I'm not watching American Idol

Summertime. It's hot. I got in the car this afternoon, rolled down the windows and felt the hot wind rush over my skin like a hairdryer. New Zealand was never this warm and my blood isn't quite prepared to cope. India was hot, but it was heat that played a second fiddle to every other external influence. The mercury never raised so high that I could ignore the chorus of barking dogs, puttering rickshaws, marching bands proceeding to the funeral. Try as it might, its oppression was overwhelmed by the smell it produced, on bodies or in garbage piles.

Here, it's just getting hot. Everything is clean and dandy and maybe a little fuzzy behind the heatwaves rising off the asphalt.

I watched television last night because I thought I might be missing something that could bring me closer to understanding the meaning of life. I haven't watched American Idol since the first series, and apparently there is now a standing army of American Idols singing horrendous versions of horrific Celine Dion songs that climax in some strange voice gymnastics that make audiences scream and moan. Isn't Celine Dion Canadian?

It could be that this new army will take over the world utilizing the pure force of their manic crescendos. I, for one, have considered shooting my television when I hear the recruitment process on American Idol every week. If the idols ever do get loose, I hope we have a plan.