A lot of people seem shocked by the iPhone mania. When reports came in that people were camping outside the Apple store in New York, a few were heard to mutter, “It’s a phone, people!”
Um, no. It’s the Apple iPhone. It’s a cult item and this is how people behave when faced with cult items. Please read The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. All will be clear. Read reviews here. As for me, I’m going to try some delayed gratification and wait for the next generation. Even if it’s likely to leave me with a drool problem.
I really don’t want to watch Hey Paula – Paula Abdul’s reality show. I’ve never been a Paula fan, not when she was putting out records and definitely not on American Idol. But not that I’ve read the Television Without Pity recap, I know one thing absolutely for sure: there is no fucking way Simon Cowell is dating this mess. I used to think he was being disingenuous when he made comments about “Paula being Paula” because hey, how bad could a drunk watering pot be?
Lest we underestimate the depth of Paula’s loneliness, we are introduced to her staff: a severely over-surgeried gay buddy slash hairdresser slash…Wildenstein; some girl with a hundred-million-dollar bracelet, the four furry kids, and…I actually, I don’t know if she knows any of these people. Mostly they stand around staring at the camera and wondering if she’s going to do anything. She’s not going to do anything. Actually, she might just think they’re on her staff and really they’re just concerned passersby. Then one of her dogs eats a diamond ring and she reaches down its throat laughing hysterically. That is literally the only interesting thing that happens the entire time. It’s gross yet boring.
What would make this show awesome is if Paula Abdul were crazy in a way that was interesting. What Paula Abdul is, is crazy in the same way that anybody at your job that you avoid because they’re weird is crazy. Paula is cat calendar crazy. She’s Lillian Vernon crazy. “My ex-husband was a bastard” crazy. She’s “bitter about her parking space” crazy. That’s not television, that’s the Accounting bitches at your place of business, or that lady in Human Resources that won’t quit talking about direct deposit every time you run into her.
I’m going back to bed.