I don't understand much about Celebrity Big Brother. My trips to the Room of Viewing have been few and far between for this one, partly due to the snow and partly to apathy. But I caught about a dozen words from someone whom the Daily Star informs us is called Stephen Baldwin today, before I threw a pebble through the screen. Stephen is of the Christian faith, and strong in it, and respec' to him for that, as my niece Alisha would say - and indeed frequently does. But the dozen or so words I heard today were these - one of the other nonentities in the House asked Stephen Baldwin if he believed in evolution, and Stephen Baldwin responded that he didn't because "If we're descended from apes, how come apes are still here?"
Just let the fatuousness of those words sink into you. Roll their gormlessness around the tastebuds of logic and irony like a fine brandy.
Consider the various ways in which this argument is wild-eyed, single-brain-celled half-wittedness of the highest order.
Consider that zoologists generally regard the ancestors of apes and human beings as being a common ancestor, not an ape.
Consider that even if human beings did descend from apes, this did not mean all the apes turned into human beings one day. Only that fortunate (or otherwise) population that had the mutations that make us humans, not apes, descended from the common descendant as human beings.
Consider that gorillas, orang-utans, bonobos and chimps all descended from "apes". Yet all those and their many other related species exist.
Consider that it is possible that rational human beings, creationists and bonobos all descend from a common ancestor. Consider which of the three probably has the least highly evolved brain function.
Consider that, Stephen Baldwin being an actor, he probably isn't responsible for the thoughts that he expressed. Consider that somebody else is probably the real source of this straw-man, gormless, half-baked answer and that actors aren't really responsible for many of the things they say. And consider that whoever gave the unfortunate Mr Baldwin these thoughts is probably spreading the poison of lazy thinking and dopeyness to many others. And think how awful that is.
Now, I couldn't encourage anyone to vote on Big Brother. I really couldn't, in all conscience, do that. But I beg you. And apparently some churches are organising to keep him in. For the sake of removing this hapless stereotype- for the sake of the sanity of those people who are able both to believe and reason - if you were going to vote on this useless programme, please vote him out. It's the least you can do.
I also appeal to atheists of good-will and lots of money. I know that it's tempting to let him stay in there, making those of us of many faiths or one look like idiots. I know he's as much an asset to atheists as Gordon Brown is to the Conservative Party. But please don't keep him in. If you're daft even to vote on Celebrity Big Brother, at least be clever enough to vote him out.
Thank you for listening.
Showing posts with label big brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label big brother. Show all posts
Thursday, 7 January 2010
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Deliver us from Mediocrity
It was with, I have to say, a certain trepidation that I joined the party heading out through the snow (once again) to the House of Viewing to see Celebrity Big Brother on the Television.
It is a common course for television programmes that originally feature what are sometimes disparagingly referred to as "ordinary people", to morph into a Celebrity equivalent. So Stars in their Eyes became Celebrity Stars in their Eyes. Family Fortunes - a programme featuring two teams of slightly odd people who we've never heard of - became Celebrity Family Fortunes - a programme featuring two teams of slightly odd people we've never heard of, with one family member we've vaguely heard of because they were once a road-sweeper in Coronation Street, or a costermonger in the "Square". Come Dancing became Celebrity Come Dancing with Elephants in Tutus on Ice.
I'm a Celebrity Get me Out of Here, by definition didn't make this trip - there was never a programme called I'm a Nonentity, Get me Out of Here. But it was built on the back of many earnest programmes where common people were cast adrift on islands, stuck on farms or whatever.
In the end, does it come down to safety? Not my beloved Health and Safety, but commercial safety? The planners - those right-on, cutting-edge, blue-sky-thinkers will take any concept involving the proletariat and think - this is a great pitch. But wouldn't this programme on people sweeping the streets of Luton be more interesting if the street-sweepers were formerly on Footballers' Wives? Would that make just the difference to the viewing figures - bring just that many people who were already fans of the "celebrity" - that the balance could be tipped between a programme few people watch and one that a few more watch? Given the effort that goes into ensuring the right "back story", as I believe it's called, of the X-factor - hairy barmy religious woman; single mother; lost an uncle in the last year; brought up by wolves or whatever it may be - wouldn't it be less trouble to bring someone in who has their attitude and attributes pre-set - so Jordan is gobby and busty, Joe Pasquale is squeaky, the Cheeky Girls are... well, forgotten basically.
And now the whole thing seems to have gone full circle. Behold in front of me on the screen I see - an entire group of people who I don't recognise, except for a former QPR midfielder who was once famous for getting into fights in pubs. In fact the only difference between the "celebrities" I see before me and the wannabe celebrities from previous Nonentity Big Brothers, is that the celebs are older and generally less attractive. Apart from the aforesaid footballer, I can't look at these people and think "oh they're not like I thought they were". Because I don't know who they are. They are as much an unknown as an eighteen-year-old "student" from the "University" of South Bedfordshire (formerly Sainsbury's in Dunstable) who thinks she can be a "moddawl" if she appears on TV. So if this is reality TV - the reality is actually more boring and unimaginative than our own realities.
What possesses those who run our idiot boxes to think that we are so gormless, so lacking in the ability even to change a channel, so easy to control - because control is, after all, what it is about - that we will keep watching even when their "celebrities" are talentless, witless, pointless unknowns?
Thankfully, at least in the case of Big Brother, it would appear that game is up. We're not quite that stupid - or, at least, after ten years of it we're not. We turn off in droves, maybe to do something more practical. Play charades, or run for Parliament, or go down the pub for a fight, or even turn to the Internet - a place where anyone with a laptop and a bright idea can make him or herself famous, regardless of "contacts" and "celebrity". Typing a Facebook status, as one friend of mine did, such as "Just caught a super-bug in hospital - lol", gives you hope for the future of mankind. And I'm pleased to say she seems better now.
It is a common course for television programmes that originally feature what are sometimes disparagingly referred to as "ordinary people", to morph into a Celebrity equivalent. So Stars in their Eyes became Celebrity Stars in their Eyes. Family Fortunes - a programme featuring two teams of slightly odd people who we've never heard of - became Celebrity Family Fortunes - a programme featuring two teams of slightly odd people we've never heard of, with one family member we've vaguely heard of because they were once a road-sweeper in Coronation Street, or a costermonger in the "Square". Come Dancing became Celebrity Come Dancing with Elephants in Tutus on Ice.
I'm a Celebrity Get me Out of Here, by definition didn't make this trip - there was never a programme called I'm a Nonentity, Get me Out of Here. But it was built on the back of many earnest programmes where common people were cast adrift on islands, stuck on farms or whatever.
In the end, does it come down to safety? Not my beloved Health and Safety, but commercial safety? The planners - those right-on, cutting-edge, blue-sky-thinkers will take any concept involving the proletariat and think - this is a great pitch. But wouldn't this programme on people sweeping the streets of Luton be more interesting if the street-sweepers were formerly on Footballers' Wives? Would that make just the difference to the viewing figures - bring just that many people who were already fans of the "celebrity" - that the balance could be tipped between a programme few people watch and one that a few more watch? Given the effort that goes into ensuring the right "back story", as I believe it's called, of the X-factor - hairy barmy religious woman; single mother; lost an uncle in the last year; brought up by wolves or whatever it may be - wouldn't it be less trouble to bring someone in who has their attitude and attributes pre-set - so Jordan is gobby and busty, Joe Pasquale is squeaky, the Cheeky Girls are... well, forgotten basically.
And now the whole thing seems to have gone full circle. Behold in front of me on the screen I see - an entire group of people who I don't recognise, except for a former QPR midfielder who was once famous for getting into fights in pubs. In fact the only difference between the "celebrities" I see before me and the wannabe celebrities from previous Nonentity Big Brothers, is that the celebs are older and generally less attractive. Apart from the aforesaid footballer, I can't look at these people and think "oh they're not like I thought they were". Because I don't know who they are. They are as much an unknown as an eighteen-year-old "student" from the "University" of South Bedfordshire (formerly Sainsbury's in Dunstable) who thinks she can be a "moddawl" if she appears on TV. So if this is reality TV - the reality is actually more boring and unimaginative than our own realities.
What possesses those who run our idiot boxes to think that we are so gormless, so lacking in the ability even to change a channel, so easy to control - because control is, after all, what it is about - that we will keep watching even when their "celebrities" are talentless, witless, pointless unknowns?
Thankfully, at least in the case of Big Brother, it would appear that game is up. We're not quite that stupid - or, at least, after ten years of it we're not. We turn off in droves, maybe to do something more practical. Play charades, or run for Parliament, or go down the pub for a fight, or even turn to the Internet - a place where anyone with a laptop and a bright idea can make him or herself famous, regardless of "contacts" and "celebrity". Typing a Facebook status, as one friend of mine did, such as "Just caught a super-bug in hospital - lol", gives you hope for the future of mankind. And I'm pleased to say she seems better now.
Sunday, 3 January 2010
On the theological aspects of the Return to Work
Now many in this fair realm have been to work already since Christmas Day. Indeed, some noble, unselfish and/or compelled souls were forced even to work on Christmas Day itself - I refer, of course, to ministers of the Christian religion, and Father Christmas. And those who labour in the emporia of Messrs Waite and Rose, or of Messrs TE Stockwell and Cohen, have no doubt been at work on and off ever since the Great Day.
But tomorrow is the day for the great mass of the proletariat to return to their regular labours. Barring snow, icy roads, or last-minute hangovers, tomorrow the Invoice Passing Clerks, PC Support desk operatives, and even teachers - incredible as it may sound - return to work.
And most will be grumpy. But a few will be glad. They will see in their roles, whether it be the instilling of wisdom into young minds, the emptying of wheelie bins into rubbish vans, the tilling of the soil or the time-honoured craft of the Passing of the Invoice, an echo of the creative work of the Creator in... well, in creating. What JRR Tolkien referred to as sub-creation. And for some, debugging a tricky line of code or rejecting a consignment of Norwegian Pine because it is insufficiently traceable will be a blessing and entering into the Divine Plan. They are the blessed ones - the ones that can see that all days are indeed truly special, that the sun rises every day, and that there is a glimpse of the sublime even in the toasting of a burger bun.
But for others - the day rises as a day of drudgery. They will cling on until 5 o'clock, or whenever their time of indenture ends, and then go home figuring that at least there are only four days left till the weekend, or - according to their philosophy - only 8 months until the Summer Holiday, or 11 and a half until next Christmas. Or - if you are a sitting New Labour MP - only five months till you can have a nice long rest, for at least 10 years or until someone considers that they have other uses, unlikely as that seems. These are the ones for whom we should feel something - not the MPs, the others. The ones who know all about the curse of the Fall, as they wrestle with the nettles of pushy salesmen and the thorns of dim-witted suppliers. The ones for whom the night gives no rest and the day gives no fulfilment. The ones that - whether in their quick tyre replacement garage, or their forecourt, or their grimy mezzanine office in a warehouse in Corby - just want to get home to Eastenders, so they can share in the misery of others.
I'd like at this point to point the way forward for these people, for whom only the promise of Celebrity Big Brother gives any kind of meaning and hope for the future. I'd like to, but I can't. That's the problem with the Beaker Faith. It's all about feeling and emoting and rather depends on you being in a good state of mind in the first place. We're dead good at accepting, and listening, and sharing your pain. Actually, sharing it is maybe a bit strong. Hearing about it - for a reasonable but not excessive period of time - that's what we're really good at. Frankly, suggesting you light a tea light is about as helpful as we get.
So - the good news is, with Hnaef out at his archery school, Young Keith back at the office and Burton doing an audit on a tractor company in Leighton Buzzard, it's all going to be pretty quiet around the Great House for the next week or so. I hereby announce that the Sunrise Service will be held at lunchtime. No point in pushing it.
And if you're really worried about work tomorrow, can't stand the thought of it, and are just hoping that the earth will open up, or 10 feet of snow fall in the night - can I suggest lighting a tea light? It works wonders.
But tomorrow is the day for the great mass of the proletariat to return to their regular labours. Barring snow, icy roads, or last-minute hangovers, tomorrow the Invoice Passing Clerks, PC Support desk operatives, and even teachers - incredible as it may sound - return to work.
And most will be grumpy. But a few will be glad. They will see in their roles, whether it be the instilling of wisdom into young minds, the emptying of wheelie bins into rubbish vans, the tilling of the soil or the time-honoured craft of the Passing of the Invoice, an echo of the creative work of the Creator in... well, in creating. What JRR Tolkien referred to as sub-creation. And for some, debugging a tricky line of code or rejecting a consignment of Norwegian Pine because it is insufficiently traceable will be a blessing and entering into the Divine Plan. They are the blessed ones - the ones that can see that all days are indeed truly special, that the sun rises every day, and that there is a glimpse of the sublime even in the toasting of a burger bun.
But for others - the day rises as a day of drudgery. They will cling on until 5 o'clock, or whenever their time of indenture ends, and then go home figuring that at least there are only four days left till the weekend, or - according to their philosophy - only 8 months until the Summer Holiday, or 11 and a half until next Christmas. Or - if you are a sitting New Labour MP - only five months till you can have a nice long rest, for at least 10 years or until someone considers that they have other uses, unlikely as that seems. These are the ones for whom we should feel something - not the MPs, the others. The ones who know all about the curse of the Fall, as they wrestle with the nettles of pushy salesmen and the thorns of dim-witted suppliers. The ones for whom the night gives no rest and the day gives no fulfilment. The ones that - whether in their quick tyre replacement garage, or their forecourt, or their grimy mezzanine office in a warehouse in Corby - just want to get home to Eastenders, so they can share in the misery of others.
I'd like at this point to point the way forward for these people, for whom only the promise of Celebrity Big Brother gives any kind of meaning and hope for the future. I'd like to, but I can't. That's the problem with the Beaker Faith. It's all about feeling and emoting and rather depends on you being in a good state of mind in the first place. We're dead good at accepting, and listening, and sharing your pain. Actually, sharing it is maybe a bit strong. Hearing about it - for a reasonable but not excessive period of time - that's what we're really good at. Frankly, suggesting you light a tea light is about as helpful as we get.
So - the good news is, with Hnaef out at his archery school, Young Keith back at the office and Burton doing an audit on a tractor company in Leighton Buzzard, it's all going to be pretty quiet around the Great House for the next week or so. I hereby announce that the Sunrise Service will be held at lunchtime. No point in pushing it.
And if you're really worried about work tomorrow, can't stand the thought of it, and are just hoping that the earth will open up, or 10 feet of snow fall in the night - can I suggest lighting a tea light? It works wonders.
Friday, 12 June 2009
Beaker Brother
I'm pleased to announce that after weeks of viewing video auditions, interviews and psychological profiling, we've decided upon the 10 people who will go in the Beaker Brother house. We've chosen the most aggressive, the most self-regarding and biggest wannabes. We're not going to be putting any cameras in the Beaker Brother house, and we're not going to be doing any evictions. We're just gonna leave the doors locked until we're in danger of them being listed as Missing Persons.
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