LeaV

It’s baaaaaccckkkk.  Yes, American Idol is back.  When I start to feel guilty about watching it, I think to myself, “Well, I could be watching ‘Rock of Love Bus,’ or ‘Rock of Love Charm School;” but I don’t.  So, even though you may judge me based on the fact that American Idol watching is what I do from January until May, realize that it could be worse.  I could actually be watching a balding, has-been, 80’s hair-band, pseudo-rock star trying to pick his mate out of a bevy of “rode hard and put away wet” women.  So there.   Anyhow, it’s odd that although I’m addicted to this enigma that is American Idol, I could not or would not listen to any of their canned ham songs.   I can name most of the American Idols (Kelly, Ruben, Fantasia, Jordin, Taylor, David, and Carrie) but that’s about the extent of it.  Maybe, I could possibly identify a song by Kelly Clarkson but, like I said, that would be about it.  I think I could pick out a Chris Daughtry tune, but I honestly get him and Nickleback and Seether and Hinder and all those other “I’m such an intense, bad boy, misunderstood but sensitive” rocker-type dudes mixed up. 

But anyway, I guess the most important part of my viewing pleasure has to do with the contestants who don’t make it into the glorious final 12 (or as I like to refer to them…the dirty dozen…no, I don’t refer to them as that actually.  From this day forward, I’ll refer to the final 12 as “The Eggs,” because eggs come in a dozen.  And, as each of the final 12 is eliminated, I could say “Scrambled!”  OR, I could call them “The Bakers,” because, you know, “baker’s dozen;” but a baker’s dozen is 13.  So, that would be dumb.  So, “The Eggs” it is).

You think people would pick up tips, learn a little lesson and what not after this show being on for 8, count them 8, years; but I guess crazy is as crazy does; so, I still get to laugh at all the WTF moments even 8 years later.  That is priceless, yo’, let me tell you. 

For example, here’s the scenario.  You get a little promo piece of the next contestant.  Lots of shots of them being wistful and walking through little Norman Rockwell looking towns or maybe even walking in a cornfield or staring out over acres of green, green grass.  God, how fucking American is that?  They talk about what a suck ass life they’ve had, talk about how this has always been their dream, and maybe do a little spastic dance for you.  So, you’re sucked in, right?  You know a little bit about this person.  They’ve been working 6 jobs and saving money to pay for grandma’s hip surgery and winning would just mean the world to them and poor, busted down hip grandma.  Then, they must cry.  I don’t buy your story if you’re not blubbering like a cow at the end of it.  Okay, now, here’s what makes okay TV absolutely great… let’s crush their self-esteem (along with all their hopes and dreams) like a nasty-looking, foul, smelly bug that just crawled across your living room floor.  They introduce themselves, exchange nice-y nice with the judges, talk about how nervous they are and “Oh my god.  It’s always been my dream to be an American Idol, to share my love of song with everyone, and just share my gift with the world.” 

Awww.  how nice….and then they open their mouth and the most abominable, accursed, god-awful caterwauling cacophony spews forth…and not quietly low-pitched but LOUD!  (Do you ever notice that the people that can’t sing or are just annoying in general are usually the loudest?)  Sometimes, I say the exact same thing as Simon at the exact same moment he says it, “What the hell was that?”  Then, I have to get my “Grey’s Anatomy” catch phrase going, “Seriously?”  Then, the belly laughing begins.  To add to my amusement, if I happen to be watching with my sister, we may re-enact these auditions for each other.  It provides us with endless hours of entertainment that is cheap and affordable and that the whole family can enjoy and participate in. 

LESSON LEARNED: No matter how many times you state that “It is my dream,” it doesn’t mean it will come true if your singing hurts mine and the rest of the world’s ear holes.  Move on, stop wailing, and accept the very, very simple fact that you just can’t sing.  It’s not Simon’s fault.  It’s not the fault of the song you sang.  YOU JUST CAN’T SING! 

Get over it and move on (although not really because if there is a season 9 of American Idol, I need you people to laugh at).  It’s not the end of the world.  I tried my hand once at home repairs.  It was my dream to be able to one day spruce up my house on my own all pretty like as they do on all the DIY channels I watch; but, after nearly causing an explosion in my basement, I realized that I just can’t be handy.  I’m okay with that.  I’ve moved on.  I bake now instead…all is well.

FURTHER LESSON LEARNED:  Watching other people in misery over having their dreams pummeled brought my family closer together.  It’s fun to gather as one to mock the inadequacies of others.  Good times

NEXT INSTALLMENT:  If you can’t sing, do you really think the accompanying little dance and/or skit for the judges is going to help much?