This morning, the blogosphere will no doubt be rife with discussion of the merits of Alesha Dixon as the new judge on Strictly Come Dancing (BBC1, 9pm). So much so that peoply hardly need my two cents. Suffice to say that I thought there was something intangibly creepy about the sight of one moderately clueless but beautiful and amiable young woman sandwiched between three middle-aged men thanks to an inexplicable decision on high by the BBC. I, like many, found Arlene Phillips irredeemably annoying, and would quite happily have accepted her replacement by someone with some comparable expertise. Yet the presence of Darcy Bussel in the audience, who Bruce favoured over Alesha when discussing movement and grace, only highlighted the gaping chasm in knowledge between Dixon and the other judges. Or why did they not go for the radiant and lovely Karen Hardy, tragically missing from the lineup of professional dancers this year? Surely a former world champion Latin dancer (as well as former winner of Strictly) could have more to offer by way of feedback and advice? More important than this, her criticism would be far more palatable to the professional dancers, who I saw straining time and again to be gracious in the face of a young woman for whom they were dialling down their own abilities to fit her lack of training only two years ago. I feel for Dixon, because she was a wonderful and deserving winner, but a winner of an amateur competition, and she remains an amateur. She is nowhere near ready to judge others’ efforts.
However, that is not what I really want to discuss. Before the broadcast of last night’s opening installment of Strictly my Mum, my sister and many that I know were having fits of excitement about its return, yet I remained curiously numb about the whole affair. Why was this? Because I love watching dancing. I love watching good dancing, and watching people who have never danced before stumbling Continue Reading


I remember the days when I used to fantasise about
Anyone who hasn’t already been on the 
On the psychology of trolls: My name is topazbean, and I am a troll-fighting addict
12 08 2009Lately, I’ve have not been very impressed with myself. I like to think I am a rational person who knows how to walk away from a fight when it’s not worth it, but despite my best efforts, I find that I just keep getting into arguments with comment section trolls. It’s like an illness.
Yea it wudnt saprise me if jon stewart was gona eat da eagle and burn our flag uve destroid enuff of our other AMERICAN VALUES!
I spend a lot of time on the Entertainment Weekly website and, being someone who can’t resist having an opinion on everything, I often leave a comment in the comments sections. Now I get as bored as the next person by the infantile hysteria you can encounter on these pages, from the habit people have of addressing the subjects of the article directly (“Susan Boyle/Michael Jackson/Rihanna etc. you have a beautiful soul don’t let anyone ever put you down”) to the incoherent rage that people are capable of feeling about the most trivial of subjects (“Oh of course you like the Daily Show just another sign of how the liberal media is indoctrinating our society I hope you rot in hell you communist traitors”). However, by and large, I tend to ignore those people and move on to those with something more worthwhile to say, which has been made even easier now that the blog sections have adopted a more forum-based comment section.
But no matter what I do, I just cannot help getting sucked in when a troll turns up. Notable recent examples Continue Reading
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