Susan Boyle came out of nowhere onto a world stage. I remember watching cable news as I typed my drivel for the day and saw this woman. An ugly woman. I of course would not be so disposed or discourteous as to say something like this out loud, even though I am mostly alone as I have been for some time.

Then I heard fifteen or twenty second of sounds emanating from her mouth!!! My god, this is not ugliness-- this is beauty.  I went from id to superego in a flash!!

I dreamed a Dream

Then I search and found her doing 'Memory'.

You see I do not watch reality shows. I pay no attention to them whatsoever. Too many high ratings. Too much money involved. The fix must be in.

And, yet, there was truth!!! It was the British reality show. And the prick who sits in the chair of judgment was blown away. I do not even know the asshat's name. Pompous. Egotistical.

I then went to Streisand's take on Memory from Cats.

I am no music critic. I usually listen for the message, the words. I admit that Peter, Paul & Mary do Dylan a lot better than Dylan. But I still need to hear Dylan. I mean he wrote the damn words. I am looking for anger, despair, hope, frustration, love...What is the intonation from the man who cannot sing?

How many millions of records has the guy sold?  Who gives a damn? I fell in love with his songs at age 14. The poet, the bard. I see how other bands and singers go nuts over him. But only after I had chosen to listen to his work, no critic pushed me towards him. Only my ten dollar transistor radio.  

But this lady, this Susan Boyle. I have been playing her all morning.

I then had to listen to Elaine Page's version since Susan Boyle pointed to her as the ideal. Beautiful.

But Susan Boyle just bowls me over. Then as I listened to her, I thought she missed a couple of notes, too low I thought in my pedestrian layman's head. But I compared with Streisand and Paige. No, Susan Boyle missed nothing. IT WAS PART OF THE SONG.  Contrast was there.

We all have prejudices. All the word means is to prejudge.  Really, to assume. I mean we have to assume every single hour of every single day we walk this planet's paths.  We could not survive without assuming because there are just to many variables to consider to come to a valid judgment concerning any of our alternatives as we attempt to get through another day.

I assume that if you wear a fifteen hundred dollar suit, you are doing all right. I assume that if you wear pj's most of the day, you are the drudge of society as it were.

If you are a white sheriff from Macon, you must be a bigoted racist son of a bitch.  If you run a town hall meeting in some berg in the Northeast, you must have principles and honor.

If you work for some big bank on Wall Street you take home more money than you are worth--well, ok, some assumptions are dead on.

But just the same...

I assume that if your ratings are high, you must be good at what you do.

And then I listened to Miss Boyle's interviews. And I am in love with Susan Boyle. She loves her kitties. She giggles. She has a delightful Scottish accent from the middle classes I would guess. Certainly not from the aristocratic classes. No lessons from Professor Higgens here. She is overweight. She needs a hair dresser. She needs to work on her eyebrows....

Ahhhh, forget it. The peasant rocks. The audience goes NUTS!!!. I am weeping.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxPZh4AnWyk&feature=related (I Dreamed a Dream)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIPBcVqTU50 (Memory)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wxy8bLzsCfM (Cry Me a River)

A fellow wrote a book and discussed it on CSPN. He posited that one does not know a trade or learn a skill without repetition. Ten thousand hours are necessary in order to become good at something. Auto mechanics, astronomy, physics, poetry, singing:

"Mastery," says author and Akido Master George Leonard is, "the mysterious process during which what is at first difficult becomes progressively easier and more pleasurable through practice. Practice and persistence, driven by passion, is the formula for and mastery.

I picture a lady in a flat with a piano. Singing along to her stereo. Practicing every day. For years, for decades.

She did not just wake up and sing like this one fine day.

But who would go up to her and say, hey, you should be a professional singer?  The package is all wrong...

The sage, the ideal man to Plato, said that there are things above the heavens and beneath the earth that were never dreamt of in your philosophy.

The miracle of life, I have come to believe, is to eschew the package at least sometimes.

The miracle of life is the surprise.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wxy8bLzsCfM