Phoning it In. AI Re-cap 1/24/07

The announcer on Fox proclaims that coming up next, it’s Two FULL Hours of American Idol, like that’s a good thing. But for those of you who can’t get enough AI bloat, it was recently announced at the NATPE Convention that Fox is seriously considering upping this season’s Idol output to 45 programming hours. Yes, Virginia, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Well, five down, forty more to go.

Tonight’s episode takes us to New York, New York, a town so expensive, they named it twice. Having lived in the Big Apple for several years, seeing the traffic snarl Seacrest is causing in the middle of Times Square makes me hope someone’s going to come along and kick his candy ass for blocking their path to work. Once at the audition arena, it’s clear the show is not in NYC, but at Continental Airlines Arena opposite Giants Stadium in Secaucus, NJ. My mom lives about five minutes from there in Little Ferry.

Tonight’s episode features guest judge Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter. How nice of her to fly in from Denver to do the show. In actuality, it’s craptacular songwriter and former Mrs. Burt Bachrach, Carole Bayer Sager. Carole once tried to launch a recording career in the early ‘80s, scoring a minor Top 40 single, “Stronger Than Before,” which featured her very thin, weak voice, multi-tracked to the teeth. She then gave up her career to become a professional Joan Collins impersonator. I think she made the right decision.

Speaking of female impersonators, drag-queen wannabe Ian Benardo is the first dickhead seeking his 15 minutes of fame via our last nerve. Ian can’t possibly think he has any discernible talent, yet when has that anyone from auditioning. Ian is a two time offender, having once auditioned for “So You Think You Can Dance.” Fox must have him on speed dial as the go-to guy for scripted bad auditions. Ian is completely offending every one of my senses, so I’m off to pour a drink until he’s done. What a complete waste of time.

I see we’re now at the Chelsea Piers in Manhattan, so the NJ Arena shots were just of the tens of thousands of hopefuls who didn’t get to make it to Manhattan so that fools like Ian could take their time instead. To waste more time, Seacrest launches into the first “human interest” story of the night. Sarah Burgess has come all the way from Ohio to audition and has lied to her parents about coming to NYC to audition, even though she’s, as the used to say in the old days, “free, white and (over) 18.” Apparently, Sarah can go galumphing off to NYC for a week to make it through the five rounds of auditions, as long as she tells her parents she’s “at a friends house” back in Ohio. Bullshit Detector Alert. Sarah’s sob story seems put on and when the tears flow, she loses me. Unlike the pimply guy from last week, this doesn’t feel genuine. Once inside the judges room, Sarah milks the story for all its worth, but her smile gives her away. Sarah has a decent voice with some nice flair, but her singing style has too much flourish and she gussies up her song with ten pounds of cheap rouge. The judges buy Sarah’s bullshit story and put her through. Her story touched Paula, but it made me feel violated. Sarah calls her father in front of the camera and tells him, in a sobbing voice that she lied to him and skipped school and is in NYC. And instead of completely freaking out, asking questions, trying to calm her down, like any normal parent would do, dad just listens until she mentions Idol, then he reads the lines the producers have written for him an tells his daughter he’s proud of her in a completely blasé voice. I officially hate this chick.

Fanya Maria Tsakalakos is referred to as Constantine Maroulis’ female counterpart. They must mean the unruly eyebrows and clown make-up. Fanya is originally from Greece (not Grease, though she does somewhat resemble a very blowsy ChaCha DeGregorio) and is very high on herself. She has a chin mole and some sort of nubbin on her nose that is either a piercing or an unfortunate side effect from the last time she used eye of newt in one of her recipes. When Fanya walks into the room, the first thing out of Carole’s mouth is, “You’re a dancer?” but it’s asked with the most delightful hint of incredulity that I burst out laughing. Simon impatiently cuts off Fanya’s yapping and tells her to get on with the song, which is “Africa,” by Toto. Dare I say that while Fanya is not good, he’s not the train wreck I was expecting. She doesn’t deserve to go through, but she’s better than, say, Tamika Popeyes from last night. Fanya gets so carried away, she doesn’t hear Simon tell her to stop, but one look at the judges’ faces takes the wind right out of her sails. Fanya takes it without protest.

One person who isn’t giving up quite so easily is Ashanti Johnson, who has auditioned for Idol and made it to Hollywood twice before. Get a clue, honey. Ashanti seems nice and has been eating a lot, six times a day even, so that ought to make all the difference. Ashanti sings a fairly off key and affected version of Minnie Riperton’s “Lovin’ You.” I think that even if Ashanti would have blown like the real Minnie, she wouldn’t have gotten through. The judges would never like to think that they were wrong about someone twice and if she had her shot two more times than someone else and didn’t make it, then thanks for playing and step aside for the new blood. Ashanti must be from Memphis because she won’t take no for an answer. She practically begs, Lisa Simpson style, for the judges to really critique her. She wants desperately to be told she’s gotten better. I feel sorry for her, but the producers decide to compound her humiliation tenfold by doing yet another unfunny skit likening her plot to a melodramatic soap opera. Well, maybe they figured since they had Joan Collins in the room… I feel sorry for her but she shouldn’t go through, especially when she starts espousing about how the judges haven’t given her a chance. Baby, they’ve given you two chances prior to this. Get the hook while daddy goes for a refill.

Good lord, she’s still going. Desperation is never attractive. Okay, I’m back and I’m joined by my co-blogger, Hedwig, who’s planted her chunky little butt next to me patiently awaiting my lap. Looks like I made it back just in time for tonight’s dose of bim. Amanda and Antonella are best friends and Jersey broads who are here auditioning at Idol because they’ve yet to be snapped up by some low level mafia henchmen. We see the pair (or both pairs) shopping, frolicking in the surf and soaping up each other’s breasts in the Jacuzzi. Okay, I made that last one up, but I’d lay a ten spot down that the footage actually exists somewhere. Amanda is up first but when Simon and Randy hear her best friend is outside, they immediately order her to bring Antonella in. They are asked to sing a duet, which they both tank, and Simon and Randy yell at them for, even though it wasn’t the girls’ idea to audition together. Amanda sings “Crazy,” by Patsy Cline and she’s okay, but not all that great. Amanda gets put through so apathetically that I almost expect her to turn to the judges and tell them to go fuck themselves for sending her to Hollywood. Antonella is next. She’s got a better voice than Amanda, much better. The judges are much warmer to her and send her through, but not before trying to create a little tension between the friends. To her credit, Antonella does not take the bait.

Clfton Biddle is blowing a harmonica. I hate the harmonica. Clifton Biddle is a moron. I hate morons. Clifton Biddle is singing “Tush,” by ZZ Top, so you know this isn’t a serious audition. I also hate ZZ Top. Clifton Biddle does not go through to Hollywood. I love that.

We see a montage of some pretty bad male hopefuls, including one whose gender is uncertain before the last contestant of the day, Kia Thornton, comes through the door. She has an excellent voice and is quickly, deservedly, put through to Hollywood.

Day Two begins and I’m really bored. Kids, there’s a reason I didn’t blog these last year and I feel like I’m just not coming up with anything interesting to say. It could be because I’m not being shown anything all that interesting, but I will keep sluggin’ away.
Simon is taking the morning off, the lucky bastard, and that can only mean more bad people will get through unless Carole grows a pair and leaps into the breach.

Jenry Bejarano is a 16 year old polite, well spoken and utterly gorgeous young man who was adopted into a Bolivian household as a baby. He also has a most beautiful voice, so perhaps the Bolivians will be known for something other than their marching powder. He very deservedly goes through.

Proving that the producers can never throw us a bone by letting us hear two good singers in a row, we’re saddled with scary fireplug Nicole “Nakia” Clayborne, who is full of way too much energy and has a set of choppers to rival Freddy Kruger. When Nicole sings her first song, a rousing, bouncy version of “Dancin’ in the Streets,” I immediately credit the producers for faking me out. She’s good. But when they ask her to take it down a notch, she sings a very shaky, off-key version of Selena’s “Dreamin’ of You,” that gives the judges all the ammo they need to bounce he snaggletoothed ass the hell out of here. See, I knew the producers wouldn’t stray from the formula. Nakia is almost out of the room when she turns to make a mournful plea of reconsideration. A lot of people are counting on her to go to Hollywood. I mean, do you know how much those souvenir fake Oscars go for on the black market these days?

Sara Goldberg is up next and creeps into the audition room like a country and western mime. Sara sings an atonal version of the ubiquitous Selena song before revealing to the judges that she knows she can’t sing. Duh. She then tells Randy to shut up so she can explain why she’s here and I’m sorry, but she could be looking for a kidney and I would have her ass thrown out if she’d told me to shut up. God, I really wish Simon was here to see this. This bitch is being given way too much time. Damaged. But here to save the day, nipples akimbo, is Simon Cowell. After the break.

Jory Steinberg is up after an unfortunate 47 year old who doesn’t warrant further mention. Jory is originally from Canada and has met several Prime Ministers and even the Queens of Japan and England because, well, she’s Jory Steinberg. She sings a really nice version of Tina Arena’s “Chains.” She’s off to Hollywood. The Queen will be so happy.

Porcelana (yes, Porcelana) Patino has been in training for a year to come to the auditions. She’s lost 20 pounds, works out twice a day and probably uses the anti-aging cream for which she was named. But can she sing? She’s okay, but I think she’s worked hard enough that she deserves to go to Hollywood. She’s no better or worse than most of the shlubs they’ve chosen and as someone who, for a year, got up at 2:45am to go work out five days a week, I feel her pain.

There’s a surprisingly funny montage of contestants with hard to pronounce/misheard names (my favorite is Jimbo being mistaken for Jumbo) before Christopher Henry, who says he’s been compared, looks-wise to both George Michael and Simon Cowell, takes the stage. Christopher is pretty cute, but when he opens his mouth, I wince, waiting for Simon to compare him to a Judy Garland impersonator. It’s not that he can’t sing, it’s that he just shouldn’t sing. And Simon does not disappoint, telling Christopher he should be singing in a dress and stilettos. He and Paula get into a fight and it looks like Christopher is gonna have to shave that hairy chest of his if he wants to make it in show biz.

Rachel Zevita is one of those annoyingly privileged Manhattan babies that thinks she’s way more entertaining and precocious than she really is. She looks like Heather Matarrazo and is in school for Opera. She sings a Jeff Buckley song and though I find her personality completely reprehensible, I can’t deny she has a quality, though she loses it on the Oleta Adams song. She is going to Hollywood and she night want to see about getting that scooped out mole hole on the side of her nose filled in before she arrives. Now she needs to leave before I give her a beat down.

Seriously, quit it with the song montages. So fucking annoying.

Christopher Richardson is going to be singing a Leon Russell song “interpretated” by Donny Hathaway. He’s no Elliott Yamin and not half as good as the judges give him credit for, but he goes through. Didn’t like him.

Oh god, this show has been so long and so bad. Nicholas Pedro, who made it to Holywood last year but bowed out of the competition after badly botching his lyrics during the group sing (and of whom I have no memory, did we ever see him?) is back to try once again. While he tells us his story, he’s being secretively stalked by some old man who is indiscreetly hiding behind a stairway. Paula practically creams when Nick sings “Fly me to the Moon,” but I think he’s much too breathy. He goes through to Hollywood.

And we finish up the night with another idiot, some fat chick named Isadora wearing a hundred jangly bracelets and a cowboy hat. This idiot is a clairvoyant, but not a great one since she clearly doesn’t realize she has no chance. I stand corrected, her bracelets aren’t jangling; the woman has brought a mini tambourine with her. Isadora begins heaving and sighing like she’s holding onto some ben wa balls in a nether place. I will not be having what she’s having. 35 people made it through to Hollywood, of which we saw 10 in a two hour space. I just thank god tomorrow’s Thursday. Seagulls out.

A Hunka Hunka Flaming Pie. AI Re-cap 1/23/07

Welcome back, friends and readers to the first installment of this week’s American Idol re-caps. Since the show is mercifully only one hour this week, I thought I would chime in on the recent announcement of the Oscar nominations. Some of my following observations…

I can't believe they nominated that fat toad, Abagail Breslin, for giving one of the worst child actor performances, ever. Dakota Fanning must be seething.

Alan Arkin gets nominated for giving the same performance he’s been handing out for the past 20 years, the irascible and/or lovable loser who speaks very quietly. Seriously, the man has a patent on this performance. Rumor has it, they first offered the role to Danny Aiello, but Arkin’s lawyers interceded and claimed all roles of this nature must be played by Alan Arkin and Alan Arkin, only. True story. And for this, the Academy passed up Michael Sheen’s incredible performance in “The Queen.”

Sasha Baron Cohen gets passed over for best actor over Ryan Gosling, yet to throw him a bone, they nominate him and four other writers for Best Adapted Screenplay for a script that was largely improvised. Nice job, AMPAS.

Three, count 'em, three songs were nominated from “Dreamgirls” and I bet not one person could tell you which were the new ones and which were the ones from the original Broadway score.

Jennifer Hudson is about to become this century’s first “Dr. Haing S. Ngor,” winning an Academy Award she doesn’t really deserve and then becoming a trivia question and nothing more.

Phillip Glass gets nominated for his score for “Notes on a Scandal,” quite possibly the worst score of the year, and that includes adult films.

Leonardo DeCaprio gets nominated for the worst accent heard in a film this year (fake) and Mark Wahlberg gets nominated for the worst accent heard in a film this year (real)

Al Gore gets nominated for talking in front of a screen for 90 minutes with no discernible filmmaking skills on display (however interesting the subject matter was), yet "Who Killed the Electric Car," which was about the same general subject matter but managed to feel and play like a real film with plot, suspense, drama and tension, gets ignored. At least we're spared any Holocaust films this year, though that was probably on purpose to assure An Inconvenient Truth would win.

Martin Scorcese is finally going to get an Oscar. Not for directing such masterpieces as “Taxi Driver,” “Raging Bull,” or “Goodfellas,” but for directing a film whose last moment is a two minute shot of a rat on a window ledge so the viewer really gets the symbolism. They used to do things like that in my first year film school classes.

Diane Lane for “Hollywoodland” and Phyllis Somerville for “Little Children,” the two very best supporting actress performances this year, both get passed over for that fat little monster, Abagail Breslin. (It bears repeating.)

But you came here to listen to me bitch about Idol and bitch about Idol, I shall. Proving once again, we have our fingers on the pulse when it comes to AI, did I not call it last week when I said that viewers would not stand for the fake bad auditions and the abject cruelty of the real bad ones? Idol fans are in an uproar with the show, producers and judges for doling out such harsh criticism to the little auditioning lambs. Though ratings were at an all-time high for the beginning of the season, many critics and viewers complained long and loud, calling the first two episodes the worst ever of Idol. Keep it up, folks. I think you will see a change, if not this season, then definitely in seasons to come. Keep letting your frustration be heard.

Tonight, we’re in Memphis, Tennessee, because apparently the producers figured if we weren’t scared off last year by the sight of Priscilla Presley’s living Michael Myers mask, then nothing could keep us from tuning in. Ryan Seacrest is yammering on about the sights, sounds and smells of Memphis. I’m waiting for the shot of Marc Cohn with a gaping head wound to pique my interest. Did anyone happen to catch Howard Stern this past week completely ripping Seacrest a new anus? Stern was vicious and merciless, mocking Ryan’s obsequious interviewing style on the red carpet at the Golden Globes, one of the several thousand reasons I switched from XM to Sirius, and no, I’m not being paid to say that, though I happily would shill if someone wants to offer me an endorsement agreement.

First up in the human interest story queue is 21 year old Frank Byers, a young black college student with unfortunate pit stains who is also a cheerleader. Frank (or the producers) has brought his cheer squad down to do a couple splits, yells and shake some tit for Old Rydell (whoops, wrong reality show, sorry.) The segment is a little silly, but Frank actually comes across as a nice, humble guy, so my guess is this was not his idea. Still, I can’t tell if he’s going to do well or not. This is what these shows have come down to, trying to figure out if the person with a “segment” is going to fail or proceed. Simon reveals that Frank’s nickname is “Franks & Beans,” though to his credit, Frank rolls his eyes when he says it. I’m gonna predict he does not get through for nothing else than a gut feeling. He’s singing some Marvin Gaye and he’s not so great, but he’s not embarrassing. Simon hated it, calling it “cabaret” for the first time this season. Interrupting Simon, Frank Launches into “Unchain My Heart.” The kid is dead meat. Simon tries to stop him, but Frank persists. Dead meat. Outside the audition room, Frank’s cheer squad rallies into action, picking up all 5’2” of Ryan (who is like a pig in shit) and the marching band goes into overtime, while back in the audition room, Simon is already in a bad mood, wondering aloud if Frank realizes he’s not going through.

Back from the break and somewhere in the crowd of hopefuls, I see Fab Moran from Milli Vanilli is hoping to stage his comeback. But in the audition room, Tamika Simms, today’s first punching bag, is about ready to go audition. Let’s hope for Rosie O’Donnell’s sake, Simon doesn’t compare her to a Bush Baby, even though her freaky eyes are just about as bugged out as last week’s schmuck. Tamika speaks as though she’s found Paula’s secret stash of muscle relaxers, which, let’s face it, are probably taped to the bottom of every toilet tank lid in every ladies room in the building. Ryan peppers Tamika with the same hard hitting questions he used on Angelina Jolie on the red carpet. Tamika could care less about him, or maybe she just can’t see him, as her eyes are still dilated from her trip to the Optometrist. Once in the room, Simon asks if Tamika feels she can be the next American Idol. Tamika responds (however mumbly) that she thinks she could be the next Mya and she and Simon go round a few times with him asking, “The next Mayor??” and her replying, “Mya,” until Randy finally clears it up. Apparently, Simon thought she was speaking in a cockney accent. Maybe he forgot he wasn’t auditioning kids for the new West End production of “Oliver,” on that new BBC show “Consider Yourself!- The Search for the New Oliver Twist.” Tamika sings an Ashanti song and from her nasal delivery, it’s clear her eyes are so bulgy because her sinuses are pushing them through the sockets. All three judges basically tell her that no only can he not sing, but they couldn’t understand a word she said. Simon wants to know who Tamika think she sounds like. Instead of clearly answering “Eddie Murphy doing “Buckwheat,” she responds “Ashanti.” Tamika asks to sing another song, is told no, then charges right into “Secret Lovers.” I was really hoping it was going to be “Wookin Pa Nub.”

Christopher Rivera performs a really bad version of “Supersition,” though it doesn’t compare to the poor fashion choice of those jeans he’s wearing. However he’s just an appetizer for the next contestant, Alexis, who seems to be wearing the good luck bridge she got from her dead grandmother’s mouth. Alexis is accompanied by jangling bracelets, is rejected, then slips on the pile of apple cores she’d been snacking on before her audition.

Sundance is up next. Sundance is a cute, hairy little bear cub who is self-effacing about his hippie name, even though he suffers some very unfortunate chin pubes. Sundance’s dad is ‘60s singer Roy Head who had a #1 pop hit back in the day that’s so obscure, I’ve never even heard of him. Sundance looks older than the requisite cut off of 29, but at this point, the producers are probably happy to fudge for someone with talent. Sundance enters the room and Simon, seeing 300 lbs of unmarketability, is immediately rude to the man, slagging off his recent marriage and impending baby. Paula shakes her head in disbelief right along with me. On the chyron, we see “Sundance” is actually a nickname and the man is named Jason. So he really does have no excuse. Fantastic. I now can refrain from ever having to type the word again and will refer to him as Jason. Jason is singing “Stormy Monday.” He does, as Simon later says, “blow Taylor out of the park,” though for my money, Bo Bice had a richer, fuller, more accomplished voice without having to resort to so many melismas. They love him and Simon says he’ll be shocked if Jason doesn’t make it to the finals. I won’t. Top 12, probably, but they won’t put this kind of voice in the finals three years in a row.

Wandera Hitchye, (who would actually benefit by taking the name “Sundance”) stopped off at RuPaul’s mother’s salon and got her hair did before coming in to audition. She sings “A Change Gon’ Come,” and has a good, solid voice. Surprisingly, she is told by all three judges that her voice is nothing special and she sounds like a million other singers out there. And their point is??? Shit, if originality was a criterion for going to Hollywood, then the show would be off the air in two weeks. They shamefully reject this girl while taking so many other worse singers, and though yes, she probably would not have gone too far on the show, she had enough promise to get further than she did. Wandera is understandably upset, but my computer is heaving a sigh of relief as her name almost short circuited the spelling program.

Unfunny montage of rejections before Seacrest segues into another one of his annoyingly faux sincere voiceovers. You know, the ones he does when he’s about to introduce some buffoon. That buffoon is named Travis McKinney, who brought his very own shovel and pickaxe to dig his grave. Travis is quite obviously one of those idiots we’ve been complaining about this season and he minute he starts doing his “thing,” I check out. Sorry, won’t cover any more plants.

This week’s slutty chick is named Danielle McCullouch. She’s much worse than Wandera Hitchye, but she’s pretty, peroxided and wearing a low cut top, so she’s gonna make it. Randy calls it and says no, claiming Danielle will be gone immediately if she gets put through to Hollywood, but Paula and Simon say yes. I’m not sure who is the dumber whore, Danielle or Simon.

We’re at the halfway mark and my kitten is looking at me very impatiently, waiting for me to hurry up and finish so she can get access to my lap. This past year, I adopted a second cat, a little blue manx I named Hedwig, because she has a little nub for a tail that she wags when she gets mad, which I dubbed her “angry inch.” Hedwig was in the shelter with pneumonia, malnourished and dehydrated and about to be put to sleep. Now she’s happy and healthy and about to turn 8 months old. I’m very big on adoption of pets from the public shelters in favor of buying from a pet store or a mill, so if anyone is considering a new pet, please visit the shelter first. Okay, off my soapbox and back to the show.

Paula has a superfan and he’s not dressed as a Beefeater, though he looks like he’s eaten a few cattle in his lifetime. His name is Topher McCain and he thinks Paula is way hot. Topher (Ugh, I hate this recent modernization of Christopher. It’s like the Kwanzaa of nicknames.) reveals to us that his wife has recently left him. He found out she was sleeping with another guy, but can you blame her? The poor woman had fractures on both sides of her hipbones from Topher being on top. Topher thinks that when he reaches the top (of Idol) that his wife will come crawling back, but he won’t be having any of it. Topher, that gal is gonna be harder to find than Ameila Earhart.

While Topher is saying his goodbyes, the hooker Randy ordered has arrived at the convention center. My mistake, it’s just the next Idol hopeful, Janita Burks. Janita says her style is very important. It works in with her “confidentiality.” Well, it’s nice to know she can be discreet about her johns. That’s always a good quality in a lady of the evening. Style “boostes” Janita’s confidence, but she believes in dressing sexy, but not too over the top. Because everyone knows, if you want to see pink, you have to come up with the green. Janita is singing “Disco Inferno,” in her sexy, yet conservative way and her breasts almost set off another fire. Janita does not impress the judges but asks if she can sing another song. What is it with the people of Memphis that they just can’t take no for an answer? Janita is turned down again, but she shouldn’t feel too bad. Outside the audition room is a line of Shriners waiting to sample Janita’s other talents.

Some asshole is dressed like Fidel Castro and trying to pretend he’s actually being serious, so I’m gonna go use the bathroom while he wastes everyone else’s time.
Unortunately, no one gets the joke and he is put through to Hollywood, so I have to rewind and watch. His name is Sean Michel and he has a decent, if unspectacular voice. Expect a freakout along the lines of that moron from last year who sang the Meatloaf song during Hollywood week.

Melinda Doolittle, however, is a professional background singer and looks like a cross between Vonzell Solomon (remember her?) and a young Gladys Knight. She’s excited and very nervous. She’s adorable and articulate and has a lovely, rich voice. She’s humble and cute and is singing the shit out of a Stevie Wonder song. I love her and so do the judges. Let’s hope she doesn’t squander our good graces. I remember I loved Paris Bennett’s audition, too.

Robert Lee Holmes thinks he sounds just like Elvis. I’d say he sounded more like Weird Harold from the Fat Albert cartoons, but hey, what do I know? Fantasia built a middling career convincing five people she was the next Aretha Franklin. I think the real story in this segment is the pink gingham western shirt Seacrest is sporting. Yee-ikes! Meanwhile, Stepin Fetchitt is claiming he has an “outstanding voice and an outstanding vocal.” From the looks of his teeth, I’d bet he probably has an outstanding warrant, as well. Robert is wearing a brown suit he borrowed from Fred Sanford’s friend Grady, sings horrendously and may be a bit teched. ‘Nuff said.

Oh goody, another montage of the same song. I wish I had to pee again.

Last scene. It’s Phil Stacy, who is here to audition, and missed the birth of his first child to do so. Hey, way to make memories, Phil. Can’t wait until the kid is old enough to hear that one. Start saving for therapy now. Phil is kind of a moron. He claims the baby is more important to him than getting through to Hollywood, yet here he stands. Actions speak louder, my friend. Phil sings “My Girl,” by The Temptations. He’ll go through, but he’s not going to make it too much further than that. I’d say he made the wrong choice. Twenty two contestants get through but instead of seeing more than a handful of them, we get to go home and see Phil and his new baby, whom he named Mikala.

And with that, is there anything else to say? Seagulls out.

I Can't Stand the Rain. AI Re-cap 1/17/07

Evening two of Idol auditions kicks off tonight in Seattle and after what happened last night in Minneapolis and with all the negative buzz surrounding the Pacific Northwest, this broadcast figures to be as craptacular as the previous one. Surfing around on the net last night and this morning after posting my re-cap, I kept noticing the same thing everywhere I went; Idol fans have had enough of the lousy audition shows. We’re one episode in and already the complaints have been registered loud and long- no one buys the fake bad auditions, no one cares about the goofballs; start hooking the viewers with the people we’re going to follow, at least through Hollywood. People want to be invested in this show from the beginning, but I know of a large number of them who refuse to watch until the Top 24 because of all the dull shenanigans the producers play. Last night, seventeen people made it through to Hollywood. Of that number, we only met seven of them, yet we were treated to extended scenes of people we’ll never see again, making complete assholes out of themselves. There was no reason to show Jessica Rhode cry and cry and cry like she was at an Irish wake. And the lesbian with the tie who couldn’t remember the words to “Kiss,” clocked in 50% more screen time than if she had sung the entire song. Producers- listen to what your fan base is saying and I guarantee, you’ll pull in even more viewers than you could even imagine. Okay, soapbox begone.

Back to Seattle and, well, it’s raining. Let me just say that I adore Seattle. It’s one of my favorite cities, I’m a huge Mariners fan, I’ve visited multiple times during every different season and not once while I was there has it ever rained. Personally, I think it’s a myth. I think Nigel had to go out of pocket for rain machines to perpetuate the cliché. Honestly, if you ever want to go to Seattle and have guaranteed good weather, bring me along. And if there’s a Mariners game happening, I might even put out. However, on this day, I wasn’t around to sprinkle some mojo, so it is quite wet. In the middle of Key Arena and 9000 Idol hopefuls sits Brandon Groves from Wheeling, West Virginia. Apparently, Brandon ran into Monroe Moody from Minneapolis, who sold him his Apollo Creed outfit and probably some magic beans to go with it. Brandon, you may remember (for those of you who haven’t given you brain a thorough Silkwood scrubbing of last year’s auditions), auditioned last season dressed in his police uniform singing “I Shot the Sheriff.” No, not the song, just that line, over and over and over. Perhaps some industrious DJ could sample him doing Clapton, as well as Tashawn singing “Women not girls rule my world,” set them to a 4/4 beat and come up with a hot club hit. They are actually letting this buffoon sing again.

Next up is Jennifer Chapton, AKA “The Hotness.” Whether that’s her term or the show’s is yet to be determined, but I can solemnly swear it did not come from me. Jennifer is wearing what looks to be an Old Navy one piece from their Waikiki collection of 1998, amply harnessing her lumpen, half baked breasts, sports a chin mole with a hair growing out of it long enough to be spit curled and borrowed at least one chin from Taylor Hicks. Jennifer discusses the origins of “The Hotness,” so she has no one to blame for that but herself. She claims to not have a style like anyone else (don’t they all?) but when pressed, shyly admits she’s most like Mariah. Is that singing or bad taste in clothes? Jennifer enters the room and immediately, Paula busts her for chewing gum. This can only mean one thing- there’s still Coca-Cola in her cup. Jennifer will be singing “Tenderoni.” The Hotness is a hot mess and is finally stopped by the judges. She immediately gets defensive in that way when you’ve been totally humiliated, but you don’t have the verbal skills to fight back, so you start babbling and flop sweating and compounding the humiliation tenfold. Just shoot your mole hair across the room like Spidey’s web and get the hell out of the room. Instead, Jennifer blusters her way into doing another song that no one has given her permission for before shuffling off to curse into the camera and declare her hotness was just too hot for Simon. I’m actually disappointed she didn’t make it through because I just noticed another hideous defect; girlfriend has a tri-fold earlobe. Imagine, week after week, getting to play “Spot the Deformity,” with Jennifer Chapton. Alas, it’s not to be.

Commercial break and we’re back with a slew of rejections before being introduced to Amy Salgado, who is a 23 year old stay at home mom with a 6 year old son. From the looks of Amy, I’d say she was the luckiest person alive to even get the babydaddy to marry her, let alone not require her to work. Why is she trying to tempt fate? Amy says her husband feels she’s wasting her time. Amy thinks he just doesn’t want her to go to Hollywood and leave him with the kid. She enters the audition and says to the panel that she is going to “try and sing” Christina Aguilera. I give the gal props for honesty, but when Paula presses her on the statement, she says she has had a cold for a week and a half. I believe it’s that no-talent bug that’s been going around. Nasty stuff. Amy tanks, then pulls the old water trick from last night. I swear, if someone comes in and starts juggling sticks, I’m out of here. They let her sip if only to prove she could be blessed by holy water and it still isn’t going to improve her voice. Amy tanks again and still won’t take no for an answer. She launches into a third try amid cries of “tone deaf,” from Simon and Randy. After being shouted at to stop and a few more pleadings, Amy finally figures out she’s not going to Hollywood unless it’s as a prize pig in the L.A. County Fair. Of course, she starts crying to the camera and still maintaining that if it wasn’t for the fact that she was sick (of which she displays not one whit of symptoms), she would have made it. Sweetheart, your kind of sickness can’t be cured with NyQuill.

Perhaps Darwin Reedy is the panacea we’ve been looking for. Darwin, who claims people call her Mischa and looks like Janeane Garofalo if she had been born as a crack baby, is here with her mother. Both of them have enormously pendulous breasts and apparently only one brassiere between the two. Mischa’s mom must have called “heads” this morning, because she’s got the major support, while Mischa looks like she’s about to audition for the musical version of “Bend it Like Beckham.” Mischa claims she’s sexy and to illustrate this, does a little techno-shimmy while banking her breasts off her belly to score simultaneous goals for Brazil and Manchester United. Once inside, Simon’s eyes do a double take while following the bouncing balls. Randy peppers Mischa with all sorts of questions, trying to figure out if she’s from our planet. Mischa will be singing “Don’tcha,” by the Pussycat Dolls and the judges burst into laughter. Mischa giggles right along. Pumpkin, (and I mean that literally) they’re laughing at you, not with you. Randy is nursing an evil streak today as he invites Mischa to bring her mother in to witness the bloodbath. Mom is earnest and really believes in her daughter and I have to admit, once Darwin starts singing and sounding like a cow being milked (as you knew she would) this borders on cruel and embarrassing. No parent wants to have to witness their child be humiliated. It’s agonizing for both of them and really, it’s no fun to watch. Darwin offers to sing “Sweet Home Alabama,” and Simon, in order to prevent Bo Bice from getting yet another intestinal blockage, stops her before she can get very far. They invite mom to critique and it’s dueling Elsies front and center giving multiple excuses.

Back from the break with another huge montage of rejections before we reach Thomas Daniels. Tommy works as a gas attendant and has plenty of gas on his own as he discusses his master plan of hopping on the Idol elevator to success so he doesn’t have to bust his butt. Maybe he’s hiding his humility in that mid-sized sedan afro he’s sporting. Thomas actually has a really lovely voice and is put through to Hollywood. This is Thomas’ third time auditioning for Idol, and I’m guessing he’s never been put in front of the judges before, which tells you how screwed up the pre-audition selection process is if a person with this good a voice is passed up in favor of making the quota of freaks and trash talkers the producers think we’d rather see.

Melissa Carleen Stavros is next and she’s brought her rat dog Tika with her. She’s jammed her ample cankles and grandma flabby arms into pink fishnet tights that look like sausage casings. Melissa sings Xtina and actually starts out pretty well. I’m surprised she’s as good as she is. She hits a couple of off-notes and you can actually see relief spread across all three judges’ faces that they have a legitimate reason for not putting her through and not because she looks like she needs a couple more hours in the oven before the indicator pops. She takes it in stride and she’s got a decent voice so I hope it doesn’t discourage her.

Blake Lewis is a beatboxer and claims to be the best in the west, a claim Randy can’t help but want to stick a pin through. Blake acquits himself well, though Simon isn’t impressed and neither am I, but you can hear Blake has a good voice, so I hope it hasn’t unfairly swayed crabby Cowell. Blake sings Crazy by Seal and it’s an unfortunate choice, but he still makes some talent shine through. Simon gives him a reluctant yes, Paula and Randy more enthusiastic ones. I like him and concur.

If it’s possible, tonight is going even more slowly than last night. We’re only 47 minutes into another 2-hour episode. After yet another montage of bad singers (we get it, Seattle was a bust. Move on.), we’re introduced to Bangalor’s own Donny and Marie, sister and brother Shyamali & Sanjaya Malakar. Shyamali is adorable and so is her brother, but he’s very obviously gay so let’s hope proud papa hovering in the background is going to be able to face that fact should his son make it through. Shyamali has a pretty, if thin voice, but she knows her keys and her rendition of “Summertime,” is, as Paula says, nicely subtle. Randy likes her, as well, with Simon the only holdout. She’s through. Sanjaya is up next and we get our first Stevie Wonder song of the season. The judges think Sanjaya has a better voice than his sister, though I think they are comparably good. Donny & Marie 2.0 are going to Hollywood.

Rounding into the 2nd hour and we’re treated to another obvious plant. Nick Zitzmann is 27 and an uber-nerd looking for his 15 seconds in the spotlight. He sings “Unchained Melody,” (the entire fucking song) as though he’s in a trance. Waste of time, all around, though I don’t believe I have ever seen such lengthy bottom teeth in all my life. Rudy Cardenas is the last person on Day One. He’s handsome and humble and when he walks into the room, Paula eyes him like an endless bottle of Vicodin. Rudy sings “Open Arms,” by Journey and, with the exception of some inexcusable melismas, has a pretty voice. Simon is completely unimpressed, but Paula and Randy trump him and Rudy is on his way to Hollywood. Where he lives.

Day Two begins with the tired old standard of buddying up two hopelessly inept geeks. These guys probably scoped each other out on line, knew they had no chance but figured if they could get to be pals and flaunt it, they could possibly wrangle a free trip out for the finale. One of them looks like Steve Buscemi if he were a crack baby (hey, why shouldn’t I be as shameless in using the crack baby line as the chick who auditioned with it?) and the other kid has the appearance of a retarded heffalump, lisps and drools. First up is Buscemi, AKA Kenneth Briggs who compares himself to Justin Timberlake, Lance and all the other N’sync people; you know, Sneezy, Dopey, Doc… Kenneth is singing “Tearing Up My Heart,” replete with choreography that is so ludicrous, even Paula has to turn her chair around, laughing. As someone who has acted professionally for many years, I can tell you that if I ever went on an audition and the people I was reading for started laughing derisively during it, I would probably stop, if not at least be visibly thrown off. The fact that so many of these people blunder on without the least bit change in demeanor tells me they know they suck, they just want to make fools of themselves. They aren’t so much delusional as trying to create something in their sad lives they can consider a high point. I say let them go to a hooker and spare us the misery!

Kenneth’s new BFF, Fatty Arbuckle, I mean Jonathan Jayne, is up next. Simon manages to insult him and Randy at the same time with a trousers joke before Jonathan segues into “God Bless America.” He does remind me of Kate Smith, but only visually. He tanks, but they are kind to him. Simon tells him to hit the right door, though Jonathan could actually use both.

Half hour left, baby and Eric Chapman is here to tell us he’s Taylor Hicks’ long lost brother and they “gots to meet.” Eric is sporting a salt & pepper caesar/comb-over hair-do and that’s where the comparisons end. Eric is a hairdresser and clearly insane. After he bombs in his audition, he moves toward Simon with a jar of molding paste and the security team hustle him out of the room. 6’4” Amazon Anna Kearns was in the air force academy but was kicked out when it was found she had a weak heart. Despite that, she’s taking on Aretha’s “Respect,” for the judges. She’s got a middling voice. She could stay or leave and she’s going to Hollywood.

Jordin Sparks, a 16 year old America Ferrera look-alike sings a Celine Dion song pretty well. A bit vibrato-ish and medium on the melismas. She deserves to be put through and she is. We then find out that Jordin’s dad was a professional football player. Simon calls it when he tells Jordin she has a good voice, but is over the top sugary. Unfortunately, we’re treated to the now nauseating montage of the bad singers all performing the same song. Tonight’s unlucky selection is “Don’tcha.” Thanks guys, I don’t.

We finish up with Steven Thone. However, I don’t think anyone wishes they were a freak like him. He’s got red frizzy hair, a lisp and one snaggle tooth that is about as tall as Anna Kearns while its mouth mate seems to be missing or hiding or just plain embarrassed. Steven likes to do karaoke, or as he pronounces it, “kurokey.” Steven admits to not really watching the show or liking it, but the lure of infamy is too much for him to resist. Hey, guess what? I am gonna resist this douchebag. Idol, quit wasting our time. Seriously. Until next Tuesday, Seagulls out.

Minneapolis- Home to Prince. And Appollonia. And Vanity. AI Re-cap 1/16/07

Hello everyone. Welcome back to “Pray For the Soul of Kieran,” my weekly re-cap blog of yours and my favorite show, American Idol. First off, I want to thank everyone who e-mailed me over the past month to ask if I’d be returning to re-cap. I’m happy to say that, though this January finds me much busier than last year, I assure you, I’m in it for the long haul and we’re gonna deconstruct our little hearts out until May, just you and me. I got some snazzy new toys in the past year, including a widescreen large format HDTV and a new high speed laptop, so I will be able to count the rings under Paula’s eyes, smell the whiskey in her cup and bring it to you even faster. What say, shall we get started?

So last year, I didn’t begin re-capping until we hit Hollywood week. I’m someone who has little to no patience for the audition episodes. We Idolfans know the show doesn’t really get started until those Hollywood group numbers. The rest is all fodder for the hinterlands and someone’s bad idea of a sense of humor, showing obvious plants of people who can’t sing. And I see they’re starting it already! Oh, no, sorry, that’s just a replay of Taylor Hicks winning from last year. Taylor’s new CD recently debuted at #2 on the Billboard charts and has sunk like a stone. So has Kellie Pickler’s (didn’t need to know what calamari was to have figured that one out) as well as sophomore outings from Clay Aiken, Ruben Studdard and Fantasia Barrino. In fact, the only new Idol CD that seems to have any juice is Chris Daughtry’s which is currently #3 on the chart and has already gone platinum. It’s not much to listen to, but good for you, Chris. I certainly never thought you’d do as well as you have. But I sure did get the others’ failures right, so fuck yeah for me! Schadenfreude is lovely this time of the year.

After much self congratulation of the past Idol “successes,” many of which are out and out lies or wishful thinking, the show does a montage to “Teenage Wasteland.” Someone tell “Rock Star,” their song is being usurped. And of course, it wouldn’t be Idol if the numbers didn’t get bigger every year. Apparently more people came out to audition this year than ever. My question is- “Who the hell are these people?” Are we that starved for a tiny handful of reality television recognition that we’re willing to go make idiots out of ourselves on Natio- yeah, okay, I knew I couldn’t finish that one with a straight face. See, this I why I hate blogging this part; because it’s such obvious bullshit. These bad singers can’t possibly be this delusional. But then, Paula Abdul built an entire career on that delusion, so what do I know?

The show kicks off in Minneapolis this year. Home of Prince, but something tells me we’ll be seeing more Appollonias. Everyone in Minneapolis is really fat. If Rhoda Morgenstern still lived there, she’d be considered anorexic. An entire stadium of losers sings along to 1999, ¾ of them not even born when the song was released. God, that’s depressing. And to make things worse, Jewel is going to be a guest judge. First “Men in Trees,” and now this. Can “The Surreal Life,” be too far down the pike? Let me just say I can’t stand Jewel, never have, never will. Ever since the whole story about living in her car when she moved to LA. I didn’t buy it from Hilary Swank and I sure don’t buy it from Jewel. Anyone who wears halter tops knows how to charm some asshole into letting her stay rent free. Trust me, it doesn’t make the yodeling any more authentic.

Simon pretends not to be pissed that he has to share the stage with a special guest star, Randy is just biding his time til the first “dawg,” and Paula looks coherent, so you know this was taped months ago. The first contestant is Jewel’s biggest fan, Jessica Rhode. Jessica works at the Mall of America doing makeovers. Physician, heal thyself.

Jessica starts blubbering as soon as she is told (for the second time so the cameras can pick it up) that she will be singing for Jewel. I had vaguely the same reaction the last time I realized I was listening to Jewel, so I get it. Jessica has made the unfortunate choice to actually sing a Jewel song and from the looks of it, Miss Kilcher is NOT having it. Apparently at the Mall of America, you can get you a makeover, but there’s no one there to tell you to never audition for someone by singing one of their songs unless they request it. She’s pretty awful, though Jewel is diplomatic. Upon hearing her rejection in quadraphonic sound, Jessica squats to the ground in her American Eagle prairie skirt, starts crying again and begs for another chance, but like Elizabeth Taylor scrawled on the mirror in “Butterfield 8,” NO SALE! Out the door, Jessica’s mom embraces her and I’ll be willing to bet she could cheer her daughter up by letting Jessica do a makeover on her, because she needs it. Jessica is now bawling like someone shot Old Yeller and her brother or boyfriend rolls his eyes like, “Can we finally get the hell out of here before I turn gay!”

Back from the break and we’re only 16 minutes in. I’m sure Jessica is out there somewhere, still crying and I’m about to join her. Next we get some freak named Troy who claims to never have seen the show or know of any of the judges because he doesn’t have a “broadcast television” hooked up in his home (which begs the question of whether there is some closed circuit action going on there). I don’t believe a word that’s coming out of Troy’s lying little mouth, firstly because he’s dressed like an attention seeking fool and secondly because he has an irritating little smirk as he speaks that I want to wipe right off with a slap, but he looks hygienically challenged. Of course, he sucks and he’s singing what sounds like his own composition so now we know that motivation. Montage of bad singers and now we’re on to Jesse Holloway, who we know will suck because the ads told us so. I need a snack break, however, I have nothing in the cupboard but a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream, which I think I’ll freshen up with some more whiskey. Jesse is barely articulate, a fact that Simon audibly backs up. Jesse claims to have a range akin to Mariah Carey. Perhaps he meant Mary Carey, the porn star Mariah is suing for having a sound alike name. However, in the middle of butchering “My Heart Will Go On,” Jesse stops, asks if he can get some water because he’s nervous, and walks out the door. You better believe Mary Carey never pulled that shit in the middle of getting tit-fucked. Jesse is back after imbibing, but apparently, someone fixed him a Pink Squirrel because he’s now an octave higher and doing little RuPaul head movements. Simon wants him to leave, but Jesse asks to sing another song and Paula and Jewel egg him on. Jewel’s been sort of evil and I love it. Jesse sucks hard and then tries to argue with Simon. 23 minutes in and we have our first “Dawg” from Randy.

Now we have some asshole named Monroe Moody who’s dressed as Apollo Creed, replete with boxing gloves and you know what? I’m not talking about his stupid ass. I think anyone who comes dressed like they expect to get a mini-snickers dropped in their candy sack ought to not even be seen by the judges. Okay, wait, I do have to comment because Monroe didn’t have a terrible voice. I’ve seen the judges put through worse. But they were never going to put anyone through who was dressed like such an asshole, which begs another why question- Why, when you’ve seen people with gimmicks fail season after season to get past round one, would you resort to something that all but guarantees failure when you have a passable voice?

A half hour in and we have our first sob story. Denise Jackson is a 16 year old student from Madison, WI. Denise was born a crack baby and her mother still struggles with drugs. Now unlike Jamie Foxx, who you know just from looking at that there’s a chromosome missing, Denise looks fairly healthy, so there was no immediate need to share her story. I mean, she doesn’t have water on the brain or a baby arm or anything. So that tells me she’s looking for sympathy, which means I hate her already. It’s the Kellie Pickler syndrome, which funny enough, is very much the same as being a crack baby. Denise says she is lucky that she has had no disabilities or defects from being a crack baby. Ryan asks why she is wearing sunglasses indoors and instead of something cool, like being one of those albino vampires from The Omega Man, Denise says she is presenting her “starism.” Apparently, being a crack baby has taken some sort of toll.

Denise enters the room all strutty and slutty so we can add “phony” to that list. She sings “And I am Telling You, I’m Not Going,” or as she calls it- You’re Gonna Love Me. Not so fast, honey. She actually manages to put the correct emotion and feeling into the song, unlike a certain recent Golden Globe Winner. She has a good voice, but she is going to have to do some serious penance for the sob story before I can forgive her. She’ll have plenty of more chances to do that or fail, cause Crack Baby is going to Hollywood.

The subpar Idol writers deliver an unfunny comedy bit about people forgetting their words. It’s about as big a yuk-fest as Brokenote Mountain was last year. Tashawn Moore is singing “Kiss” wearing a jaunty tie that she should have written crib notes on. She can’t remember more than two words without stopping. She keeps repeating the phrase “I want women, not no girls,” and I can’t tell if she’s singing or, along with the tie, trying to come out as a lesbian. She’s actually so bad and so determined that they allow her to go on far longer than even the Marquis De Sade would with her self torture.

Some clueless chick is flirting and asking Ryan if he has a girlfriend. Boy, is she barking up the wrong tree. Didn’t she see the Teri Hatcher photos? Ryan tells her he has a girlfriend but neglects to mention his name is Ace. The girl then calls Ryan short. She says her name with one of those exaggerated accents that makes it unintelligible for no reason other than to show off. She came to this country from Colombia with two backpacks and her guitar and found herself homeless, living out of her car. Liar. She says hers is not a sob story, it’s a survival story. She’s the American Dream. But whoops, she’s not American. At this point, I’m wondering if I’m even allowed to have an American Dream or have they all been taken by illegal aliens? Charo says that she knows Simon is going to love her, but just for safety’s sake, she makes sure to push out her tits before she walks into the room. You can practically see Simon’s eyes pop out of his head like he’s in a Looney Tunes cartoon. Okay, now I can see her name and it’s Perla Meneses. I’m already telling you that if she gets through, I can’t promise to refrain from making some cheap menstrual joke in the future. You have been warned. Perla calls Mr. Cowell “Simone” and then begins singing “Call Me,” by Blondie by way of a Cher impersonation. She’s underwhelmed Randy and he makes her sing some Shakira, which changes his mind. She’s put through. I guess it was her time of the month.

People, we’re not even an hour in yet. Lots of girls are getting through, but no men. Matt aims to change that. He’s wearing a ridiculous cowboy hat with a chin strap big enough to accommodate Mandisa. He’s a complete dork and way too cocky, so I’m gonna guess he sucks and they are setting him up for a fall. Yep, he sucks. Jewel actually asks him if he’s doing this as a joke.

Next up is a navy man, Jarrod, who is stationed on the S.S. Ronald Reagan, yet he’s been allowed to come audition for Idol. And the show has gone to the considerable time and expense of shooting him on the aircraft carrier, so you know he’s getting put through before he even sings a note. Who wants to wager that the USAF is doing this for a little positive publicity since Bush wants to increase the number of troops overseas? And now we hear that the aircraft carrier actually sponsored a competition to send someone from the troops stationed there to audition for the show. Jarrod says it brings a sense of pride knowing he can represent all of the fine people who are defending our freedom. This guy is already on my bad side, as are the producers for pulling this manipulative crap. I’ll vote for the crack baby before I support this jingoistic asshole. He’s got a barely passable voice, but they’ve already been told to put him through.

Hour two. A very hairy girl shakes her non-existent maracas during a dreadful version of “Fever,” and some poor, clueless girl named Trista who has a homemade sign and I think may actually think she’s going on The Price is Right, does impressions of the Cowardly Lion from “The Wizard of Oz,” before making a complete horses ass out of herself in front of the judges. They won’t even take her poster after she offers it to them. Stephen Horst is up next, a cute vocal teacher from NYC. He’s singing “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing.” He starts out decently, but a few badly placed high notes blow his chances. Randy totally rips him a new asshole and Simon eggs him on. Too bad, he was kind of adorable.

Michelle Steingass is next and she’s singing a really bad song I’ve never heard before and because it’s so bad in a peppy kind of way, I’m assuming it’s a country song. She’s got a decent voice but she waaaay oversells the song. She’s cute, but the audition sucked. They’re putting her through. I would say she probably deserves a second chance, though they should have called her on her presentation. She’s going to quit her job. Bad move. Dayna Dooley auditioned in Pasadena and didn’t make the cut. She told her boss, who offered to fly her and her sister to Minnesota so Dayna could be rejected again. Dayna doesn’t get that her greaseball boss wants to lay some pipe, so it’s no wonder she’s delusional enough to think she can make the cut this time around. She does not. Simon feels like I do, so he wants to meet Dayna’s boss. Dayna very saucily sings “Fever,” to her boss, but it doesn’t sway the judges.

Sixteen year old Matt Sato, who suffers from overly plucked eyebrows and a zit the size of a small planet on his nose, is here by himself because his parents don’t support his dream of becoming a singer. My guess is they recently caught him in bed with his school choir boyfriend. Matt has a very interesting voice. There’s a cool rough quality to it, but he definitely lacks training. I see him going part-way, but I can’t see him making the Top 24 unless he takes some quick vocal training, stat. But I’m rooting for him. For now. He makes it through and calls his mom, who can’t quite believe the news, but is happy. Matt breaks down crying that his mom is proud of him. In my book, that beats a crack baby any day.

Back from the break and we have a half hour left. Rachel Jenkins is trying to work the military angle, as well, since her husband is in the Army. She’s even wearing his fatigues to garner sympathy. Rachel is an auto mechanic and the show wastes no opportunity filming her working on a Ford. I guess that’s truth in advertising, since Fords are such pieces of shit that they would be in the auto shop. Oh, I stand corrected; the uniform is Rachel’s. She joined the army reserves after 9/11. I’ll bet she’s kicking herself after tonight for not thinking to add “crack baby,” to her resume’. Rachel enters the audition room and milks the whole shebang. She finally gets down to singing and performs “His Eye is on the Spa-aa-aa-aa-row.” She’s going through. She’d actually be kind of funny if she wasn’t so transparent.

Sarah Krueger is up next and singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” She melismas the shit out of it. You can see the Wizard sending her to Hollywood just to shut her the hell up. Simon says the funniest line of the evening when he tells Sarah she has a lot of control over her voice. If she had control over it, she wouldn’t need to melisma. She’s through.

Next two people. The first is Jason Anderson, who juggles sticks while he sings, so you know he’s shit out of luck. Thankfully, he can’t sing, so they aren’t passing up someone good. Jason comes roaring out of the audition room and immediately makes his waiting mother proud by unleashing a string of curses to the camera. The camera pans to the next contestant, a heavily kohl eyed heifer named Brenna who considers herself the World’s Biggest Idol Fan. Widest, maybe. She’s clearly insane and Simon asks her if she actually thinks she can win. She’s singing “Under Pressure,” by Queen, or so she claims. Of course she sucks and of course, she’s only here to say she was on the show. Simon has told her no, but she’s trying to milk her time. Brenna claims she has a degree in vocal performance and I’m guessing it was obtained online.

We are in the home stretch. The show does the one thing I hate more than anything; a montage of bad singers doing one particular song, including people who have already been rejected. Jason the juggler just went out crying, but it didn’t stop the show from including him in this mess singing “Kiss,” by Prince.

Josh Flom is our final contestant of the night. His dad really would have preferred he become a goalie an sign an NHL contract, but since Josh wants to sing (translation- do something girlie) he’s still going to support him. Josh was inspired by Chris Daughtry last year and that motivated him to audition. So much so, that Josh is singing a song by Fuel. Josh is really really terrible. He’s doing a dreadful impersonation of what he thinks a rock singer should sound like. Simon challenges Josh to come back in 15 minutes with an Abba song and the poor, clueless kid actually accepts. Josh races around the halls searching for the lyrics to an Abba song. He’s singing “Dancing Queen,” in the same style he did the Fuel song. And a Barry Manilow song. Josh begs and begs, but it falls on deaf ears. Josh cries and that ends our first episode. Seventeen people made it through to Hollywood.

Okay, that wasn’t as painful as I expected it to be. However, that could be due to the fact that I have had two Bailey's with extra whiskey over ice and I'm a little tipsy. Who knew an Archie & Jughead jelly jar glass full of liquor could pack such a punch? Maybe I actually can get through this. Join me tomorrow night as American Idol travels to Seattle. It’s good to be back. Seagulls out.