Television dreams of tomorrow

I have become somewhat fascinated by American Idol, much to my chagrin. I blame it on the fact the ITV2 run repeats of it all the time over the weekend, so you catch it at some point and then it sucks you in. In general I disapprove of these type of shows wholeheartedly - people getting record deals on the back of a public vote on TV, when some musicians who are supremely talented have to struggle for years. And the kind of music that I like isn't represented in any case. It's populist nonsense - the Man write large.

But still, all this aside, I have become absolutely fascinated by it. I have to decide on a Thursday whether or not to check to see who has been voted off (the main show airs in the US on a Tuesday and then the results show is on the Wednesday, but the corresponding shows don't air in the UK until Wednesday and Thursday respectively). Usually, I can't resist the urge.

I love watching it. Listening to the judges rambling on about "artistry" or "pitchiness" or saying "you know I love you, but I didn't love that song choice for you", or counting how many times Randy Jackson says "yo" or "check it out" (I read somewhere that the more times he says it before beginning his critique, the more he liked the performance, and that if you only get a "Yo baby", you should be very afraid". Interestingly, Simon Cowell's comments are still the ones that seem to mean the most to people - it doesn't seem to matter if the other 3 love you; if Simon ain't so keen, the face falls a bit.

They have free voting too, within the US, and as a result, a phenomenal number of votes are cast; I think last week something like 65 million people voted. I wonder if they charged like they do in this country whether quite so many people would vote. I am guessing not... It's quite mind-boggling to think of that many votes being cast - I think that is the point. It's votes cast, rather than people voting. I'll wager that a lot of people might be voting more than once.

The contestants all seem to be so much better than any of the contestants on British equivalents. Mind you, some of them have been appearing on stage and some of them have even released records, albeit ones that didn't sell that many (however few records they sold, it would still be more than my record).

Last week, the last remaining girl in the competition was eliminated. She was really good - she was only just 17, but she could rock that stage. It was a shame she had to go, but she went with a bang. Tonight it is down to the Top Three, and they are pretty different types of performer. There is Kris, who is terribly cute and plays guitar and has a rather sweet voice; there is Danny, who is kind of a white soul boy (Simon Cowell described him as sounding like Michael McDonald one week, which seemed pretty spot on), and who has been much ridiculed during the last week for a rather unfortunate attempt at hitting the high note at the end of Dream On, which came off more as a rather blood-curdling scream; and there is Adam, who is a little bit goth, a little bit emo, wears guyliner and nail varnish, has a very good voice and has grabbed most of the attention. Smart money would be on Danny and Adam making the final, but you just never know.

I can't really believe that I am so interested.

One thing that is possibly even more fascinating than the competition itself is dipping into some of the forums and discussion boards. They are crazy places. You get these Appreciation Threads where the users discuss the ins and outs of their favourites ad infinitum and in minute detail. And alongside that flies the vitriol. It can be quite scary how high the feelings run. One person's "Most Amazing Performance Ever" is the next person's "It Was So Horrible I Had To Mute The Sound". And then you get arguments as to whether one contestant is smug or not. Reading them, you realise that is all depends on your attitude to the person. If you don't really rate them or like them, then a smile can be smug; if you like the person, the exact same smile becomes too cute for words. Or one person's amazingly original interpretation is another's car crash moment.

It is endlessly fascinating.

Oh yeah, and Ryan Seacrest is quite cute.

What's on your conscience nothing happens in my town

Whilst out dog-walking with a friend one Saturday evening recently, our meandering took us alongside a river, and as we were walking along the path, we walked under a bridge, the flyover kind. There was inevitably some graffiti and I made some disparaging comments about how I didn't really get graffiti and how I couldn't see it as urban art, even if some people do, etc, etc. However, I soon changed my mind, as I came upon some more, which you can see above and to the left. Clearly I am a sucker for something cute, which this obviously is, but there was also a bit more to it than that. It was accompanied by a message about how migration is not a crime, and given Paddington's epic journey from Darkest Peru to West London, it seemed rather apt.

Begin the day With a friendly voice A companion, unobtrusive Plays that song thats so elusive

So, finally I went to see I Love You, Man, and finally I post my review...

Well, I loved it. It made me cry with laughter in places (and it was Paul Rudd who made me do this, just so you know). It was simply a funny film, which is all you can really ask for from a comedy.The premise is that Peter (Paul Rudd) is getting married and observes that while he hangs around with his fiancee and her friends, he doesn't really have any male friends of his own, in the same way. A series of man-dates ensue and enter Sydney (Mr Segel) - and a grabbing of my friend's leg into the bargain. I was thinking that it wouldn't necessarily have anything to say about the human condition, but actually, I think it does have something quite interesting to say about the nature of friendship, particularly the difference between male and female friendships.

It was hilarious to see Peter's attempts at bro-speak, and it highlighted that there is a fine line between innovative, funny dialogue and ridiculous nonsense. The whole film is actually really interesting, from a linguistic point of view - a comment that was also made on Front Row, so this isn't just me trying to intellectualise my Segel-love.

One bit that was slightly annoying was that Sydney refused to scoop his dog's poop. Now, leave aside the fact that in real life this is something I find morally reprehensible. It didn't really seem to fit in with the character. I think it was there purely as a device so that a scene where he teaches Peter to scream could happen. I'll forgive them this, because that scene is very funny.

A friend of mine saw the film a good few weeks before me, and said that he liked it well-enough but that it wasn't as funny as Forgetting Sarah Marshall.... Well, whisper it, I thought it was funnier, in a laugh-out-loud way than Forgetting Sarah Marshall, thereby proving that I don't need to see the Seagull Junk, as this same friend put it, to enjoy one of his films.

The saints are coming, the saints are coming

I am long overdue my review of I Love You, Man, but today other things had to take precedence. I speak, of course, of the day's top sporting news of St Johnstone being promoted to the Scottish Premier Division (although it is hardly an in-depth analysis), after far too many years away. I got a perplexing text from my mum, about 3 minutes before the final whistle sounded, saying "St Johnstone have won the Cup. Wow". The confusion arose because my dad had advised her that he might be late home for dinner "if we win, they'll present us with the cup". Of course, he as referring to the cup presented to us as First Division Champions. However, I was more worried by the fact that the game hadn't ended. We may have been 3-1 up, and Partick may have been 1-0 down, but as a Saints fan, you never take anything for granted, exemplified by the catastrophe of 2 years ago, when we missed out on promotion due to a Gretna goal in injury time.

Some more silverware in the trophy cabinet and the chance to play in the top-flight next season. Of course, this will undoubtedly led to a much more stressful season than normal (and Saints do a very good line in making their fans sweat), but it'll be worth it. And not matter how hard it can be, I wouldn't swap them for anything.

After a chat with my dad on the telephone (involving singing down the line from both of us and him telling me that the strains of "We hate Dundee, we hate Dundee" were reverberating around the stadium with about 20 minutes to go), he decided that he was going to crack open the wine that evening, to toast the victory. As this sounded like a splendid idea, I decided to do the same. I went to the supermarket, picked one of those small individual-portion (does wine come in portions?) bottles, and proceeded to the self-service scanner.

Inevitably there was some problem, and the supervisor had to approve it. He said to me "Can I see your ID" and then looked at me and began apologising profusely, and told me to carry on. Now, I know that I might not look under 21, but did he really have to sound quite so mortified.