When you are febrile, drugged and possibly delirious, you should never live on the edge. By this I mean the edge of tastefulness, not necessary the jaunty edge of reason.
I of course refer to an unfortunate episode of channel-surfing that led me to dwell, ever so briefly, on Singapore's "Vasantham" channel. There was a man in atrocious batik, a haircut from a 1970s Indian movie and a moustache - or, what I call the "terrible trifecta". He was apparently polishing something invisible roughly a foot from his abdomen. He was adopting that circular hand movement that children associate with a train, and apparently polishing this invisible thing thoroughly, now the right hand a few inches higher than the left, now the reverse. I think he was attempting to "dance".
Oh, amidst all this, he was lip synching. To what presumably was his own, abysmal, recorded voice. I watched, mouth agape, unable to preserve my normal deadpan, and could feel myself slipping down the rabbit-hole of horror.
Thankfully, the remote fell out of my hand, changing the channel, and I came out of my reverie and on to a posse of meerkats on Animal Planet. Those little buggers!
But coming back to the point - I know these performers are not exactly Milli Vanilli, disappointing millions with their lip synching. But what kind of feeble mind actually *believes* this is art? And more importantly, what kind of feeble minds actually *watch* this "art"?
As luck would have it, I do not have to dwell on these grave questions because I have a date with a bottle of cough syrup. "May cause drowsiness". The best kind.
PS: Delirum tremens can mean a couple of things: the literal explanation and the much more fun version.
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