I think I’ve been watching too much Australian Idol

Oct 17, 2004 23:47

It started as an innocent vote. “Five minutes before voting lines close, Australia,” spruiked Andrew G. “Why not? I’ve got credit to burn,” I thought. A simple text message, a vote, a name, 55 cents and my soul was sold. But it didn’t end there. I’ve been obsessing about the contestants, the judges, the hosts, and the overly excitable audiences. Truth be told, it’s beyond obsessing: I’m getting involved.

I decided to use Idol contestant Chanel as a model for my life. She seems pretty alright. She’s got sass, flair, and she was there so I became her. I sauntered around always having the last say, speaking with a proper accent, eating lots of Bega cheese, and talking about how I’m left of centre. If a camera was near me I started flirting with it. I lived the dream. You know, I even changed my name to honour her, but that didn’t work out so great. Turns out putting Jonathan and Chanel together and calling myself ‘Janelle’ got me some really strange looks at the bank, embarrassing discussions with call centre operators, and into a bit of trouble at work. I had to leave and start working at a haberdashery.

So to get out of this rut I decided I’d ditch Chanel and live my life as Courtney. The Chanel-inspired Bega cheese helped to get me into shape, as did regular acts of doing nothing. To complete the picture I got really talented, started referring to everyone as ‘mate’ or ‘babe’, cried at lot because my girlfriend wasn’t around, and acquired a fantastic musical taste that I proceeded to compromise by entering Australian Idol-like competitions. My appearance at the Heidelberg RSL Idol was a tremendous success and my rendition of Chocolate Cake by Crowded House was described as ‘triumphant’. Still, I failed to win anything.

Discontented with the musical community of Heidelberg, and therefore Australia, not recognising my talent and continually giving accolades to people who are clearly talent-less (how else do you explain Jet?), I decided to ditch my cultured roots and become the Idol that most epitomised the Australianism of “near enough is good enough”. I shaved my head, stopped eating the cheese and developed a repertoire that could have been programmed by the music director of New FM radio in 1987. Becoming Marty was easier than I thought. Staying good enough just to stick around but not offensive enough have anyone want to get rid of me was the trick. It’s like riding the John Howard wave of freaky eye-browed people that nobody can shake.

Speaking of which, next week John and I are performing Eye of the Tiger for the Australian Cricket Team at the MCG. They didn’t ask us, but we’re pretty sure it’ll be okay. John and I are then going to discuss the sale of Telstra, and my suggestion that the only word that should be able to be used in SMS’s be ‘Marty’. John indicates it should be okay, but apparently Peter Costello is a Ricki-Lee fan and intends on voting for her tonight. Good luck to them both.
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