the room which was geometrically the furthest point from her.
So to anybody who may have told, or is indeed planning on telling me of how screwed I in fact am, I would like to extend my most sincere gratitude, for without you I could never have failed as well as I have.
Yours Gratefully,
The Yummy Mummy Brigade
Alas winter is here. The air is crisp, the ground covered with a neat dusting of frost. All around are scenes like those illustrated on classic Christmas cards. People wrapped up in hats, scarves and cloves nice and snug as they go about their daily chores. Neighbours chat as they pour a kettle of water over their windscreens before heading to work. As I wathced the crystals of ice dissolve as the glass in front of me demisted I thought to myself that nothing could spoil this feeling of absolute contentment. I pulled out of the drive, switched on the morning radio show and drove for about thirty seconds only become lodged in a line of traffic that caused my teeth to grind and stomach to churn.
My first thoughts were that the roads are icy , I could allow for that people are being cautious after all who wants to cause an accident so close to christmas. 15 minutes and approximately nine metres later my mind was working out possible causes of this delay. So I check the local radio station to see if theres any talk of a ten car pile up after all what else could be causing a 3km tail back? Are the roads like glass full of treachorous black ice. No? Ok so now my heart is pumping that bit harder, pumping more like thumping the radio has to be turned off as its just getting on my god damn nerves, what is the delay what can possibly have happened?
Then I spotted something in the distance it looked like somebody standing by an SUV getting out walking around it chatting to somebody else on the footpath. My rage eased a little as I got some relief from at least seeing something that I rationalised as being a scene of an accident with drivers swapping insurance information. But then the traffic moved on a little so I was close enough to see exactly what was happening. This was worse than an accident, this was a Yummy Mummy, not just one but an army of the self centred, presumptious, moronic, SUV driving hags.
Not content with stopping their oversized wagons in the middle of the road holding up traffic, they helped their overfed and underloved brats in the 3 minute climb down from the monster truck, locked the blasted thing, unlocked it and locked it again just to be sure, strolled non-chalantly along to the gates of the school, waved off their little darlings and then, and then, allow me to stress the and then with capitals AND THEN, they stopped for a little chat with the competition or as some would say the other mummies. Standing there talking at each other about little Diarmuids latest achievement whilst being told about how Katie has been put on some waiting list for something exclusive, ballet school or some other prestigious crap. How can somebody obstruct half the towns workforce so blatantly then go walkies and have a nice little chat without as much as a thought for those behind them. Had I not covered my windscreen in a sticky black bile they would have seen my polite two fingered gestures urging them back to their cars.
As I crawled past the actual school building I could see a set down car park area that was completely empty, here was space for twenty cars at a time empty. Why was it empty? Good question, if the Yummy Mummies actually parked there they would be late for their pilates class, or their morning coffee and croissant with the girls or whatever it is that the local coven gets up to.
If this is what winter has in store let me be the first to say Bah! Humbug!
Yours Grudgingly,
My first thoughts were that the roads are icy , I could allow for that people are being cautious after all who wants to cause an accident so close to christmas. 15 minutes and approximately nine metres later my mind was working out possible causes of this delay. So I check the local radio station to see if theres any talk of a ten car pile up after all what else could be causing a 3km tail back? Are the roads like glass full of treachorous black ice. No? Ok so now my heart is pumping that bit harder, pumping more like thumping the radio has to be turned off as its just getting on my god damn nerves, what is the delay what can possibly have happened?
Then I spotted something in the distance it looked like somebody standing by an SUV getting out walking around it chatting to somebody else on the footpath. My rage eased a little as I got some relief from at least seeing something that I rationalised as being a scene of an accident with drivers swapping insurance information. But then the traffic moved on a little so I was close enough to see exactly what was happening. This was worse than an accident, this was a Yummy Mummy, not just one but an army of the self centred, presumptious, moronic, SUV driving hags.
Not content with stopping their oversized wagons in the middle of the road holding up traffic, they helped their overfed and underloved brats in the 3 minute climb down from the monster truck, locked the blasted thing, unlocked it and locked it again just to be sure, strolled non-chalantly along to the gates of the school, waved off their little darlings and then, and then, allow me to stress the and then with capitals AND THEN, they stopped for a little chat with the competition or as some would say the other mummies. Standing there talking at each other about little Diarmuids latest achievement whilst being told about how Katie has been put on some waiting list for something exclusive, ballet school or some other prestigious crap. How can somebody obstruct half the towns workforce so blatantly then go walkies and have a nice little chat without as much as a thought for those behind them. Had I not covered my windscreen in a sticky black bile they would have seen my polite two fingered gestures urging them back to their cars.
As I crawled past the actual school building I could see a set down car park area that was completely empty, here was space for twenty cars at a time empty. Why was it empty? Good question, if the Yummy Mummies actually parked there they would be late for their pilates class, or their morning coffee and croissant with the girls or whatever it is that the local coven gets up to.
If this is what winter has in store let me be the first to say Bah! Humbug!
Yours Grudgingly,
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