I will end up doing what you tell me

Just had a thought that the X Factor versus Rage Against the Machine chart battle that ended today is a perfect conclusion to the British cultural landscape of the last ten years.

Why? Well in one corner, we have the X Factor. Reality TV is in its most perfect noughties form. We have the ordinary people. We have their stories. We have a peek into the lives of single mums, widowed dads, bullied girls (THOUSANDS OF BULLIED GIRLS), zany granddads, childhood friends that formed a band and played real hard.

Then they perform. In front of judges, and now a live studio audience, and more importantly, us. We wait until they open their mouths before we decide if we like them. Sometimes we judge before they open their mouths. Then we feel the need to clap or to laugh. And Simon Cowell reinforces our opinions and we finish the show feeling smug.

And then the groups get whittled down, and we've already invested our emotions into one of these people or another so we follow the edited, pre-written journey. And when one gets voted off, we leap to another act, and then another, and we read about them in the papers, or read about them even when we haven't even seen the tv show, and we phone and we text and then we are left with one. The one.

And in the other corner we have Rage Against the Machine. Or should I say, the viral campaign for Rage Against the Machine on the biggest invention to ever engulf the planet and the whole of humankind. The web and the noughties version, Web 2.0.

In the beginning of noughties, the web was about finding information, and by the end, it's about fighting the most successful music mogul and TV show of the year. The web didn't only become two-way, getting and giving information, but also a tool to gather critical mass and blow the traditions of TV media away. Reality TV is a noughties form of TV. The web is the web, and there was nothing like it before.

And not only did the web become two-way, and a way of gathering people together, but it also became a commercial entity. A place where you could click buttons have a 17 year old rock track downloaded onto your hard drive, or you could sell a collection of Bob Dylan T-shirts, or you could agree a contract for a half million quid loan to buy a house.

And the web doesn't stop there. Not only did it propel Rage Against the Machine to the number one slot with its new media abilities, it is consuming old media. Eating newspapers, TV shows, radios, and even estate agents, banking teller, and postmen into its ever expanding belly.

The noughties saw the birth of a beast, and its name isn't Simon Cowell or Zack De La Rocha. And the battle hasn't even begun for the machine is yet to be raged against.