And we are surprised that most people can't find Iraq on a map.
The talking heads on the news are seriously discussing the process involved in trying out for this show. They are debating who the judges will be. Claudine Wong, the reporter live on the scene, should be very proud of herself. Hell, she could have been stuck covering California's perpetually stalled budget.
As the segment winds down, I can't help but crack a smile. There, among all those smiling faces, is a female who wears a shit-eating grin like she wears a Hollister shirt. I can only imagine what she is thinking. "Here I am. I'm going to get my bracelet and go in their and wow the judges. I'll show them that I am the next Idol. I'll bring tears to their faces with my Tori Amos selection. They will say, 'You're going to Hollywood.' I will smile, burst into tears and go hug my mother. In a few months, Matt Lauer will be asking me what it feels like to be the next American Idol. I'll tell him it hasn't really sunk in yet, though I've been waiting for this moment since I discovered my mom's old Madonna CDs. I'll tell him I've not had any sleep, and that I can't wait to cut my album. I will be living my dream."
I want the camera to be there to focus on that face when reality sets in. Not that I want someone to see someone disappointed. I see that every day. I just want the news to cover reality for once. That's the reaction I want to see. I want to hear what she has to say then. "Oh well. I tried. Back to Taco Time. At least my shift manager's cute."
That's what I want to see. People's gut reactions to the cold, hard reality. Not the smiles of a promised tomorrow that will never come through, but the today that never ends. Only then will the dream really mean anything when it becomes the reality.
Anything else is playing the lottery.