American Idol - Totally Useless Post

Taking a break from the books, and more American Idol bytes! I'm so sad season 5 is over cos it's been full of veritable madness, vomit-inducing stuff and laugh-till-you-cry moments. That, and some great performances too.

So here goes, more American Idol moments cos I am so bored. Forgive me for my crabbiness, you would be crabby too if you have to read equations all day long.

Paula I-Need-To-Be-Dragged-To-The-Asylym Abdul

Paula's mighty tear ducts are in full-force overrun in this season. Case-in-point: Elliott came on to sing Donny Hathaway's A Song For You and Miss Drama Queen promptly went, "You moved me... *blubber* ... you celebrate what this competition is all about... *torrent of tears which messes up painstakingly applied mascara and makes her look like Michael Jackson more than ever* you've moved me from the beginning *gibberish that sounds like a warthog scratching in a cesspit* you are an American Idol *vaporises into mustard gas*.



Elliott could have sang the 12x12 multiplication table, and she would still have drooled over it enough for the Titanic to set sail.

The best thing was fellow judge Simon Cowell sitting at the side desperately trying not to guffaw.





Oh Paula. You truly are mad.

The Best Tears Ever Shed On Telly

Music's favourite son David Hasselhoff has returned to our screens for a (albeit brief) moment during the American Idol finale having a classic Kleenex moment. Without a doubt the ROTFLMAO moment of the night.



You absolutely MUST check this out. This video has got more cheese in it than the entire country of France.

Click on this link please, I beg you!!!

*Pic and link courtesy of the Survivor Sucks forum*

Houdini Would Have Been Proud

It was little wonder why Elliott Yamin was at first branded as the The boy with the great voice but nobody would vote for him because he looks like an Amish dork with the haircut from hell.







But after the moon orbited around Saturn fifteen times and the Milky Way grew trees, little Elliott has been completely transformed. In fact, he now looks like prime GQ material.











Granted, he's still pint-sized, but who cares. Well done, American Idol stylists. Not even Houdini could have pulled that one off.

Oh, Cruel Fate, Why Dost Thou Mock Me?

This season's Best Exit award goes to Chris Daughtry. I wonder when he will realise that donning those leather tights, WWF-sized belts, clutching at a guitar and wearing those laughable wallet chains do not make him a rocker??!

Mr Daughtry's expression on the night he's told by host Ryan Seacrest he's been voted out of the competition:



I was seriously worried that his sockets would burst from the pressure of those scary dilating eyeballs. True enough, Entertainment Weekly reported the next day that Mr Daughtry exploded in flames shortly after he left the Kodak Theatre. The whole of LA screamed and ran for cover as a maelstrom of fire, brimstone and egg yolk rained upon the city. Word has it that flights have just resumed yesterday and the city is slowly getting back onto its feet.

My Momma Only Taught Me Fifteen Words And It Got Me Through A Whole Season Of American Idol

I am thoroughly impressed with the amazing gamut of judge Randy Jackson's vocabulary. Throughout the entire season, he has uttered no more than 15 words every time he gave a comment (thankfully, permutations of sentence structure, volume control and diction do vary).

Yo yo yo, check it out, baby! Dawg pound, we got a hawt one tonight!!



I almost feel embarrassed for a fifty year old man having to start every sentence with "Yo yo yo".

The Village People, Version 2.0 And All Rolled Into One

It is shocking, and beyond human reason, that someone as un-talented as Ace Young, who has the most annoying voice that grates your nerves raw, complete with a pot noodle hairdo and those ridiculous Texas barbecued cheeks, managed to get into the top 12. Words fail me.

If those who called in to vote for Ace are mutants in X-Men 2 (and I bet 99% of them are pubescent screaming Hello Kitty fangirls who dig his girly hair-twirling, nasal falsettos and flirty winks), I would be in General William Stryker's camp in a heartbeat. These people don't deserve ears.

I just wept a tear for the state of Mankind. =(

To keep yesterday's dinner safely in my tummy, I'm not going to post a picture of Ace here. Google at your own risk.

Move Over, Linda Blair

As Greggers pointed out, I committed the felony charge of omitting Prince from this entry. Well, I love his music and coquettish sultry diva ways, but Prince has always kinda freaked me out with his scary eyeliner, coiffured hair and stilettos. Granted, he was still a screamer on the Idol Finale night, and to boot, he can play an electric guitar like nobody's business.

But since Greggers reminded of His Royal Purpleness, I realised I also forgot to blog about the purple velvety abomination that winner Taylor Hicks donned on Finale night! My word, if even Simon He-Who-Wears-Craptastic-Tight-Tees-With-A-Sagging-Chest-And-Flabby-Arms Cowell criticises your fashion sense, you know you've got something coming.

But that's Taylor - picks the most minging jacket in the world and still manages to pull off being outrageously, in-your-face-ly, sensationally and fabulously hideous. Just like all those epileptic convulsions and spasms he does onstage that'll put Linda Blair of The Exorcist to shame.

By the way, I think I've just coined my new favourite phrase - "fabulously hideous." I love the flapdoodle incongruity! (oh no, I'm beginning to sound like Paula now). It's like dissonance in a John Coltrane number - makes my ears bleed, but still fabulous.











Love ya, Tay-Tay.

Elliott Yamin and American Idol Bytes

For the uninitiated, yesterday marked the curtain call for American Idol season 5, and the honours went to Taylor Hicks from Alabama. This post however, is a blatant plug for neither of the contest's two finalists, but for second runner-up Elliott Yamin. I really should be hitting the books instead of blogging, but guess a quick entry wouldn't hurt.

Prior to Elliott Yamin, I've never been a fan of any Idol-wannabe, nor watched an entire full-length episode of American Idol (scraps of the show intermittently, more like, when I happened to be channel-surfing). I didn't know who on earth Ryan Seacrest was before this year, and I genuinely thought that judge Simon Cowell was the creator of the Idol Series (he's not; it's Simon Fuller). In fact I didn't even remember his full name; all I could muster was that the judges comprised Paula Abdul, Simon the-Acerbic-Tongued-One-who's-clad-in-the-tight-tee Whatsisname, and some black guy. I watched last season's finale, and was thoroughly bored to tears by the winner cos I absolutely abhor country music.

But that all changed when I watched Elliott perform. But first, a few observations about the final yesterday.

• I almost fell outta my sofa when I saw Clay Aiken's new look. From slight-shouldered geek to a sleek gentleman (the hair is still dodgy, though) - the wonders of celebrity makeovers never cease.
• Any Idol contestant would be chuffed to bits to perform with a diva like Mary J and she heaped bucketloads of cred on Elliott by singing with him, but ooi, I can't hear the boy!
• I can't imagine anyone choosing "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" as a song for the finale of any competition. It's just about as trite and uninspiring as Somewhere Out There and Memory - so done-to-death they're enough to make a few quantum turns in the grave.
• The boy-girl medley was simply beautiful. And Mandisa - w00t-w00t!!
• The songs touted to be the singles of the two finalists were absolutely shockers. It is just sad to see talented people relegated to singing some thoroughly forgettable nonsense. And the lyrics just about take the cake. Hackneyed-to-death, boring, and horridly pedestrian. In fact, the eternal words of Johnny Mercer instantly sprang to mind - "I could eat alphabet soup and shit better lyrics."

About the results, it warmed my insides in that sweet, fuzzy kinda way to see Taylor take the crown over Katherine McPhee. Granted, McPhee has a great voice and is very pretty - prime material, in fact, for appealing to starry-eyed teenage girls - but she's also so decorous, staid and well-trained that her performance never went beyond being technically immaculate (in my opnion, the precocious Paris Bennett is a much better female vocalist). With all McPhee's vocal pedigree, her onscreen persona never quite matched that of Taylor's, who, despite being portly and silver-haired and likened to an inebriated dad reeking of meat and potatoes during Christmas karaokae, managed to capture the audience's imagination with his soulful and raw showmanship. I love watching Taylor perform cos he's really singing his guts out, that you're almost worried that he would pop a blood vessel if not for the smile across his face. Paula was absolutely right when she said that Taylor has the gift of making a song his own - the emotive expressions, signature cringe-worthy dance moves, impassioned gesticulations, and gravelly voice - it all makes for an inimitable, bona fide Taylor Hicks experience.

Soul Patrol!!



But nuff about McPhee and Taylor. Onwards to my favourite Idol contestant - Elliott Yamin. First off, Elliott is blessed with an awesome voice. No small feat when Simon Cowell labelled him "the best male vocalist we've had in five years." That aside, he's also 90% deaf in one ear. I can't emphathise how difficult it would be to sing on tune when one is hearing-impaired but it bears testament to Elliott's vocal gift. Top that with all-round affability, unpretentiousness and humility, plus an unabashed mummy's boy image, and you've one incredibly endearing character. When I first saw Elliott he reminded me of Adam Sandler with a crooked smile, he's really tiny and was clad in simple garb - nothing particularly eye-catching about him - but when he started to sing, he quite literally, swept people off their feet. His performances were breathtaking but not overdone, and his vocals, prodigious yet tender.

As he progressed into the latter stages he ditched the frumpy hooded jackets for a sleek sartorial ensemble and grew a proper barnett and goatee, and whilst his good looks are quite beside the point, they sure don't hurt. His song choices are nothing short of masterful, not just showcasing his pipes but also hearkening back to the beautiful vintage era of soul music. Personally, I can't stand much of the abject dross that they pass off as music in the mainstream media nowadays (bikini-clad girls dancing around some bling bling dude, makes me barf big time and I wouldn't touch those CDs with a ten-foot barge pole) and I just get so excited hearing Elliott belt out the classics and some relatively more obscure numbers. This is what music is all about! Man, this guy can really sing, and I'm so thankful I managed to catch this stupendously talented vocalist.

But it's not just the voice, huge as it is. I love the way he is so unassuming and humble despite the media circus blazing its trail around him. How he emerged from a being a high-school dropout stocking shelves in the local pharmacy, who quit bartender school and flitted in and out of temp jobs including a stint at McDonalds, grew up in a poor single parent family, who had to wrestle with hearing deficiencies and diabetes, to a top 3 Idol finalist who touched millions of viewers with that gift of a voice. He personifies the uncut diamond which is just having its rough edges chiselled off to truly dazzle and be resplendent. He embodies what a seemingly run-of-the-mill person languishing in mediocrity can do if given the right chance. Someone likened it to "a kernel of possibility". Spot on.

His mama Claudette puts it succinctly:

"He never found his niche," his mother said. "I told my cousin; he's such a nice person. But he's a lost boy. I'd call him at 1 or 2 in the afternoon, and he'd say, 'I just got up.'"Now, he tells me he has a rehearsal at 8:30, and he's there. I say, 'Who is this person?'"

I hear the same comments about Elliott over and over. People who don't know him, who have never spoken to him or met him in person, from weepy mums and grans to social workers for diabetes centres and underprivileged children to eight-year-olds, all felt immensely proud of him and ardently adoring of his talent and story.

Will some record company bigwig sign Elliott on, please. Don't let him disappear from the screens, cos with a voice like that, he sure deserves to keep on singing. =)

Yaminmania!







To hear the man himself, click on the links below and scroll down the right panel to the Elliot Yamin videos. Amongst his performances, the rendition of Elvis' Trouble was my favourite but they don't have it on the website. So my picks are If I Could Dream, Somebody To Love, Home and Teach Me Tonight. Enjoy and be blown away. =)

If I Could Dream
Teach Me Tonight
Somebody To Love
Home

[After-note] Found the clip of Trouble finallyyyyyy... I love ya Rickey! By the way totally dig the Mary J and Elliott number, though methinks it sounds infinitely better than watching it - over the speakers you can actually hear Elliott doing the runs with Mary J at the end; when I watch them sing onscreen I just get so distracted by how Mary J absolutely towered over Elliott. Her shades were tops though, completely diva-esque and plucky.

Trouble
One (with Mary J Blige)

My Toilet Flush Is Kaput - Blame The MP

Some musings on General Election 2006 but don't worry, this is not about flogging the dead horse ad infinitum aka the James Gomez saga.

During previous GEs, my mind was mired in a dross of indifference. People clamouring atop trucks or makeshift platforms, screaming their electoral promises through loudspeakers and talk of mosquito breeding spelt a recipe for sleeping pills rather than intriguing, enlightening brain food. I'd never dreamt that I would have a scintilla of interest in local politics, but this time, I savoured the election news fodder and scraps of colloquial witticisms abounding during the rallies and interviews.

Of it all, I thought a particular issue merits a mention. Can't recall the exact detail but it involved someone going to his MP for help to resolve problems encountered with a loan shark or something. My eyeballs dilated in disbelief when I read that. I always thought it is incumbent on oneself to solve one's personal problems. But then I realised this mindset was endemic of a larger segment of the population.

Perhaps I'm woefully rational, but if given a chance to exercise my vote (from the news reports, think that equates to some inalienable birthright to badger for lifts on every floor, covered walkways, and the like), I'll be horribly meritocratic. Ascribe a set of qualities which I think an MP should have (robustness of criteria untested of course, but methinks every citizen should at least have an idea what kind of MP one would like to have), assess the candidates and vote for that whom possesses the ideal expertise, ethos and that elusive quality called affinity with the common folk (no rocket science here, just a ready handshake, a genuine, winsome smile and all-round affability and humility).

But I discerned a somewhat interesting (and at times downright irrational) trend from what I've read and heard first hand. Elderly languishing in low-paid, menial jobs when they should be enjoying their golden years - blame the ruling party or incumbent MP. Been unemployed for six months - blame the MP. Crows are a nuisance - blame the MP. Loan shark problem unresolved - blame the MP. Son not eating his cereal - blame the MP. Toilet flush at home is kaput - blame the MP, blame the MP, blame the MP.

Whatever happened to individual initiative and enterprise? I find this collective mindset of intuitively blaming the ruling party, the government or the MP deeply disturbing. Yes, MPs are here to serve the people - within reasonable bounds.

There were some arguments against the government's indifference to the plight of elderly folk slogging away in laborious jobs like clearing dishes at the food centre or washing the toilets - and I would heartily welcome measures to help them - but sorry, I don't recall reading a single opinion during the election period that perchance, the children of these elderly folk should shoulder some responsibility for their well-being? Or questions being asked of the unemployed whether they have taken it upon themselves to upgrade their skills or to calibrate their wage expectations according to the demand for their labour. No, it seems that the General Election is a time to brandish one's knives and admonish the politicians for the whole caboodle (while laying one's grubby hands on the Progress Package - at least the government did one thing right!).

In case you're wondering, I'm not advocating being pro-PAP (or any party, for that matter) here, nor making excuses for some policies which are truly non-inclusive and ill-conceived. If policies need to be amended or help extended to certain strata of the population, by all means do it, but only after the necessary rigour of debate and consultation. And though I am certain there are those who have tried other means of self-help and are stonewalled, the majority of the opinion where instantly ascribing blame to the PAP is de rigeur is, to put it mildly, exasperating.

It is ridiculous to admonish MPs for one's problems without even considering what degree of personal responsibility one should bear for such quandaries. Herbert Hoover espoused "rugged individualism" and championed the individual energies of the people which are the creative bedrock of a society. Of course, we know that he subsequently lost to Roosevelt but hey, we're not struggling to fight off the throes of a Great Depression here. And what I've personally witnessed is a collective lethargy and finger-pointing culture, one that is so self-indulgently paternalistic it makes me blanch. In Hoover's words, it's the "undermining of the very instincts which carry our people forward to progress." Strangely enough, many Singaporeans seem willing to short-circuit their own thinking by instantaneously hurling a convenient accusation at the government / PAP / MP /neighbourhood dog.

I can almost hear some people's response to the above - "But it's the government's previous nanny-state policies which have bred such paternalism, so they're at fault!!" Yeah, old habits die hard.

History has witnessed enough examples on the efficacy of "the American system of rugged individualism" versus "a European philosophy of diametrically opposed doctrines of paternalism", and while it's a bit of a simplistic reduction in theories, we know which school of thinking is now scrambling to unwind decades of policies, only to face the ire of a people used to such cocooning and unwilling to face the big bad world outside.

And while we're at it - I can't help but discern a barter-trade attitude. Give me lift-upgrading and I'll give you my vote. Maybe I'm woefully idealistic, but I've always envisioned politics to be a somewhat more grandiose, nobler affair. In that respect, unfortunately, I have not witnessed much debate between the contesting parties on the macro issues - what their vision for the country's future is, how we can better manage the integration of foreigners in our midst, how to sharpen our competitive edge of our economy without compromising the moral ethos which we hope to foster, what we should do regarding the appalling lack of social graces (flip open the Forum pages and you'll find it replete with stories of people allowing their children to pee in public sinks, etc; the much-abhorred gutter mentality).

Instead, dialogue is dominated by the usual suspects - lift upgrading, covered walkways, neighbourhood malls and the like - the bread and butter issues, which are important, but I think these'll never help Singapore transcend into a higher level of political discourse. In the absence of collective discussion on issues which reflect a subservience of self to a common betterment, a pursuit of higher ideals which go beyond whether or not my HDB black has received a fresh coat of paint, politics will remain preoccupied with self-aggrandising demands, short-termist promises, petty contrivances and a parochial outlook.

Now excuse me whilst I go make a wish-list to needle my MP with come the next General Election - which includes a hefty jail sentence for people who refuse to move further into the MRT even though there is an almighty bottleneck outside, burning at the stake for those who cannot shut up in libraries, and for folks who lack the decency to switch off their handphones during a movie despite incessant ringing - compulsory bludgeoning with a metal club under the guise of pest control.

Aaahhh, my vision of a First World society. =)

Melbourne and Hankering for a Past Life

Was in Melbourne the past week for work.

The last time I was in Melbourne, it was after my A levels and I blew the sum which I saved from doing relief teaching on a trip to Australia with my JC mates. The most memorable experience then was perhaps feeding the kangaroos in the wildlife park, getting bitten by an emu and realising that koala bears are really not very cuddly at all (quite bristly, in fact). That, and literally freezing my arse off in Phillip Island while waiting for the wild penguins to swim ashore. That was an awfully rainy night and I was severely underdressed. Imagine pellets of rain pelting at you at a almost horizontal tangent and the winds raking your face for close to an hour. Not even the minus forty degrees celsius in the French Alps could match that frigid experience.

This time, I didn't get to see much of Melbourne cos most of the shops were closed by the time our official schedule ended. So we ambled around the area near our hotel, which is tucked away in this rather flash part of the city called Collins Street.

Didn't take much pictures in Melbourne (jadedness, perchance), so here goes some horribly dark shots of the night view near the Federation Square.





During these few days we went to a few universities to speak to the students. I never thought I'd say this, but it was refreshing to hear them out cos, well, inane chatter and skittish temperament aside, they've got a somewhat burnished zest which is sometimes sorely lacking when you hang out too much with adults (heheh). I was kinda inspired by them to continue to have an appetite - for new experiences, for relationships, for life - just when I felt like I was the most tired twenty-something year old ever, with knuckles already been gnarled from too much typing and eyes always captivated by the lure of the sun's fading ambers and the attendent, phantasmagoric promise of bowing out in an incandescent glow.

As I looked aroung the universities, the similarity was stark - I was just like them students not too long ago - bedraggled backpack and half-eaten sandwiches and messy files in tow. And now? Heels that click immaculately, swanky suits, polished name card holder with your company's name loudly emblazoned on it, spouting financial gibberish that sometimes I myself don't understand... I do muse at myself sometimes. I do miss my "other life" - one of strawberries and lazy road trips and sleeping out of a haversack in train stations and airports and going for days without access to washing powder (yes!) and Muller yogurt and chunky crisps and sonorous cheers in pubs while watching footy.

I'm being nostalgic here. I enjoy work, but a part of me surreptiously hankers for the days when I can just wake up on a lazy Monday morning and dive straight back to my snug duvet dreaming of the enchanting waft of hot bacon, chips and mushrooms from the Greek shop downstairs.

But it was a very good break and trip nonetheless. And now, am charged up as I tackle clearing that backlog of work. Today is a mercifully manageable day, and I managed to get a lot of work done. Great. =)

And since I am harping on my student days, some pics from Stanford, California. In about six more weeks, the university will be once again embellished with flowers to herald the graduating batch of students.

The Oval - that's the view of the university if you drive in through the famed Palm Drive.



Another shot of the university grounds.



The Big Game - an American football match between us and rivals Berkeley. No, not proper footy - after all this is the Yoo Ess of Ay, where they call it soccer! Curiously, their version of football is a game chiefly played with... erm... the hands.