So, I have to admit I am addicted to Britain’s Got Talent–and I have been ever since Paul Potts two years ago. It’s kind of odd since I don’t even watch American television, but it’s a neat combination of drama, talent, weirdness, and laughter, that I always get a kick out of it. (And my real problem with television and movies–that I have extremely poor facial recognition skills–doesn’t matter, because I don’t need to remember anyone’s name!) In any event, there’s a clip from BGT last week that hasn’t gotten a lot of play in the last few weeks. It’s not a demonstration that yes, women with unibrows can sing, or another utterly precocious child. It’s a video in which you can see a friendship being destroyed.
I said earlier that all your friends can get published. But I have also seen publication tear apart friendships. And, heck, I know that I have more than my share of irrationality and weirdness and jealousy, and this is an industry where someone is always going to have more brass rings than you are. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, the best person in the world in this regard. But I hope to high hell that if I ever had that chance–if it were me sitting back stage, and someone I counted as a dear friend standing in front of the judges, torn between loyalty to me and the opportunity of a lifetime–I hope to high hell I would march back out on stage and tell the judges she would grab the opportunity or I would kick her ass.