WHAT ABOUT THE X FACTOR?

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You heard the raves. You saw Brian Bradley's act. You heard Simon Cowell's summary and judgment about the big future ahead for the boy. What did you think while you were watching this? I liked the kid. I found his song-dance-act (whatever you call it), not very interesting. For me, it was a lot of incomprehensible words and a lot of meaningless stomping.

Simon Cowell has been selling The X Factor for two years, saying it's different, more exciting, and will be much more successful than American Idol. So what's different about this new show?

The X Factor's Simon Cowell is, maybe, perhaps, a bit nicer. He jokes more and shows off how he's feeling more than he did on American Idol. On the new show, he is still knowing, confident, judgmental, but maybe, perhaps, more self-assured.

X Factor has a handsome British- accented, intelligent-sounding announcer introducing the acts. I like him. Idol's announcer often seemed to be selling himself more than the talent.

The new show's judges -- Paula Abdul and Simon, much, much more than on the old show, tease, flirt, hug, punch and snuggle with each other. They're so lovey dovey cute that you can't help wondering if they're in love, even if you think, (as I think) that it's acting. As for the other two judges -- LA Reid, a knowledgeable black record producer, has a friendly professional manner that reminds me of Idol's Randy Jackson. The stunningly haughty, classically beautiful Nicole Scherzinger sounds and looks as if she's totally immersed in her response as a judge, and she expresses herself quite eloquently.

So what about the talent? The 14 year old Brian Bradley's insulting manner with Simon before he performed, and Simon's glowing response afterward, opens wide the golden doors of a future for the boy. As I said, I didn't get anything from Brian's song, "Stop Looking At My Mother" -- no rhythm to rock with, no words to grab onto, so I can't predict what's ahead for him.

Perhaps LA Reid will become Brain Bradley's guru, adviser, manager, and another Justin Bieber will be born. For me, the most memorable moment in X factor was when LA Reid, Nicole, and Paula -- with Simon eying her -- joined in with the audience waving their arms, doing the shoulder-rocking dance of approval that entire audiences do to show each other, show the world, how swept away they are, by the performer.

For me, the shoulder-rocking is like catcalls, whistles, hoots, and shouts. It's what you do, nowadays, to win votes for the guy you're rooting for, and show that you're with it, you're cool, and you were knocked out by the guy.

The X in the show's title intrigues me. What is the X factor when you're judging talent? What is the indefinable element that defies words, but inspires a thrilling, intense focus on a performer as if he's a already star?

Thus far, on this new show, the X factor is my focus on Simon and Paula.

I mean who cares about talented new kids when the older kids are playing a love story script before our eyes?

INCOMPATIBITIES (video)

Em reminds John Cullum how difficult it is for her to accompany him to any museum. By the time he has oriented himself, she's finished and ready to leave.

Is it incompatibility or a basic difference in their minds?

Em thinks John approaches new plays, new scripts, in the same way he approaches an excursion to New York City's Metropolitan Museum or MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art.

EMOTICONNING

Do you use emoticons? Do you do a lot of texting?

Smileys, keystroke expressions -- colons, parenthesis, dashes, and texting -- are for me what Pig Latin used to be -- a kid's way of excluding the adult world. Pig Latin is good to talk around your parents cause they won't know how to speak it.

Here is is a sample sentence: "Igpay atinlay isyay oodgay otay alktay aroundyay ouryay arentpays auscay ethay ontway ebay ableay otay understandaye. "

Yes, I used to speak Pig Latin expertly, but now it seems a really silly thing to do.

Why are so many people, adults as well as kids, texting and using emoticons. Why are others turning "you " into "U?" Why not express what you feel with words and say "I'm amused," rather than "LOL?" or inserting a Smiley, or ((: ?

Is condensing words, expressing yourself with symbols and abbreviations, an easier or faster way of communicating? Does it communicate more fully?

Does it imply you're with it? Cool? Too busy to waste time with an email? Maybe it makes you feel frisky, peppy, young, but it makes me fret. I have to search for the symbol and look it up. You are sending me on wild goose chase

Well, texting, emoticonning makes self expression simpler, briefer. But what is it really commentating? Isn't communicating the reason why you're cell-phoning, chatting, emailing, texting, sending pals emoticons ? Isn't it why you're on Facebook reading my blog, reacting to it and sending me comments?

Actually, when people send me emoticons, or keystrokes, I tend to skim what they've said.

Niall Ferguson (Newsweek columnist) said Americans 13 to 17 send and receive about 3,339 text messages per month -- girls average about 4000 or more. He said "If the earth was hit by a gigantic asteroid or engulfed by a super Tsunami, a teenager might send a last message -- C U later. or : ( ...

Yes. I had to look it up to figure out that it means "I'm not happy."

I think this stuff dumb-downs your mind. I think you need to use language, and words, more and more, not less and less.

Aside from words on TV and in films, writing words and reading words, gets you living a life other than your own, feeling things other than what's in your personal world -- looking at art, nature, the sky, the stars -- those twinkling far away specs that can light up your mind.

Hey guys, kids, grownups, old folks -- try NO texting, NO emoticons. If you're not sure what to say dig for a word, maybe another one and another -- say them, send them, toss them out and catch what gets tossed back at you and you're hearing and seeing and saying and feeling things.

Try it. It makes you taller, smarter --probably younger, sprier, and also rich -- richer in some of the ways, maybe even all of the ways you want to be rich.

RUNNING OUT OF TIME

The sense of time passing changes. I remember when a day seemed so long -- so many, many things that were going to happen, things I was waiting for, endless waiting for a friend to arrive, for a walk, for hop-scotch on a sparkling sidewalk, a trip, for a game to begin or end, waiting to eat, rest, put away my toys.

I remember when time was a school day, stuff to learn, memorize, study, draw -- crayons, chalk, scissors, colored paper, glue, and homework. And tests -- tests, tests, tests -- blighting my life, hovering over me.

Then came the time when I was getting nice looking -- time was time to scrub away blackheads, shampoo time, time to check in the mirror, time to try different cosmetics, and my period -- oh dear -- was Aunt Jane going to arrive? (The euphemism, back then, was "Aunt Jane" or "the curse.")

And then came the "time" for dates. A second later it was time for getting married. Wasn't I too young? Did I need legal permission to say the vows? Were vows important? Oh my --I thought, at age 18, "I am running out of time -- if I'm going to be famous, I have to make it, do it, become something extraordinary now."

I was running around a racetrack, the clock. And its numbers -- 12, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 9 10 11 12 knelled the hour, the date, the day of the week, the week of a month, the changing seasons, the year.

Twenty-five -- I dreaded that birthday, thinking "I'm old." thinking, "No I'm not." Thinking "better hurry, you'll be twenty-six in a minute."

I knew I wasn't old, but I knew I better look out or I was going to turn into one of those older girls, who weren't girls -- they were women, committed to some career that I knew wasn't really what they had in mind when they were children. But wasn't that life? You had to conquer what you wanted to get, and get it while it was still within reach, or it was gone, gone.

Thirty -- bad day at "black rock." I didn't want to climb over the rock and ever be 31, or horrors, 35. I read biographies of older women and men who managed to be successful after 35. Time was an hour glass, filled with colored sand. trickling down, running out of the top awfully fast, and the sand wasn't really sparkling, like sidewalks used to be. The sidewalks I hurried along didn't sparkle when I was rushing from morning dance class to a rehearsal, to see an agent, to discuss publicity photos, racing to another class. (In your thirties you know that the sparkling flecks in the cement sidewalks are an illusion created by the sun.)

Faster and faster I went -- went to a shrink to learn how to slow down, enjoy the present. Oh dear -- he fell in love with me and turned patient Em into the doctor who had to "cure" herself, and him.

And hold onto what I knew was the essence -- to do something, be something that no one else was, and be famous. In books? I was already in some books. Be great? I wasn't great, but I was exceptional. Be successful? I was more successful than most people I knew but what was successful? Who would I, could I be other than me?

Hurry, hurry, I thought, when I found myself weeping for things I lost -- love lost -- chances lost -- dreams that vanished.

I learned how to create time by being super efficient, remembering things, making lists, planning, organizing, hiring help, buying time.

Banishing time.

I woke this morning as an older woman, and thought I am not running out of time. I have more than enough time to do whatever I decide to do.