Fallen Idol

OK, I'm going to talk about "American Idol." I started not to write this blog, because I don't think any of my tens of viewers actually watch the show. Then again, the dishy Michelle blogs about "The Apprentice," which I wouldn't watch on a bet, but I certainly enjoy reading her recaps.

Now, here's the thing about American Idol (with which I'm dispensing quote-marking from here on out). I don't necessarily like it, but I'm hopelessly addicted to it. I hate everything it stands for, I generally hate the contestants, the music, the judges, the band, the audience, and the host. No, let me correct that. I don't generally hate the host. I specifically hate the host. Seacrest Out indeed. Give me a fuckin' break.

AI starts out with a shitload of people auditioning for and being ridiculed by the judges, and a select few will go on to Hollywood to be ridiculed some more, until 12 people make it to the Big Live Portion of the show. Now, these first auditions are where we see the really bad people. The William Hungs and LeRoy "Can You Dig It" Wellses of the world. This is where Idol gets evil. And that pisses me off because I still laugh and therefore I am evil. I've been corrupted and have bought into this whole spirit of meanness that AI perpetuates a couple of times a year.

How mean is it? Well, let's look at it this way. In each of the 6 or so cities where these first auditions are held, as many as 150,000 people show up. So you know they're auditioning for other people just to get to the Big Three, Randy "Dawg" Jackson, Simon "Cruel But Fair" Cowell, and Paula "Talent? Never Had It, Never Will" Abdul. And that means that the producers are pushing really horribly awful people through just to get them in front of the judges and on TV. For us to laugh at. And sometimes I do. And I'm sorry. Really, I am so sorry.

As an aside, one of this year's jokes, the above-mentioned Leroy Wells, was a particular favorite of mine. A chemically altered young fellow who was a shrimp boat operator by day, Leroy couldn't sing, couldn't dance, probably couldn't read or write, and certainly couldn't speak any form of understandable English. But Leroy was a star, man! He just jumped up and down, waved his arms, pointed at people, and said, "Can you dig it?" And well, yes, I guess I could, because I found him very enjoyable. I mean, there's a place in the world of entertainment for a chemically altered young fellow who can't speak intelligently - isn't that why they have rap music? However, the judges, sadly, could definitely not dig it and not only was Leroy excised from the auditioning process, but it was later reported that he had to watch his national TV debut from the old Vertical Bar Hotel, where he was doing a little time.

Anyway, after the mean-and-ugliness of the first auditions and we're whittled down to twelve, that's when the Big Live Show starts. And the viewers get to vote. And as we all know, when the American Public gets involved in voting for anything, it's gonna get ugly. And so has it been with Idol.

As of this Tuesday's broadcast, only half of the remaining Big Twelve remained. Let's do a brief Mouseketeer Roll-Call, if you please.

We have Carrie. Carrie is the odds-on favorite to win it all. She's blonde, she's bland, she's from the country, and she's everybody's girl-next-door. She leans towards country music and has a voice as big as all outdoors. She smiles a lot, and needless to say, I hate her.

We have Bo. Bo's from Alabama and looks like his personal style evolution ended in 1974. He wears a beard, leather pants and has straight hair falling past his shoulders. He's the oldest guy in the competition, and, going against all my AI principles here, I like him. I like Bo, simply because he's the Anti-Idol. Anybody who gets up there while everyone else is singing Beyonce, Celine, and Barbra and does a blistering version of "Whipping Post" is someone I'm going to align with. And I've aligned with Bo.

We have Anthony. Anthony Federov, who my sister and I simply call "Federov." In quite the same way Seinfeld used to say "Newman." He's the "tug at your heartstrings" candidate. Born in the Ukraine, he came here as a child, had some sort of bodily birth defect that required surgery, and the doctors said he'd probably never talk, and could surely never sing. And as far as I can tell the doctors were about 90% right. Still, he's cute, in a stray dog kind of way, earnest, and benign. He just can't sing. And he has a big indentation in his throat where whatever surgery that was took place.

We have Vonzell. Vonzell is the black lady du jour. Well, that's not fair, because she does have a little-more-than-average voice and seems to be a nice girl. But that's really about all you can say. She wore boots and a cowboy hat one week, and it wasn't even country music week. I guess you could say that about her too.

We have Constantine. Constantine is the other "rocker" in the competition. In fact, early on, cameras followed him to tell his bandmates (who've since been signed by the same record company that signed William Hung) that he was headed to Hollywood for AI. They were pissed, to say the least - told him he'd sold out. Well, the rule is usually you can't sell out if you're not holding onto something in the first place. That's pretty much Constantine. Not a horrible singer, just a horrible poser. Thinks he's a rock star. And if being a rock star is pouting, swinging one's hair, looking doe-eyed into the camera, and making kicking movements at the camera man, well, by damn, he is a rock star! His singing is passable, but it doesn't matter, really. The girls love Connie. I mean, screaming, swooning, panty-throwing love. Probably the only real competition for Blonde Carrie.

And finally we have Scott, possibly the most hated Idol wannabe in the history of the show. Scott's a big old white boy from Cleveland, but I guess that's not his fault. However, what is his fault is that he fancies himself some kind of gangsta-badass-homeboy. This is the contestant who's been arrested for domestic abuse, beating up the mother of his baby. He comes out onstage, all menacing, and begins to sing - and there's the high-pitched voice of an angel coming out of this rough exterior. A very tone-deaf angel. The man couldn't sing a straight note to save his ass. Couple that with his badass attitude and you've got a recipe for a quick trip back to Shaker Heights.

One would think, anyway. And that's the point of this whole blog. Week after week, or should I say week after weak week, when the results are read, there stands Scott, menacing mug leering out at us here in TV-land. Every week you can go and check the online polls - who should get the boot? - and overwhelmingly, all those polls are saying, "Get Scott the hell out of there right now."

And yet, when Ryan Seacrest stops preening himself long enough to announce who's going home, it's never Scott.

So back to this week. Now, without going into too many of the ins and outs, because if you're not a fan of the show you don't care, and have possibly already quit reading by now, when it came time to send someone home, it was fan favorite Constantine. And not only did Scott get to stick around for one more agonizing week, he wasn't even in the bottom three vote-getters.

And as unfortunately begins to happen to me, I started to think. And at the end of my thinking, here's what I decided: The fix is in on American Idol.

This is the third year that, at about this point in the proceedings, a shoo-in for the top two or three amongst the contestants has been "shockingly" ousted while a long undeserver gets to stand up there waving to the crowd for yet another week. And the controversy swirls and people discuss it and it's in the press and Ryan Seacrest preaches to everyone at home how this was all their fault because they maybe only voted 240 times for their favorite instead of the recommended 300.

And nobody would dare miss the next week's episode, just to see that undeserving rat go this time. But the rat sticks around. For yet another week. Yet one more commercial-filled week.

I want to see the fine print of American Idol. I'm sure there's a tiny little codicile in there that says "Producers of the show make final decisions and can alter the outcome of the contest." I'm sure of it.

Will this make me stop watching? Probably not, not this season, not at least until Bo goes away, which could well be next week since news of his prior drug use has become big in the past few days. (Like you could look at a guy like Bo and not know he uses drugs?)

I don't know if I'll care next year, though. It's already waning. I didn't laugh nearly as much during the "mean portion" of the show this year as I have in the past. Or maybe I'll keep watching, just knowing it's fixed.

Like I said, I don't even like the damn show. It's just an addiction.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* By the way, just to set the record straight, I don't actually vote for these guys. I'm not that big of a geek; give me a little credit here.
* WEEEEEEEEEKEEEEEND!