
I said it so well last season that I’m just going to quote myself from one of last year’s early-in-the-season audition episodes…
OK, so here's how I'm going to break this down for you. The audition episodes have no real narrative. There's a pattern of Person Who Can't Sing, Person Who Can't Sing, Person Who Goes to Hollywood, montage of People Who Can't Sing, and maybe a montage of Judges Being Stunned by People Who Can't Sing. And then it just repeats itself. So my recaps for these early weeks can be whatever I decide to make them be, you know? I'm going to just list the ones who make it through and the ones who don't. It's easier that way. For me. If you really care about episode continuity, perhaps you should be watching the actual show instead of relying on some gay nobody sitting on his couch in his boxer shorts to do it for you.
First stop this week is San Diego, home of the Comic-Con International that I attend each summer with my stone-cold supernerd husband/partner/whatever. We stay in the fanciest hotel we can afford, we shop for geek merchandise -- he likes to buy actual old comic books, I go straight for the vintage vinyl Japanese monster toys -- and then we eat dinner somewhere nice after sitting in the Kevin Smith panel with people who (A) are usually in some kind of costume and (B) sometimes seem like they invented B.O. At least once during each Comic-Con I enjoy catching my man off guard by whispering conspiratorially in his ear, “Hey, guess what?”
“What?” he asks.
“I’m a wizard.” We think that’s very funny. Anyway, all these freaks about to get sent back to where they came from for not singing well remind me of Comic-Con. They also have the San Diego Zoo there. Now I’m thinking about how much I like monkeys.
OK, the Tuesday show:
It starts with two old guys saying “Welcome to American Idol…San Diego…California.” It’s funny because they’re old like the Bartles & Jaymes guys, they’re wearing matching hats, and they don’t know how to be on TV. Like me. I wound up talking about movies once on MSNBC with Alison Stewart -- long, not particularly interesting story -- and when I went back to my house and saw the segment on TiVo I realized that I had shifty eyes like a nervous criminal. Goodbye on-camera career. Forever.
Then come the credits. Have you noticed how this season when the robot-man-lady-singing-thing walks out onto the electric plank and the fame elevator is shooting up behind him-her-it that you now see all the former Idol winners except for Taylor Hicks? And how last week when that chick who used to be his background singer did her audition she pointed to his picture on the wall and the camera didn’t even follow her, so you had to guess for a second whom she was even talking about? Why this blackout of the Boogie? What did he ever do to American Idol except underperform saleswise? I suspect all sorts of nefarious corporate things now.
Anyway, here’s who’s in:
* The blond girl with the sharp features, which prompt a nose job debate among the assembled gays in my living room. No one comments on her singing, though, because we just don’t care and she’s boring. Even Paula looks like she wants a nap. Then Randy says, “Welcome to Hollywood!” and fails to add, “Except that you’re in San Diego already, so it’s not that big a deal.” You have to wonder if San Diego people really ever get excited like that. Like, “HOLY SHIT I GET TO DRIVE UP THE 5!”
* The widower single dad who sings all wiggly and overwrought. He chooses a Boyz II Men song, which prompts a second debate in the living room: Who is the greatest? Boyz II Men, ABC, or BBD? No one is really into the Boyz. And we all agree that Bell Biv Devoe were momentarily excellent and that “smack it up, flip it, rub it down” are the only lyrics Irving Berlin forgot to write. But Another Bad Creation gets the ultimate vote of confidence from me and my friend Xtreem Aaron. Because, seriously, “Iesha” is an amazing song. (They ate cereal!) And if you’re looking to buy a quality residence in the Atlanta area, Ronald Boyd DeVoe Jr. is now a established name in real estate. You may not be able to trust a big butt and a smile, but you can rely on Ronnie to find you the fancy house of your dreams in the ATL. Go to www.thedevoeteam.com for more information.
Next we see outdoorsy shots of San Diego, here looking much like Passion Cove, that soft-core sex program on Showtime where actors who were too classy for actual porn pretended to hump on each other. Everyone’s playing volleyball all the time in San Diego. Funny, that’s all we do in Los Angeles too. We go to the beach and work on our tans and get fake tits installed and cultivate individual auras of insincerity. It’s a great life in this city.
* The Australian guy, already named “Hugh Jackoff” by the assembled comedy-writing team of living room pals. He sings an Otis Redding song and Simon says, “You’re like a white soul singer.” Like? This guy’s already had business cards printed up that promise that he’s never gonna give you up, let you down, run around, hurt you, make you cry, say goodbye, tell a lie, or desert you.
* The sisters with mutual crushes on Simon. One sings, and one just sits on his lap. The singing one is fine. Better than the singing, though, is the weird group-hug moment where you sort of know that if they could, both of those sisters would be doing “it” with him right now, a microwave popcorn three-gie indulging Simon’s sister fantasy, one he probably hasn’t had a chance to experience in several weeks. But the best part of this entire scene is when Paula begins to tell the singing sister that she’s “really good” and then changes her mind to tell her that she’s “real good.” And speaking of the erstwhile dancer/singer/costume supervisor for the Bratz movie, did you know that she and Randy Jackson have a single out this week? Like, just released? It’s called “Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow,” and it will appear soon on an actual CD called Randy Jackson’s Music Something Or Other (truthfully, I forget the name, and I’m kind of too lazy to go look it up) and it’s coming out next week. Mariah’s going to be on it. So is Elliot Yamin. I haven’t heard this new single from Paula yet, but in my fondest wishes it’s her weeping about how people don’t appreciate her for the gift that she is. Over a vintage New Jack Swing beat.
* The 16-year-old who used to have vocal paralysis. Apparently he won the kid division of Star Search a few years ago. I read that somewhere. I forget where. He sings a John Mayer song called “Waiting on the World to Change,” and Randy decides to just join in and do a little backup vocalizing. You know why? BECAUSE HE’S RANDY MOTHERFUCKING JACKSON, WHO HAS PRODUCED WHITNEY AND MARIAH. WHO ALSO WAS IN JOURNEY FOR QUITE SOME TIME. HE CAN DO AS HE DAMN WELL PLEASES, FROM RELEASING A NEW PAULA ABDUL SINGLE TO SINGING THE WORD “WAITING” WITH ANY HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL WANNABE KID HE FEELS LIKE. Paula tells him she wants to squish him. Stay away from that woman, kid.
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