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Idols and Angels I violated an agreement with myself last night. There really was no agreement, but I thought I'd manage not to pay any attention whatsoever to that travesty known as American Idol for the entirety of this season. At some point in the evening, though, I found myself sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, and the farce began, so like a hick on his front porch drinking Natural Light and eating pork rinds while watching a multi-vehicle car accident occur on the highway that runs by his house, I sat and stared. (No offense is intended to hicks, as I can technically claim to be one, nor to people who eat pork rinds, as they're one of my favourite snacks, especially the spicy ones. Give me a bag of those and a mild case of the munchies, and I will eat them 'til they are gone. Yes, I'm aware of how horrific that is, and I'm also aware that no one who knows me can probably visualise such a scene.) The horror began with a group rendition of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough", in which it became very quickly apparent that this season's women are far better than the men. (After all, only three of the men have not been eliminated, and there are still something like nine women.) Of the three remaining lads, one is a totally stiff and goofy red-head; one is a semi-blond who'd almost be cute, except that he's obviously trying WAY too hard; and one is a black guy who's not working nearly hard enough to come off as cool as he does, but then, pitted against the other two guys, he's a fucking powerhouse, so I guess he doesn't really have to work too hard. When it comes down to him and the women, though, it's gonna be another story. As to the number itself? It sounded alright, presumably because they have competent sound technicians who can balance the small tribe of men against the veritable army of women onstage, but it looked absurd. I'm not even a dancer, but that choreography was abysmal, and the performers were not even putting any energy into it to TRY to make it look good, for the most part. It was like watching a mediocre high-school show-choir, or a bad amusement park show. I was reminded of the summer I spent singing, dancing and waiting tables on a dinner cruise ship. (Never...NEVER work for Spirit Cruises. After a summer working for them on one of the ships rated for quality, but lowest for pay and working conditions, one of the waitresses, who also happened to be a hell of a singer, said to me something like, "Congratulations, honey, you've survived this job; you can do ANYTHING." I don't want to know if she was right, but I'd rather be a prostitute taking it up the ass from fat hairy old men than go back to that place; it would certainly pay better, and there'd probably be more opportunities for "advancement".) The rest of the show consisted of a re-cap of everyone's performances from the night before and an analysis of the judges' commentaries and America's votes...And a painful excuse for a music video with the contestants performing "Life Is a Highway". After the "bottom three" contestants were narrowed to the "bottom two," I changed the channel. I don't care who was eliminated, and I don't care who wins. I'll not be wasting any more of my precious time watching this show. I will say, though, that Ryan Seacrest is actually looking pretty hot this season. He's shortened his hair, gotten rid of the silly highlights, and started dressing like someone who almost has a shred of dignity. What's up with the semi-scruffage, though? It's like a five o'clock shadow, but it isn't. Is Ryan, like so many other gay men (more in the past than the present), trying a little too hard to "butch it up" with facial hair? If you want to look more masculine, guys, that's NOT the way to do it. Few things look more ridiculous than an obviously gay man who thinks growing facial hair will disguise the swish. It only makes you look like more of a parody. To be honest, my intention when I turned on the brain-sucker was to watch a few hours of my beloved Law & Order. Unfortunately, I didn't make it that far. I think I saw a few minutes of the episode which began at 9 p.m. on TNT, but the next thing of which I was conscious was awaking at around 6 a.m. on my apparently too comfortable sofa with a very sore neck. (This means I fell asleep without practicing much piano, putting away laundry, or writing the promised e-mail response to Boy-Blue, who decided we should reopen the lines of communication yesterday, much to my pleasure.) Do I sleep in really bizarre positions, thereby making various parts of my body sore, or did I give myself a minor case of whiplash yesterday morning when I rear-ended that woman on my way to work? I did have a headache for much of the day, but I'd chalked that up to stress. I hope she and her daughter really were ok; they certainly seemed to be. I hope I am, too, for that matter...and that car repairs won't cost much. (I swear I want that fucker OUT OF MY LIFE!) The odd thing is that I can't have hit her that hard, as I had been at a complete stop for quite awhile waiting for a space in the steady stream of traffic when I took my foot off the brake, and I would swear she was not in front of me when I stopped. On the other hand, I suppose it might have been a blessing in disguise. What if the car in front of which I was getting ready to pull out was coming faster than I'd calculated and slammed right into my driver's side door? r
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