Idol Chatter

I'm the first to critique our celebrity-obsessed culture, but I'm also the first to say, "Did you hear about Britney's fight with her papparazo boyfriend?" like I know her intimately. (Although, to be fair, most of the free internet-surfing world does know her intimately, through no fault of our own - Note to my future hypothetical daughters: panty lines are always better than no panties. Always.) American Idol provides the perfect context for these two seemingly contradictory parts of my persona to flourish.

Last night was the start of the official post-audition contest. Let's review the good, the bad and the ugly:

• Goods: I think Paula's back on drugs. I mean, she's not falling off her seat or clapping like a seal, but she was looking a little stary-eyed last night and had some interesting comments about the colors people were singing in. David Archuleta, Michael Johns and Danny Noriega are my favorites so far, although I fear Danny might turn into this season's Sanjaya, except with talent. He's like the love child of Sanjaya and Project Runway's Christian. Little prince Noriega just might be a tad too fierce at the moment, which leads me to the bads...

• Bads: Overall I was seriously underwhelmed. It was more of a snooze fest than the Gap's Fall 2007 collection. Pitchy pitchy pitchy. And why is everyone ganging up on Simon? Yes, he's going to get booed but let the man speak first. Paula needs to take a Valium or 7 and let him comment before she talks about how proud of everyone she is and starts up inappropriate text-message relationships with the younger male contestants. The ridiculously forced melodrama makes me want to vomit more than a series of cheap tequilla shots. It's their life, it's who they are, they sing from the soul, blah blah blah. We get it. A blind, deaf and retarded iguana would get it. Randy is getting seriously annoying. I understand he wants to invoke aspects of his cultural roots, but (a) he's becoming the contemporary Arsineo Hall, (b) the contestants on the show, particularly the guys, are as hip and edgy as a linen sale at Pottery Barn, and (c) let's face it, any street cred he ever had went m.i.a. back in 1983 when he joined Journey the first time. Mitt Romney is more hop-hop than Randy. Finally, I have a sneaking suspicion that Ryan Seacrest is a TBDB.*

• Uglies: Chikeze's suit - he looks like he got attacked by a psychotic papaya. Michael John's wife - did he need a green card? Randy's cardigans - Mr. Rogers is going to come back from the dead and haunt your poorly dressed-ass. Paula's hair - WTF? It looks like a repairative cut I might have given a hand-me-down Barbie whose blond locks my sister had already "styled" with our mother's lipstick. Two words - deep conditioner.

Well there are my 2 cents. Top 12 girls tonight - comments to follow.


* TBDB = turd-burglaring douche bag. A phrase Paul and I coined to describe the kinds of guys you see driving worked-up Honda Civics, Toyota Camry's with spoilers, and anyone in a Hummer. You know they go to 7-11 in wife beaters, snap-side Adidas track pants with no skivvies underneath, and K-Swiss sneaks to buy energy drinks before working out. In the gym they're the guys who slam the weights. Generally they're under 5'10" and have a tribal something tatooed on them somewhere. They wear metal celtic crosses on leather necklaces and say "bro" with unnecessary frequency.