American Idle Musings

All hail the newly crowned American Idol, Taylor Hicks!....Soul Patrol and all!!

Ho-hum!....
Finally, the curtain comes down on one of the more insipid seasons of the show.

I wonder how far Taylor would have gone in the competition if he didnt have that God-given silver mop of hair? He's a good performer, true,....with a distinctive voice, funky(?) dance steps, honky-tonking on his harmonica, ....an entertainer. Yet, he rarely came across as original or being completely himself during the season. It was like he was putting on a show all the time.....hmm, which I guess is what American Idol is all about, and hence, the result. And Iam not even sure if 'Soul' is a great description of his music. Leave that to the Aretha Franklins, please!

The look on Chris Daughtry's face when he learnt he had been eliminated was one of the moments of this season! After all, it was Katherine McPhee with him in the bottom two, and this was after a pathetic performance from the McPhee-ver girl, even by her own low standards. People didn't want to see an all-male top three, that was obvious. Whether the result is to be blamed on the voters or the producers, is debatable. Either way, Katherine's feminity won the day for her.

Was Kelly Pickler really as brainless a bimbo as she was made out to be on stage?...or was it all part of a carefully devised 'image makeover'?...I wonder.

Apparently, musical ability does count to a certain extent in this 'personality contest'. How else do you explain someone like Elliot Yamin making it to the final three?...Someone who had nothing to offer but a voice with a unique timbre and some real 'Soul' in it. My faith in the American audience has been restored...to an extent.

Iam yet to understand what was great about Taylor's rendition of Elvis' 'In the Ghetto'. I thought he failed miserably to capture the essence of a brilliant track, and one of my personal favourites. But he got a unanimous vote of approval from the judges (even from Simon, which was a big letdown) and I guess this was the moment when he became a front-frunner for the tournament.

It was interesting to see Chris Daughtry's transformation during the course of the season - from an 'out-and-out rocker' to a 'I-can-dabble-in-all-kinds-of-music' type. Iam naturally suspicious of any guy announcing himself as a hard-core rockstar on American Idol. If he meant what he said, he wouldn't be on Idol in the first place. The fact is, a true rocker is the antithesis of what the show stands for.

And it was strange to see no black Americans in the last four weeks of the show. Did age go against the precociously talented Paris?...or did the audience finally tire of her 'Minnie Mouse' speaking voice? I wonder how many African Americans actually watch the show and what their voting patterns are? It might give some interesting insights into the American psyche....err, yes, Freakonomics is still too fresh in my mind.

Overall, Season5 did have its moments, few and far-between, but it never came close to the previous season. Sigh!...Where were the Carrie Underwoods and Bo Bices this time around?

The Truth is Out There....Somewhere in the Middle

I love the world we live in.
I love the shades of gray it has.
I love the fact that the world is interpreted in different ways by different people.

And that's why I find it tough to understand how people can consider their point of view as the absolute truth.
Is there such a thing as 'absolute truth'?
More often than not, people take an extreme stand on an issue for the sole reason of giving themselves a shot of confidence. Dithering midway in an argument doesn't present you in good light, they say.
Well, you dont have to dither, but isn't it possible to stand in the middle with confidence?


Does idealism work in today's world?....or should I be a pragmatist?

Was Saurav Ganguly to blame for the entire controversy?...or was it the vested interests in the administration?

Laissez-faire capitalism?.......or State-run socialism?

Are people all-important in my team?........or is it just the profits that I show at the end?

The answer is always in the middle, either as a separate entity or as a mix of both extremes. And the fact that it corresponds with the inherent nature of the world-system only adds credibility to the theory.

As a result, I tend to gravitate naturally to the centre of any argument without taking any of the sides which naturally form on any contentious issue.
This can lead to some heartburn, as my friend told me recently, "You know, the problem with you is that you love sitting on the fence!"
.....And that's a very possible negative fall-out, but I think the distinction can be easily appreciated.

Decision without facts = sitting on the fence
Decision with facts = sitting in the centre

Even in our individual pursuits of God-knows-what in our lives, we tend to use extremes as measures of goal-fulfillment.....maximum money, minimum pain, maximum happiness, zero tears,.........
But maybe if we concentrated at maintaining balance in the centre of our individual, private and social spheres, the extremes might just take care of themselves.

And it was a pleasant surprise to come across the Buddhist philosophy of the Middle Path. The Wisdom of the Ages is truly more than just a quaint and romantic notion!

Balance - It's what the world runs on, and it's what we should be searching for.

hmm....Time to keep exploring!

Power?

I voted.

I exercised my most basic democratic right.

I fulfilled my obligation, my duty, towards society and the country.

I made a rational decision on who I thought was the best equipped to lead the State.

I played a significant role in deciding the fate of Tamil Nadu for the next 5 years.

I made a choice which will now ring in the changes for my betterment.

I will now begin to witness personal, social and economic growth all around me.

I.....umm............never mind!

Mouth Wide Shut

Iam back after a while, and with a sordid tale to tell.....a tale of pain and distress, of bloodshed and gore, straight from the dentist's lair...definitely not for the faint-hearted.

First, I will have you know that I possess a perfect set of teeth. In fact, I have been blessed with two more than the customary gift of 32 bestowed on ordinary mortals. But are these guys satisfied with their unique status? Oh no! They had to start infringing on the rightful territory of the bourgeoisie 32 and start a war in the confines of my mouth. As a result, the hateful buggers had to go. And as a result, I was at the dentist's.

I will also have you know that people who know me well admire my ability to endure physical pain. As I always tell anyone who cares to listen, the key to this is to formulate a thinking strategy to counter the arrows shot at you. For example, if it's an intense but throbbing kinda pain, it's important to get into the rhythm of the 'throbs'. You almost start enjoying it once you get into the groove. But if it's more of a sustained or unpredictable kind, the best strategy is to be distracted by something irrelevant - like the dentist on this occasion.

By this time, I was in the reclining operating chair under the spotlight and the entire left side of my mouth felt like rubber and twice its size. The Dentist (D) and his assistant seemed to be twice their size too, staring down at me intently from behind their surgery masks.

"Good Afternoon," I attempted cheerfully through my numb mouth.

"Good Afternoon! So shall we begin?" D countered even more cheerfully, and without waiting for my assent, very impolitely proceeded to pull my two jaws apart and peer in.

"Open please," A phrase I was to be very well acquainted with over the next 45 minutes.

"A-ash"

Apparently D wasn't happy with my efforts at 'opening up' and proceeded to help in the process, and I could feel my lips just about coming apart at the edges.

"Vhy vhipsh aar een uuld avaert"

D let go of my mouth and asked anxiously, "You aren't able to feel your tongue, right?"

"Yes, I mean no..., just that my lips are being pulled apart." Anything to feel my upper and lower lips together again.

"Oh yes," said D back to his cheerful self, "You see, the bad boys are molars right at the back. So we have to make an extra effort, see?"

Hmm....maybe that I saw, but I certainly couldn't bear to see the drill going in later to do its dastardly deed, nor could I see all those fancy gadgets being poked in. I dont have a name for any of them but they were all monotonously long, steel, sharp and sinister.
I will spare you the really gory details, but I did drink human blood that day, even if it was my own. As an aside, blood has a very strange, tangy taste to it, you know....nothing like any other liquid, but not entirely unpalatable too. This is not to imply that I have any Idi Amin tendencies, but I do get an idea of what all these vampires seem to keep raving about.

Anyway, the routine over the next half-hour went like....

"Open".
"Aah".
D drills.

"Spit".
I turn and spit into an adjacent bowl.

D pokes around.

...And repeat.

This became so predictable that when D motioned for "spirit" to his assistant, I obediently turned to the spit-bowl again. For some obscure reason, this seemed to have them in splits.

The main act was reserved to a mean-looking pair of tweezers with which D got hold of my molars and proceeded to thrash around, literally shaking my head....you know, like when you have that irritating piece of plaster sticking to your finger and you do your best to dislodge it. ....Sigh! For all the advancements in technology, this is what it still comes down to. Well, atleast someone discovered anaesthesia somewhere down the line....whew!

A final 'pop' and the final tooth was out. It, along with its comrade, was displayed in all its slain glory to me, and I almost felt sad for them. They had fought valiently. D then proceeded to exhibit his meticulous stitching skills to me as I felt the needle and thread go in and out of my mouth till the battleground was cleared and all spruced-up. It was only at the final call of "Yes, it's all done!", did I realise that I had raised my feet off the seat since God-knows-when and the arms of the chair had grown hot from my clutching at them.

As I departed, D's final sinister warnings of mouth-swellings and excruciating pain over the next few days failed to burden my light heart, which exulted at having had the deed over and done with. But the Good D has proven to be right again. It doesn't seem worth living these days.

Luckily, I managed to pick up an ancient, yellowed copy of Beau Geste, one of my childhood favourites, the other day at a second-hand book stall, and this has served as an indispensable friend for me in this time of personal strife. After all, what's a toothache, when you're roughing it out in the deserts of North Africa with the French Foreign Legion, in search of adventure, romance, mystery and intrigue?
It's a quaint and beautiful story, and like I always say, it's all about the distraction, see?