Imagine dying and going to a place where particularly bad episodes of American Idol are on 24 hours a day, for all eternity.
Well, that's Paradise.
Hell is not other people, Hell is Festival di Sanremo. And I am in Hell.
Opera Chic -- so that you don't have to -- is trying to watch as much as she can of the whole sorry singing mess (ie, about 10 minutes a night, but YouTube helps).
In a nutshell: it's the 30 lamest singers in Italy, fighting each other to the death in a Eurovision-style (actually the formula was born at Sanremo and exported to Eurovision), 5 nights of nightmare. The TV audience at home votes via txt message or whatever. On Saturday night, an especially bad singer wins.
Suffice to say that these two dorks, apparently, have a standing chance of winning the Festival -- they're a tuneless, voiceless duo where only one remotely even tries to sing and the other isn't even that cute. Italian teenagers apparently go nuts for the two pimply-faced Roman twentysomethings -- they're emo + Peter Gabriel on a morphine drip, so bad that their record company enlisted Nelly "Sono In Retardo" Furtado to accompany them in a trio that is as ill-advised as it sounds, AND SHE MANAGED TO MAKE THE SONG BETTER.
Appropriately, they're named "Zero Assoluto", Absolute Zero. We give them a "0", and get us an Absolut, please (Opera Chic is partial to Grey Goose, but whatevs).
Another catastrophically bad specimen we've had to endure is this lady -- a weird, dragqueenerrific Cabaret/Lounge Singer/TripHop act whose only impressive talent seems to be the ability to solicit catty comments (unprintable here) by Opera Chic's friends for her Cirque De Amneris looks and weirdykins unibrow.
Tomorrow night, then, the "Finale", and the winners. I'll have to watch.
Now I really need a drink.