#oneaday Day 814: Myself, Myself and Myself

Watched The Apprentice tonight. Out of the interminable string of asinine reality shows that the idiot-box forces into our collective consciousness, Lord Sugar‘s ouevre is the one that offends me the least. It still offends me, of course, though not for the same reasons that, say, Britain’s Got Talent does. No, Britain’s Got Talent makes me feel stupid for watching it. (So I don’t.) The Apprentice, meanwhile, finds me infuriated at the people depicted therein — the fact that the show itself typically shows them up to look like the bunch of chancers they are takes the edge off, however.

One of the worst things these people do is talk. No, seriously. Every time they open their mouths it’s a veritable string of business cliches, one after another. One of the most prolific, egregious examples is the incorrect use of the word “myself”. Everyone on that show seems to think that using the word “myself” instead of “me” or “I” makes them sound more “formal” or “polite”.

“Who was responsible for this?” yells Lord Sugar.

“That was myself,” pipes up someone with impossibly blue eyes.

“And who worked in the production side of things?”

“Myself was working in production, along with Randolph, Bellend and Fuckwhistle,” comes the reply from the blonde one with the annoying attitude. (I can’t remember their real names.)

You get the idea.

The same principle is also, it seems, applied to the word “yourself”, which has apparently become an acceptable substitute for the word “you” somewhere along the line.

“I think the team working on this should be yourself, myself and Craptwat,” says Fuckwhistle.

I can’t work out where this faux-formality that makes people talk incorrectly (or, to be less prescriptive about it, “faux-formality that makes people complicate their speech unnecessarily”) has come from. Perhaps it’s a modern-day variant of the archaic “thou art/you are” distinction, which everyone uses incorrectly these days anyway. (And with good reason, obviously — it’s archaic, duh.) Whatever it is, it needs to die, for the same reason that people who use words like “trendy” and “funky” just need to stop right now. Words like that are ones which lose all their meaning and become the opposite of what they’re supposed to be as soon as they come out of someone’s mouth. The same is also true for anyone who says Internet memes out loud or — God forbid — says “LOL” in earnestness.

But I digress.

Language is constantly changing and evolving, usually for the better. We have a veritable shit-ton more words than we used to (and plenty more, like “shit-ton”, that you won’t find in the OED) and the English language has never been more complex, more expressive and more descriptive than it is now. It doesn’t need to be overcomplicated with misplaced formality. There are already pretty good systems in place for indicating that you’re speaking formally — lose the contractions, cut the slang, actually bother to pronounce the letter “t” — so stop making up rules. And while we’re on, grab a dictionary and look up what “literally” means. It’s not an intensifier. It means something actually happened. Stop using it wrong or I will literally jam this pencil into an orifice of yours that it’s not usually supposed to find itself in.

And yes, I mean literally.

#oneaday, Day 292: TV Get Bent

Most times I watch TV, I’m reminded why I don’t watch TV any more, besides the occasional isolated incident of The Apprentice (which I can’t really be bothered with this year, anyway). And the reason for that is that 99.87% (approximately) of it is complete, unadulterated, unfiltered dross and bollocks, and the rest are reruns of old, unadulterated, unfiltered dross and bollocks.

Now I understand and appreciate that some people enjoy zoning out in front of the TV and enjoy having things that they don’t have to think about. I do the same with video games. But at least I’m interacting with video games, and even the most mindless, dumbest video game requires at least a bit of co-ordination and use of your reflexes. Unless it’s Farmville, in which case you just require to be non-vegetative enough to click a mouse a few thousand times. But even that demands more brainpower than staring at the TV.

Not all TV is rubbish of course. But I find myself picking up favourite TV shows on DVD rather than watching them when they air. There are a couple of reasons for this: firstly, being tied down to a schedule at the behest of an inanimate object is a pain that I can do without. Secondly, if I really get into a show, it’s nice to be able to watch several episodes of it in succession to get a greater sense of “coherence” than watching a one-off. Try watching a season of 24 when it airs on TV as opposed to being able to watch several in a row on DVD and you’ll see what I mean. Not that I ever got into Lost (the TV schedule thing meant I lost—no pun intended—interest about halfway through the first season) but I imagine that, with all its confusion, would be much the same.

The kind of TV that doesn’t lend itself to a sense of “coherence”—random quiz shows and reality TV—doesn’t particularly interest me anyway. So everyone’s a winner, then. TV can keep its dross, its reruns, its uninspired crap and endless repetitions of Alexander the fucking Meerkat adverts. I’ll stick to my DVDs, iPlayer and 4OD, thanks.

Will we eventually reach a stage where the concept of traditional TV broadcasting itself is obsolete? Thanks to services like those I’ve just mentioned, it’s entirely possible to have a completely personalised staring-at-the-gogglebox experience consisting entirely of programmes you actually enjoy. And with services like Netflix, LoveFilm and MUBI offering a variety of niche as well as mainstream content, you can even populate your own personal TV and movie playlist with things that would never have been on TV in the first place.

Also there is no need to wait for Alexander the fucking Meerkat to come on screen to go and have a toilet break, either.

The more I think about it, the more this concept sounds very appealing. But will the TV studios ever go for it? The concept of “primetime” is still very firmly in the heads of most broadcasters, and so it’s likely that scheduled programming will continue for at least a little while yet. But as time goes on? Who knows. Perhaps one day TV will move to an exclusively on-demand system.

I look forward to that day immensely.

#oneaday, Day 262: Padawan

I hate reality TV. Loathe it with a passion. I actually want to throw things at the TV if The X-Factor dares to show its face. And Big Brother just makes me want to… also throw things at the TV.

But I have one exception to this rule, one guilty pleasure, and that’s The Apprentice. I’m not sure why this is, as it is consistently home to some of the most obnoxious peen-arses that have ever graced the nation’s TV screens. But there’s something oddly addictive about it.

Twitter helps, of course. The Apprentice is one of those shows that a lot of people on Twitter get behind, narrate, comment and enjoy together. It’s like sitting together with an enormous group of friends, pointing and laughing at the prize gits on screen and (possibly) drinking to excess. Of course, it wouldn’t be Twitter without other people trying to tell you what you can and can’t post on your own stream, so add at least one person to the metaphorical throng of people who is sitting in the corner with their arms folded, sulking, whinging about everyone else having a good time.

That is an overstatement, of course. Most of my non-Apprentice-watching friends politely informed me that they’d either be avoiding Twitter for a while, or temporarily unfollowing me. Perfectly fine; it’s the way Twitter’s designed to work, after all. The image of the sourpuss in the corner was too amusing to leave out, though. And there are certainly those who do like to throw a strop when people aren’t posting what they think should be posted. Balls to them, I say! Or indeed, I point them to this response to me from the fine and lovely @velourvelvet:

(Also, look, see? #newtwitter is good for something. You can see my original tweet and the reply! Stop moaning.)

Anyway. Tonight’s episode revolved around sausages and the manufacturing and sale thereof. Naturally, the episode was edited to include as much innuendo as possible. Come on, we’re British. What’s the world coming to if you can’t snicker at the line “Hello there sir, you look like a sausage connoisseur”?

As usual, the people involved appear to mostly be prize dicks. They have, of course, been chosen because they make “good telly”. Pop in some grade-A peens amongst the blokes, pop in a few hotties and a few bitches amongst the girls, light the fuse and simply sit back. Easy. It also helps that grade-A peens who are also self-professed “entrepreneurs” up the knobjockey potential by, like, tenfold.

Tonight’s casualty was Dan, who looked like a mashup between Nicolas Cage and Bruce Willis. If indeed it were possible to do a mashup of people’s faces. Dan took on the poison chalice that was the first episode’s project manager position. And his style of project management was to slam tables, say “fuck” a lot and stand back not doing very much besides adjusting his cuffs. And his response to “why didn’t you sell anything?” was “I was managing the group”. Yes. Badly.

It was actually quite a surprise to see him go, though. As one friend put it on Twitter, “they usually keep the biggest cunt in for at least 4-5 weeks”. But to be fair, Dan has plenty of rivals for that illustrious post. Chief among them is Stuart, who deserves a punch in the balls for coming out with the line “everything I touch turns to sold” [sic] and miming punching numbers in on a calculator at every opportunity. The smart money is either on him being next out, or on him being kept in as long as possible to stir up as much discord as possible. My vote is for the latter.

Anyway. Enough talk of nonsense TV. And possibly time for bed.

#oneaday, Day 216: I Wish The X Was Ex

So I believe the new series of The X-Factor kicked off tonight. I’m saying this purely based on a few comments on Twitter that I happened to witness earlier on, and not by having watched it at all. The reason I don’t watch it? The X-Factor incites the kind of burning rage and despair at society that is matched only by how I feel during major football tournaments. It’s one of the main reasons I don’t watch TV at all. Not The X-Factor specifically. But shows like it. And by God there are a lot of them.

And they’re always the same. It’s all very well saying that it’s Just Entertainment, and that other forms of entertainment are just as guilty of the offences that The X-Factor commits.

But no. The X-Factor is pretty much identical every year, bar a couple of minor alterations to the format and the inevitable fake “controversy” over who is going to be a judge.

We start with the auditions. Everyone who watches the show uses the auditions section as the main reason to convince people who don’t watch the show to watch the show. “It’s funny!” they’ll say. “There are really shit people sometimes!”

If I want to watch shit people singing, I’ll go direct a school choir. I don’t need it on my television. And it’s not funny. It’s just embarrassing. Yes, these people did it to themselves by signing up for the show. But there’s no need for the “clever editing” (hah!) that goes into the show to focus on them quite so much. And what are we supposed to think? The show inevitably builds them up with one of its famous sob stories, then knocks them down flat when the judges decide to brand them “awful”. What are we, as viewers, supposed to take away from that? “Hah! Look! This person’s had an awful life! But they’re shit at singing and quite ugly, so let’s laugh at them and their misfortune! They’re going to die alone!”

Then, as I recall, there are “Boot Camp” sections, where the judges get to show us all how obnoxiously rich they are out as a result of the clone armies they’ve built over the years. This is ostensibly the “training” section, where the performers get to learn how to, well, perform better. Funny how we rarely see much in the way of training. Instead, we see when they fuck it up, because that’s Better Television.

After that we’re into the interminable, never-ending live shows. Every week, the remaining grinning idiots, who have had all semblance of personality sandblasted out of them by this point, come on stage, sing an incredibly twee and wet version of an existing song, listen to some “criticism” from the judges (which inevitably involves one or more of the key phrases “I liked it”, “I think you could be the next big thing”, “You’ve got the X-Factor”, “You… could win this show” or equivalents towards the negative end of the spectrum) which doesn’t actually offer any constructive advice at all, and then bugger off the stage either crying or going “YES!”

During the live shows, the black woman with the incredibly powerful voice will inevitably almost get to the final and then not quite make it. The “novelty act” which everyone thinks is Really Funny will be kept in for an inexplicably long time, despite being a one-joke act who don’t actually have any talent whatsoever. During the final, the performer who is the better singer will be kicked out in favour of the performer who is more generic and boring. And during the final, the “Winner’s Single” will be revealed to be a dirge-like ballad that makes everyone who listens to it want to kill themselves.

After the show has finished, the Winner’s Single will be released, it will sell like the proverbial hot cakes for a few weeks then disappear without trace for at least six months, after which time the winner will then release their “Stunning Debut Album!” by which time the whole world has forgotten who they are, at least it would have had they not been in the tabloids and on Sky News every five minutes every time they pick their bum or scratch their nose. As a result of this, the obsessive fans become like the people I talked about yesterday, and the people who don’t watch the show and have no time for manufactured pop nonsense are about ready to commit an act of terrorism.

So there you go. I’ve saved you having to watch it at all this year. The X-Factor can fuck off and burn in a fire.