According to our old bedroom television, celebrities are perfect and radiant.   Yup.  They're all youthful on that side of the apartment, even with the blinds shut, the lights off and not a drop of alcohol in my system.

Our HD 40-incher in the livingroom, on the other hand, tells a different story.  (While your set might be  "bigger", I bet that something else is not.  So screw you.)  And powering on our electronic beauty is sometimes a nightmare.  Everyone is forty-inches taller, wider, glowing and crisp.  Like Cybill.  And Oprah.  And Paula Abdul who, at forty-something, looks about sixty on American Idol.

All American Idol judges wear make-up to disguise their fine lines, pot marks,  blemishes and anything else they dislike about themselves, I know.  But Abdul wears far too much of it.  The prolonged close-ups of her face give an indication of lovely features devoured by cosmetics, a simultaneously cakey, oily, dry, too bright, colorful and shiny glaze drowning her forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose and lips.  It's gross.  Beneath Abdul's make-up is what appears to be... more make-up.  And she really doesn't need all of it. 

A clear view from our couch confirms my belief that we all truly make up one hell of a physically imperfect species.  And I just feel great about myself.

However, American Idol is still a singing competition and not a carnival. 

Now back to my New Body Shaper infomercial.