Okay I'll admit it, I'm a shameless Idolater and can't wait for the show to come on during these dark, dreary February and March evenings. I'm excited by the prospect of it eating up airwaves and Tivo space for five solid hours this week. I hope it will eat five more hours next week as well. That's time I will never recover for family, my own creative purposes, dog baths, nothing. And I'm okay with that. I care about it as if in the grand scheme of things it actually mattered one hair on a rats ass. Why? It's a sickness, a disease. I need help. Help me.
Maybe I should get out the tinfoil helmet again because I swear there's mind control involved. I think they're sending subliminal messages through the theme music. Really, because when you hear that electronic, "nananana nananana" sound at the beginning you have to stop cooking dinner or having sex or whatever you may be doing, park your face in front of the TV and bear witness to the parade of nerve addled hopefuls to find out who will deliver a Simon approved performance and who will be horribly mangled and humiliated in a melodic train wreck. You HAVE to watch. I think they passed a law in congress about it this season.
And while you look for the ones you favor to do well and receive the coveted Ranpaulsime Blessing, you also hope certain ones do really badly. And often times they don't disappoint. What can be more fun than watching a pretty, size four, nineteen year old girl who you just know is too perfect and popular to have ever suffered any kind of real rejection, whither under the humiliating verbal assault hurled by the god like pile of condescending self importance that is Simon Cowell. And how much fun is it to hear Paula tell the same sweet thang that, "You have a great voice and you're a beautiful girl," which all of us addicted to the show recognize as saccharinized Paulaspeak for - "Good thing you're pretty 'cause you SUCK!" Watching this is what passes for entertainment in the sad abandoned Disney Land that is the average American life, helping we average Joes to feel a little less sad and abandoned through witnessing the public humiliation of those younger and hotter than we are.
I really enjoy the good performers as well and sometimes all the dressing room voodoo works and someone does something truly extraordinary. As the season matures I pick out my favorites and place bets with my bookie and argue with my wife, then suffer indignation for the ones I like that get booted off the show at the whim of an utterly stupid and tone deaf American public. When it's all over in May I feel tired and spent from all the pent up anxiousness that has built through the weeks, finally releasing in one great orgasmic performance of some tremendously bad manufactured pop radio melody like, "Do I Make You Proud." Then I smoke a cigarette and take a nap.
The next day I completely forget about the whole thing and never buy a single record by any Idol because I think all the music done on the show ultimately sucks. My theory is that after the big Finale of Mediocrity the aliens that actually run the show head back to the great Void, the mind control wears off as the weather gets nicer and everyone notices how freaking boring American Idol really is.
In the meantime, I'll root for my favorites and gloat over the misfortunes of the less likable, hopefully the two not intersecting. From what I've seen so far this year they can just send all the white people home now and save us the trouble of not voting for their no talent asses. Okay, where did I put that tin foil helmet anyway?