Working and Heroes and Idol, oh my!

I had to take a day off yesterday. Pretty poor start to Year 2, I know, but that anniversary post took it out of me.

Not much to report here. Busy. Worked flat out all day yesterday. Then came up for another hour after dinner and ANTM and Heroes.

I. Am. Fucking. Loving. Heroes. If you haven't started watching yet, you simply must ASAP. It's on the SciFi channel here in the UK, and it is one of the best serials I have seen on TV in a very long time.

Admittedly, I'm a sucker for tales of time travel and superpowers. This is mostly because I have superpowers and can travel in time, of course. But I realize that not everyone can, and that's why this show is so exciting. Last night's show (episode 5, "Hiros") actually gave me goosebumps in a couple of scenes. It was that good.

I will definitely, definitely be buying this show on DVD when it comes out. I only hope they can keep it up and don't let it outstay its welcome. The only problem with it is those fucking commercial breaks, man. There are four, and each one is quite long, which sucks.

What I really want to do each week is record the show and watch it later, skipping through the ads, but I literally can't because I'm too excited and want to watch the show as it airs. I guess I'm an instant-gratification kinda guy.

(While looking for a pic for this post, I was psyched when I found the one above cos it shows something I haven't yet seen but doesn't give away too much. I love Hiro; he's my favourite character. He's a rockin' motherfucker.)

Finally, and on another topic, I just want to apologize to Lee for taking so long with her contest prize. Things are moving along on that front, and you have not been forgotten. Bear with me, kiddo.

And finally, again, avid long-term readers may have noticed that there's not been much in the way of a running critique of this year's American Idol so far, despite my fondness for it last year. Sorry about that. (I know you all come here especially for AI news.) I'm a bit out of inspiration where AI is concerned this year. They mostly all seem a bit shit. What more can I say?

The Oscar nominations: my twopenn’orth

Yesterday afternoon, Salma Hayek came into my living room to tell me the Oscar nominations for this year. It was nice to see her, but Salma dear, what was with that godawful dress? You looked pregnant and ready to drop. (Don't even ask what's going on in this picture either, cos I sure as hell don't know!)

I'm not going to rehash the list in full, because that would be silly when you only need head over to Oscar.com to find everything you need. But I will say something about it all. Well, you knew I would.

Best Actor:
Fuck off, DiCaprio, you freaky cunting man-child. Sure, you once showed promise. Now all you think you need to do is put in a fuck-awful accent and Bob's your fucking uncle. Like I say: fuck off.

Fuck off, Peter O'Toole, you old no-good-acting motherfucker. That shit you pulled in Troy? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.

Fuck off, Will Smith. Even though your Happyness movie was directed by a cool Italian director with some real promise, you bore the bollocks off me.

So I guess that leaves Forest Whitaker and Ryan Gosling. I hope Forest gets it. I've liked him ever since Smoke. Gosling boy: You were good in The Notebook, but I'm not sure it's your time yet, old son.

Best Actress:
Oh, has anyone mentioned that the Brits are coming? Fuck off.

Helen Mirren as QE2. Do I give a fuck? Well, other than the film's director being (apparently) the uncle of an author I worked with a few times, no, I don't much care. I guess that makes me three degrees away from Daniel Day Lewis, for those who like that sort of thing.

Winslet: Stop boring me, boring me, boring me.

Streep: Like, whatever.

Dench, I used to hate you. Sorry, but I really used to despise you when I was an angry young man. Now I figure you're okay.

But I really want Penélope Cruz to win, if only to see how fucking excited Salma Hayek gets then. She could barely contain her joy simply at La Cruz's nomination.

Best Supporting Actor:
This is a tough category, and as usual, it's the most interesting one. Thank the maker that that hammy old cunt Jack Nicholson ain't there; in his stead we get Marky Mark. Fuck off.

I'm hoping for Alan Arkin or that Hounsou chap from Blood Diamond.

Best Supporting Actress:
Sorry ladies, I have no opinion here, although it would cool to see Jennifer Hudson get it for Dreamgirls. I liked her in American Idol a couple of years back, and the fact that she's being recognized and that dull cunt Beyoncé isn't is music to my ears.

Best Director:
No David Lynch this year, unfortunately. Still, there's that Iñárritu bloke who directed Amores perros back in the day and 21 Grams. I hope he gets it. But against industry stalwarts Eastwood and Scorsese it might be a tough job. I'd also like to see Paul Greengrass get it for United 93. Well, you know, the Brits are coming. Stephen Frears probably has no chance.

Best Picture:
Having not seen any of these but hoping to see them all in the next month, I currently would like Little Miss Sunshine to get the gong, though I'm sure Letters From Iwo Jima must be great.

Word on this side of the Atlantic is that US fave Babel is a load of old bollocks masquerading as worthy cinema.

And you know I don't like remakes and think that Marty has lost the plot, so I shan't be rooting for The Departed either.

So, that's what I think. Thank you, and good night.

The obligatory American Idol post for a Friday afternoon

Yo, yo, yo – it's that time of the week again!

But tonight's American Idol will be a more frustrating affair than most. Now that it's getting down to the wire, and now that I'm spending more time online than ever before, I keep stumbling upon spoilers of who's going home. This is when that two-day gap between the US and UK screenings is a real bastard.

So I know who's going home tonight, because he went home two nights ago in real time. Oops, I didn't want to spoil it for some poor unsuspecting cunt like I was yesterday, but I've already revealed in the previous sentence that it's not Kathryn McPhee who's going. (It's funny that her name's McPhee, like FcMee. These are the things that amuse me... Sad, isn't it?)

And of the three possible men who could be evicted, let's just say it's not the one I would have most liked to see go: the one with the fucked-up teeth and weird face, Elliott. Nope, it ain't him. Which means it's one of the only two interesting people left in the show. And that fucking sucks. Oh well. It's only a game show. Who gives a toss, really?

Unexpected guests. And Conan

Just as my guilty pleasure, American Idol, was drawing to a close last night, the phone rang. It was to ask whether we could put up a family of family members (if you get my drift) for Saturday night – i.e., we had just under 24 hours' notice. Of course we said yes. But it's a bit of an embarrassing situation, since I'd just cancelled my own father's visit for next weekend because Wife and I are totally snowed under with work.

Truth be told, though, it is a different sort of visit altogether, in that this evening's visitors will be arriving at 8pm. We'll eat, catch up with all the latest news over some wine and/or beer (Mmmm... beer), then off to bed. And they'll probably be on their way quite early in the morning.

But, of course, it meant we had to give the house more of a clean and tidy than we'd planned to this weekend (which was none). Starting immediately after I put down the phone. From about 9.30 until 10.45pm Wife and I cleaned, washed up, tidied, and put stuff away. It ain't great, and it ain't over, but it's a start.

And then, totally exhausted, we sat down to Conan. After a shitty day, there is nothing quite like a particularly good episode of Conan to put a smile back on your face. Conan O'Brien, that is, not the Barbarian. And last night's was good. The monologue was good, the preamble was good, and the guests were (mostly) good. Only exception...

Musical guest Pink. Now I like Pink as much as the next person – i.e., not that much – but I simply don't understand why Conan chose to interview her at such length after her performance. Most musical guests get no talk time at all, with the odd exception: The White Stripes, for example, were quite amusing when their turn came; and U2 had an entire show all to themselves (Christ knows why, washed-up fucks that they are).

But at least these artists are recognized as having some sort of merit by some people. Pink... who rates her? And to make matters worse, she just giggled her way through the whole fucking thing. Stupid girl.

Still, just got to say: CONAN RULES!

Well, whaddya know?

Turns out American Idol was not quite the train wreck I'd feared. Indeed, I was more familiar with this week's Country songs than I was with last week's "songs from the past six years". I never saw that coming.

But the new Red Hot Chili Peppers single and video are fucking atrocious. The name of the track gave the game away anyway: "Dani California". I mean, how lame a song title is that?

Yet, seemingly not content with making a shit song and coming up with a tedious premise for the clip, they figured bad taste was also required and so included a scene in which Kiedis dresses up like Kurt Cobain in the MTV Unplugged show. Good work, Tony K. You must be really proud.

It’s Idol night again

Yippee! Friday rolls around once more, and that means American Idol, the show I love to hate.

Bad news, though: tonight's Country night. And the reviews we've seen from the States (where the show airs three nights earlier) are not good.

It's a dilemma. I love to watch (oo er, missus), but when you know it's gonna be shit, it kinda takes the edge off. That, and we already know who gets voted off.

Probably record and watch later, whizzing through the worst bits. (Note to self: set aside 17 minutes to watch 90 mins of TV time.)

Terrible music. And Buddy Holly.

So, as is our semi-usual routine, Wife and I watched American Idol last night. And the music was worse than ever. The show’s “theme” this week was “the 21st century”, so the cuntestants had to choose songs that had been released in the past six years. Well, what a shower of shit. I kid you not, there was not one song that I had ever heard before in my life – not one; Wife fared slightly better (if you can call it better), saying she had heard one of them before. And in addition to that, I think I had only heard of one of the acts that had originally recorded these songs, Creed. [In fact, Wife has just reminded me, a couple of days after I originally posted this, that there were also songs by Beyoncé and Christina Aguilera. Of course, I am familiar with these gals, but not with the particular tracks performed on the show. My bad.]

Now, I fail to see how it is possible that these people have not heard better songs released in the past six years. And if Kellie Pickler really thinks “Suds in the Bathtub”, or whatever it’s called, is so great, then I feel terribly, terribly sorry for her.

The thing is, I hold my hand up here, I’m hung up on the ’80s, man. That is, most of the music I listen to now is stuff I was listening to during my formative years. And most of the new music I discover is actually via Wife. It was she who introduced me to Elliott Smith and Bright Eyes – probably two of the greatest singer/songwriters to emerge in the last 20 years, American or otherwise. (And I don’t mean singer/songwriters in the bastardized sense of James Blunt, KT Tunstall, Jason Mraz, and Katie Melua, all of whom seem to think that playing a guitar means you can write something of substance. Wankers.) Both Smith and Bright Eyes have released albums full of incredible songs in the past six years. Where is the music of this calibre of artist on Idol? Their music is adaptable, too, as is any great song: it is not restrained by its musical style because it is not entirely about the music, it’s about the words. Remember when music had words that meant something?

And yet, these poor kids on Idol, like much of America, probably don’t know these artists even exist(ed). These are the sorts of artist that are undoubtedly bigger outside of their own home country.

Of course, it goes without saying, in that Groucho Marx way, they’re too good for Idol anyway.

As a post script to this post, how can it be that on the “Fifties”-themed show last week, the two worst performances of the evening were the two Buddy Holly songs? I mean, they really butchered his tracks, “Not Fade Away” and “Oh Boy!” And yet here is an American rock ’n’ roll legend. Ah, I see a pattern emerging: Buddy Holly, too, was totally unappreciated in the United States during his lifetime – indeed, until the mid-1970s. He had been all but forgotten after his brief fling with stardom at the tail end of the ’50s. Guess they can’t see the talent under their noses in the States, and all the while they keep lining the pockets of shit-mongers like Garth Brooks, Celine Dion, Mariah Carey....

It’s the weekend

Yay, American Idol tonight – with Barry Manilow, so Wife will be happy. Although we’ll have to record it and watch later so we can avoid the brazillion adverts they put in. Life is just too short. I mean, arguably it’s too short to even watch American Idol, but it’s definitely too short to watch the ads too.

And then most of the weekend will be spent working... again. This weekend, though, we’ve promised ourselves half a day off for a lovely walk in Whitstable and a cooked English breakfast. And we’ve got to squeeze in a movie too, so we can send it back to LoveFilm and maximize our expenditure. Wow, modern life is so full of, like, stuff.

Who said 30-somethings don’t know how to live it up?

American Idol

I like American Idol. However, the songs they sing on the show are invariably incredibly bad – largely because Americans are so hung up on R&B and Country. We are thankfully spared such inanities most of the time in our own UK-based Pop Idol, X Factor, and the like. But last week American Idol sunk to a new low: the music of Stevie Wonder. Am I the only person in the world who sees no value in this man’s work? It is so god-awful; to me, he’s a washed-up talentless hack. All we can do is take it in our stride and patiently await the shows that feature the music of My Chemical Romance, Trivium, and Arch Enemy – especially if they spend as much time trying to capture the subtle nuances of Arch Enemy’s Angela Gossow’s vocal stylings as they do those of Mariah Carey and the other squawking, vibrato-ridden buffoons that pass as pop stars these days.