Have you heard about the newest show? It’s called American Idol: Novel Edition. All the good ideas were taken, so they came up with one that nobody had ever even thought of. Except, of course, for me, but the lawsuit for the rights to the title was dropped on the grounds of “everybody loves American Idol, you television-illiterate twit.”
I don’t watch reality programming, as I prefer to gather my conception of reality from more accurate and reliable sources, like The Onion. But this is how I hear the show works. Some author, previously unheard of, brings his or her novel to the judges, who read the books on camera. It takes awhile, but that’s how they have to do it. Otherwise, they could have read the books some other time, and that just wouldn’t be fair. Or so I’m told. In any case, the potential best-seller is then judged based on quality, content, and amount of praise for certain celebrities. I hear the pilot episode was particularly exciting. They almost got a third of the way through the first submission. Of course, there is variance in reading speed, so one judge almost got halfway, and another got slightly past the second paragraph. Simon Cowell skimmed the title and fell asleep on page one. He later criticized the publishing company for making the pages stick together with a substance he likened to his own drool.
I submitted a book to be judged. I flew all the way to Los Angeles to deliver it, and was simply told I couldn’t sing, and would I please make my way to the third-story balcony, where a bouncer would be with me shortly. On the way to the hospital, I wondered about the singing component. What song had I chosen to perform? Who was it by? I became disappointed when I realized they must have judged me by my cover.
Until next time, this is Xavier Yes. Stay classical. I’m going to write an angry and rather confused letter demanding my book be released by MTV.