Well, it’s all over. No, you fool, I’m not talking about my extended doss around Asia and assorted other countries – I mean of course American Idol. The excitement of watching the two Davids* go head-to-head, literally singing their butts off for at least a minute at a time; the glamour, ascerbic comments and fake tans of the judges; the karaoke delusions of the wannabes; all of it is receding to memory.
Life will not be the same without my Wednesday evening viewing. I feel bereft, alone, much as Jean-Paul Sartre must have felt in the dark days of the 1940’s Vichyssoise government, as he choked on a sour Crème Brulée and was inspired to pen his classic La Nausée.
And I know you all feel the same way. I can feel the cosmic vibrations of despair echoing in the void, chiming an ethereal chord in space, calling out your collective loss like the primal scream of Mother Earth deprived of her Zoloft… or something. Whatever, it sounds bad.
Fortunately, all is not lost! For I, in my infinite enlightenment, bring to you a new contest, one which shall eclipse the so-called fame of Pop Idol, American Idol and all the other Idols put together**. For thou shalt not worship any idol except the new….
er…. I mean
Yes, its a brand new concept in “reality blogging” which is poised to take the world by storm. Top destinations from around the world view to voted ‘Best place to find yourself and achieve inner peace’. Each will be represented by, um, a representative, who will sing a special song they have penned especially to illustrate just how bloody existential they are. Oh yes. I can hear you salivating at the very thought. It sounds kind of like when you get a frog stuck in a vacuum cleaner nozzle, and … but I digress.
The rules are simple: each week, two Existential Destinations will go head-to-head. Their representatives will be interviewed about why they are the most deeply spiritual, and then each will sing their song. The judges, who are Randy Jackson, Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell***, will give us the benefit of their no-doubt well-informed but ultimately impotent opinions, then you, the blog readers, will vote by posting comments. After the initial group stage, the winners of each group play the second place in other groups, with two special slots allocated to the best losers judged on goal difference. And so to the knock-out round, which will go on until the sun expands to a red dwarf, engulfing the inner planets and charring the earth to a cinder. (Please refer to fig A**** for a diagram explaining this in more detail.)
So, without further ado, I shall introduce you to this weeks contenders in our inaugural one-on-one celebrity existento-musical death match. And the contestants are…. [drum roll]
Byron Bay, New South Wales
The Demilitarized Zone between
North and South Korea
Byron Bay is be represented by Kedgeree Bill, long time resident and Byron’s own self-styled “King of the Didge” who describes his adopted home town in the following way:
Kedgeree Bill: G’Day Mate! In the Dream Time, Byron was known to the indigenous tribes as Wigga Wigga, which in the local language meant ‘place of the blonde dreadlocks’. Then it was discovered by Lord Byron’s grandaddy who wrote anti-war experimental free-form vegan poetry and started the first Poetry Slam. These days it’s just a bonza place to chill, have your crystal aura read, eat veggie burgers and pretend you’re from a hipper ethnic group than your skin tone and passport imply. I mean, I used to be a loss adjuster from Slough. The surf’s great, and we have whales migrating past the lighthouse. What could be more eco than that? And the tomato sauce we stick in our pies is only made from organic tomatoes, imported from ethically-treated slaves in Guatemala. I’ve wrote this song on me didge, which is called ‘The Keening of the Wombats by the lighting of Bill’s Bong’. Here goes…
[Bill proceeds to play his song, a one-note tune on his home-made didgeridoo, carved from ethically-culled rhino horn.]
The judges comments:
Randy Jackson: Whoah, dude, you the dog on a string! You got it goin on, man! You were a little bit pitchy around that one note, but man, you totally brought it on, my man! Etc.
Paula Abdul: [clapping with arched palms] I just love you so much, Bill, [crowd goes mental] and you bring a special light to the world with your aura, we can all share in peace and love and I truly feel that if all the world played the didgeridoo like you then we could really all live in peace, and I truly feel that I love you, I mean that, you’re so special… [goes on in this vein for half an hour before being muzzled by Simon Cowell]
Simon Cowell: I’m going to be honest with you here Bill, because let’s face it this is a singing competition not some dodgy – or should I say “didgy” – New Age busking contest. Last week I thought you were just okay, but frankly I could imagine you in a cocktail bar in Vegas being ejected by the bouncers because let’s face it, and I’m going to be honest with you here, you smell. [Crowd boos. Simon holds up his hands and flashes unnaturally white teeth.] Just an opinion…
The DMZ is represented by The Dear Leader, Kim Il Sung, who, despite being dead, makes the following statement:
Kim Il Sung: The so-called tunnels between North Korea and Byron Bay are a figment of capitalist imagination, and furthermore were dug by the Australians in a pathetic attempt to discredit the last glorious bastion of socialism which is the People’s Democratic Republic of Korea. The fact that they have been opened up to tourists in a craven money-grabbing display of greed without paying the North it’s due share of the profits only further establishes the politically and morally bankrupt nature of the Byron regime. Besides, we all know that Byron is full of feral hippies. My song is a tribute to the lasting eternal glory of socialism. It is entitled “Die Hippies Die.”
[Kim Il Sung proceeds to sing from his mausoleum, accompanied by a million backing vocalists in seventeen part harmony, and a gazillion traditionally-garbed six-year-old dancers in tight formation who have been raised in darkened crates until this moment. At the climax, a thousand intercontinental ballistic missiles are released and their warheads ignite on the moon, causing a green glow to pervade the entire earth. ]
The judges comments are as follows:
Randy Jackson: Whoah, dude, you the delicious dog stew! You got it goin on, man! etc.
Paula Abdul: [clapping with arched palms] I just love you so much, Dear Leader, and you bring a special light to the world with your missiles, we can all share in peace and love and I truly feel that if all the world …. etc. [crowd goes mental]
Simon Cowell: [Flexes pectorals and flashes teeth.] I’m going to be honest with you here Il Sung [crowd boos], because let’s face it this is a singing competition not some sort of nuclear standoff, and frankly last week I thought you were just okay, but, and I’m frankly gong to be honest with you here, because let’s face it… etc.
*I don’t know about you, but I was really happy that David Cook won. His rock vocals and the way he orchestrated the SDP’s split from the Labour Party in 1980 really whip the ass of the wimpy boy-band whining and appeasement-style CND politics of David Steel, who should never have been elected leader of the Liberal Party in the first place, if you want my opinion, and I know you do.
**Obviously except for Singapore Idol, which is so good nobody in their right mind would try to compete with it. Yes, lah.
***all impersonated, badly, by me
****fig A and all other supplementary material are available from the printed version of this blog*****