“Whose penis are they eating now?”
-My grandmother, watching ‘I’m a celebrity get me out of here’
This comment, from the previous blog post- 'Shit My Nan Says' Life and Grandmothers: Overheard spiralled off into a whole other conversation that really is a seperate post. Such a phrase deserves an interjection- What is the world coming to when ITV family viewing involves your grandmother saying such a sentence? What is our weird obsession with consuming animal genitalia that takes over the nation every year and seems to gets more bold? ‘I’m a celeb’ is definitely one of the more weird concepts of shows; when it’s mere civilians, (i.e. X Factor) there’s a hopeful grasp for fame on the horizon, but using d-list celebs and throwing them into a jungle indicates the horizon is past them, they’re running backwards towards a day that’s already ended. Fame is a fickle thing; worth eating eyeballs and animal penis’s for. Apparently.
So the latest one is ‘Dancing on Ice.’ I feel gleefully guilty in wanting them to fall over, watching one of the contestants gouge a chunk of her leg out with her ice-skate in the first episode.
And of course then there is the train wreck that is Kerry Katona. I swing from feeling pity to annoyance with this one. The pity surely comes from some very good editing- if you watch carefully, her vocab consists of three topics and three topics only; A. Her new management, B. How she wants to make her kids proud. C. how she’s changed her life and been given the second chance and all the drug taken was her ex-husband’s fault anyway.
Seriously- watch carefully, these three phrases are constantly repeated, building the image that the management company have been employed to pump out. I do often lean toward the pitying side, but if I have to hear Kerry Katona talking about her car crash of a life or how she wants to make her kids proud one more time, I’m going to the throw a shoe at the T.V. You want to do your kids proud? Go home. Be a mum there, not on ITV in sparkly spandex. And stop marrying ugly cab drivers that spend all your money.
Divorcing useless husbands definitely seems to be the key here- look at Cheryl Cole; one of the media machine’s greatest achievements. With her sympathetic all-knowing nod and understanding eyes, an ‘au naturale’ poise that the camera just happened to catch every week on the X-Factor judging panel- who actually remembers where this lass came from?
Oh yes, that’s right- she’s the chav from a geordie council estate that attacked a toilet attendant and was cleared of rasism.
Amazing what a good publicist, veneers, hair extensions and expensive stylists can do for your career. Being cheated on by her footballer husband (shock of the century) was ironically the best thing that ever happened to her- being a great example of how really, its publicists that rule the world;
-My grandmother, watching ‘I’m a celebrity get me out of here’
This comment, from the previous blog post- 'Shit My Nan Says' Life and Grandmothers: Overheard spiralled off into a whole other conversation that really is a seperate post. Such a phrase deserves an interjection- What is the world coming to when ITV family viewing involves your grandmother saying such a sentence? What is our weird obsession with consuming animal genitalia that takes over the nation every year and seems to gets more bold? ‘I’m a celeb’ is definitely one of the more weird concepts of shows; when it’s mere civilians, (i.e. X Factor) there’s a hopeful grasp for fame on the horizon, but using d-list celebs and throwing them into a jungle indicates the horizon is past them, they’re running backwards towards a day that’s already ended. Fame is a fickle thing; worth eating eyeballs and animal penis’s for. Apparently.
So the latest one is ‘Dancing on Ice.’ I feel gleefully guilty in wanting them to fall over, watching one of the contestants gouge a chunk of her leg out with her ice-skate in the first episode.
And of course then there is the train wreck that is Kerry Katona. I swing from feeling pity to annoyance with this one. The pity surely comes from some very good editing- if you watch carefully, her vocab consists of three topics and three topics only; A. Her new management, B. How she wants to make her kids proud. C. how she’s changed her life and been given the second chance and all the drug taken was her ex-husband’s fault anyway.
Seriously- watch carefully, these three phrases are constantly repeated, building the image that the management company have been employed to pump out. I do often lean toward the pitying side, but if I have to hear Kerry Katona talking about her car crash of a life or how she wants to make her kids proud one more time, I’m going to the throw a shoe at the T.V. You want to do your kids proud? Go home. Be a mum there, not on ITV in sparkly spandex. And stop marrying ugly cab drivers that spend all your money.
Divorcing useless husbands definitely seems to be the key here- look at Cheryl Cole; one of the media machine’s greatest achievements. With her sympathetic all-knowing nod and understanding eyes, an ‘au naturale’ poise that the camera just happened to catch every week on the X-Factor judging panel- who actually remembers where this lass came from?
Oh yes, that’s right- she’s the chav from a geordie council estate that attacked a toilet attendant and was cleared of rasism.
Amazing what a good publicist, veneers, hair extensions and expensive stylists can do for your career. Being cheated on by her footballer husband (shock of the century) was ironically the best thing that ever happened to her- being a great example of how really, its publicists that rule the world;
(Useless husband+ pretty face= Victim)
= Nation’s sweetheart = Product Endorsements + Dollar.
Apply the same formula to Kerry Katona. It fits. It’s blatantly framed in the Claire Powell’s office.
Because you’re worth it.
We’re under the impression these shows belong to us. They’re ours and we decide the outcome- They’re our contestants- Facebook flooded with indignant status’s week after week, threatening to not watch it again every time there was an uproar about voting politics.
If we could apply the same vigour and passion to politics that affect more than the Christmas number 1, the world could be our oyster.
Maybe that the answer- market general elections like the X-factor?? Just add a bit of music- and I don’t mean get politicians on a karaoke machine. The key is the background music, usually some slow, gut wrenching ballad while the contestants reveal whatever sob story it is that has driven them to sing; dustbin man job, obesity, self esteem issues, prostitute grandmothers. Everybody’s got one. Simon Cowell and his editing team are very sharp- add them to any election campaign and young people might actually pay attention rather than use politics as an opportunity to smash up shop fronts and throw eggs at Camilla-parker Bowls.
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