American Idol May 20 LiveBlog. Sponsored By TIVO, The Spanish Wine Industry And The National Adoption Agency.

I once had an ingrowing toenail removed.

It took many weeks to schedule the operation.

I knew relief was coming. But I had to get through some anguish to enjoy it.

So here we are in the Surgery Theater. The Final of American Idol, America’s ingrowing toenail.

Fortunately, the sun is shining here in the West and I have a rather lovely Albarino to act as my own personal sound engineer, ready to muffle any noises that stray from the acceptable.

The show has begun. Oh, dear God, no. I see Old Rumble Fish who introduces all those fixed boxing matches.

Perhaps this is subtle commentary from the producers. In so far as subtlety ever attempts to cross the freeways of their minds. (The Idol Producer’s Mental Freeway is a place where subtlety can get run over and no one calls the paramedics.)

This American Idol title is, according to Mr. Seacrest, “only reserved for superstars.” Taylor Hicks And Ruben Studdard just sat up on their sofas, removed their lips from their Coors Lights and smiled.

No one saw it.

David Archuleta is baring his fists. Less Mike Tyson, more My Daddy’s A Bigger Moron Than Your Daddy.

First, the choices of Clive Davis. He has perhaps fewer hairs left on his head than years left to live. They are all beautifully dyed.

David Cook is first. A terribly imaginative selection. U2. Yes, this is why Mr. Davis is revered in the industry.

Oh, my God, I’ve just seen a Phantom. No, not Mr. Davis. Lord Lloyd Webber. Now we know he’s done a deal with the producers. But for what? Oh, yes, one of those theater reality shows. Or perhaps he will be appearing in a new version of Fox’s “The Swan.”

Big David sings. His hair is pointing in many, schizophrenic directions.

Now I understand. He still hasn’t found what he’s looking for. I reach for my wine. Its surface is as flat as Phuket water. Which must mean I am not tapping my feet.

It must also mean that Bono is suddenly concerned that donations to Africa will go down. Why couldn’t Cookie appreciate that his karacroaky might cost lives?

And now little David, singing an Elton John song that has enjoyed many parodies.

I remember George Michael, who is also gay, performing this lovely little song.

Little David is no George Michael. He is more of a George Foreman. Sell, sell, sell. You would happily buy a grill from David Archuleta.

However, he is better than Cookie. The tears well in his eyes. Randy Jackson does all he can to place his tongue in all the places that might help in his getting the job of producing Little David’s debut album.

Then Little David hears Simon Cowell’s hosanna. He does all that “Oh, my Gosh” nonsense. The Church does not allow him to say “Oh, My God.”

Which confuses me, as the little boy declared the other day on some obscure Fox station that his quest to make millions out of American Idol was, in fact, a mission.

Was he telling us that his Daddy is overdrawn at the bank? Was he telling us that the Lord helps those who help themselves to lots of cash? Or was he telling that, as he is at best an average singer, he understands that his future lies in teleevangelism?

And no teleevangelist has yet landed a show on Prime Time.

Round Two. Songs from some competition organized by the fans. Or Lord Lloyd Webber. Or Lord of the Flies.

Who can tell?

Big David sings. Forgive me, but this is a country song that he is trying to rock up, like a desperately ageing lothario at the bar slipping a reluctant girl a Mickey Finn.

The girl will not sleep with him. Even when she is drugged past her merkin and codpiece.

I am having to help my emotions take evasive action too. The Albarino is coarsing through my veins like a blonde barmaid performing CPR.

This song, apparently entitled “Dream Big”, will be about as large a hit as Joe Francis is with Abstinents Anonymous.

Little David sings something equally forgettable. I think it is “One Moment In Time” sung backwards and sped up.

There isn’t even a gospel choir to help him generate feeling. Relief, sympathy, biliousness, anything.

Randy Jackson tells him he can sing the phone book. Where, under J, you can find “desperately ordinary record producer.”

I am beginning to feel extremely disturbed by Little David’s pained face every time he hears a compliment.

He looks like a child that, finally, will be able to avoid one of Daddy’s little favors.

This is becoming a lurid and desperate spectacle, a final so devoid of even manufactured joy that I suddenly become nostalgic for a Hillary Clinton speech.

Or an enema.

But not Blake Lewis.

And now for their own personal choices. Mine would be to end it all now.

It is not to be. David Cook is singing a little Collective Soul. He is baring his own soul by wearing a red tie. Ah, David Cook is a Republican. His hair has perceptibly veered away from his head. And towards the exit.

Lordy, I think those are red cowboy boots.

The songs ends. It was far too subtle for the crude emotions of the voters.

Big David cries. What? Does he actually want to win? Paula tells him he is standing in his truth. It appears to be a puddle of mediocrity.

But perhaps Paula is right. Perhaps David Cook has decided not to pander to the aforementioned crude emotions. He knows winning doesn’t matter. When he comes first or second, money will arrive in buckets smelling of manure straight from the farm.

Talking of Utah, Little David reprises his version of “Imagine.” A version that makes John Lennon rise from his grave, call Mark David Chapman and ask him to shoot him dead all over again. But this time to pop him square in the head like a discarded thoroughbred in an abattoir.

David Archuleta has displayed all the originality of a lifelong stutterer.

The story goes that Edward VIII of England abdicated from the throne to be with his American Idol, a Monterey woman called Mrs. Wallis Simpson, because she was the only lady with whom he could enjoy sexual abandon. (He had certain physical infelicities, apparently.)

Tonight, David Cook abdicated in favor of enjoying some vague vestige of credibility.

Like Al Gore refusing to endorse a Presidential candidate. Or Oprah refusing to read another James Frey autobiography.

While David Archuleta will look mournfully into his Daddy’s eyes and sniffle: “Did I do enough? Please, tell me. Did I do enough?”

What once was an amusing celebration has turned into Six Feet Under.

But it is over. I am free. I take one last sip of the Albarino before walking out onto my deck and breathing very deeply.

The Coronation of the latest American Emotional Misfit will be tomorrow.

I will miss R2David2 donning the the crown.

It will hurt.

The Pond thanks basykes for the emotive picture of the average Idol voter.



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6 responses to “American Idol May 20 LiveBlog. Sponsored By TIVO, The Spanish Wine Industry And The National Adoption Agency.

  1. Judy C

    I know I promised not to do double entries, but I can’t resist. You have made me laugh out loud, sitting alone at my desk at midnight, frightening my little dog.

    Surely you did not just question little angel David’s sexuality? You know that Idi will beat you up, right? He will come to your house wearing little David’s pleather S&M gear and force you to enjoy being beaten up. (Er, might I get a copy of that video?)

    I do like the toenail surgery comparison, lancing a boil works as well, all that pus you know.

    As I said, I didn’t see it so I’m limited in my responses, but I’ve come up with what the pay off is for the Vampire known as Andrew Lloyd Webber lending his approval to the procedings – he gets the loser. He will take his prize back to his home beneath some theater in London where he used to hang out with Sarah B., and force him to sing scales over and over all the day long.

    And were y0u also chatting about John Lennon and slaughterhouses and exhumations and Hillary? God in heaven, why oh why didn’t I watch? Do you think maybe Fox will re-run it ever?

    Please allow me to formally thank you, Frog, as I schlep off to bed still chuckling.

  2. thespine11


    you can enter as often as you like. you can even post a link with your buddy rickey to show him what writing looks like.

    Now you seem to have got the impression that I suggested Little David might not be a Golden Arrow. I don’t know how. The sentence clearly refers to Elton John’s gayness….or is it just wishful thinking on your part?

    I am sorry my writing has impacted your little dog. but what was he doing up at midnight anyway?

    I do love the thought of the loser having to go to the Good Lord’s dungeon.

    Yes, why didn’t you watch, Judy? Why didn’t you watch?

  3. Judy C sleeps in his little dog bed beside the CPU for a little added warmth you see. So when I started to laugh out loud when reading your latest comment, he jumped up and began to pace till I quieted down. I told him you were contrite. He seems to accept your apology, his little nub of a tail is vibrating.

    Well, yes, I know, but the thought of Little David, George Michael and Elton doing three part harmony in several different venues could not be passed up. Wishful thinking on my part I confess. But, you haven’t caused an uproar since covering the Nigel vs Jeff face off so you’re due. Besides, it’s probably true, or else DA is really only 11 yrs old.

    It’s not insurance but thermal clothing for industrial freezer workers, military and law enforcement. And its not precisely selling, more like directing sales. And no, it’s self serve around here so he can make his own Capn Morgan and Coke. Having grown up around a drunken Irishman I feel strongly about not enabling. But Mr. Husband is nothing if not moderate – proving the “opposites attract” adage.

    Apparently your opinion was universal re last night’s sing off. But I can fast forward thru all the crowning and fawning tonight and go straight to the snappy group numbers where goofy songs are made to sound even worse and are hilariously accompanied by Idol cast offs doing robot like two step dancing. I live to see Amanda Overmeyer and Jason Castro doing the box step together, I’m not sure I can wait. I may have to watch it live complete with endless ads.

    What now Pond??

  4. thespine11

    What now? Ah, we will see.

    Thermal clothing, huh? Does he get stuff specially made for your long, cold nights?

    I have not read other people’s opinions on last night’s debacle. But am so, so excited that you will be watching and enjoying.

    And what kind of alcohol will help you through it?

  5. Judy C

    Went to early dinner with 3 couples, then talked them all into coming back to watch the AI finale on Tivo. Three were for watching the show, and three against, you guessed it – a male/female split. But the guys finally got into the spirit when I told them we could bet on the outcome, and the wagering got underway. Did you know DC was the odds on fav? I had no idea people were that smart.

    Anyway, as we settled in to watch, I found out that several of the group had never seen any of the shows, a few had seen it in passing, and one was a fan like me who gave up after the lovely local was sent packing.

    I found this intersting: of those not all that familiar with the show 4 of them liked Michael Johns best and thought he should have been in the final two based on his performances tonight. Without exception they all thought David A in no way deserved to be there. Further, after much badgering and threats of whitholding whiskey, I got everyone to confess that yes, there is “something” about Jason Castro and his singing that draws you in. The guys were just being polite of course and didn’t really see anything but a kid with goofy Bob Marley hair.

    Before the final announcement I took a poll and EVERYONE preferred David Cook over DA. Are my friends discerning or what?? I also won $20, $10 from Mr. Husband and $10 from the only other serious fan – they both thought DA was a shoe in even tho they liked DC better.

    And, because the show was so surprisingly good, we decided to buy tickets to the tour show coming to Victory Park AA Ctr. in Dallas this summer, where we can then attempt to reclaim “cool” by having drinks at the Ghost Bar after the show.

    Fav part of the evening were the Davids Risky Business ads. Worst part was Brook and Graham Nash, will someone give that girl a Xanax?

    So tell me, Pond, did you enjoy the show? What libation fortified you, was there any wagering at your place, and were you surprised by the outcome?

  6. thespine11

    Ah, Judy,

    You must lie down. You have finally taken leave of what remained of your senses.

    The show was GOOD? You bought TICKETS?

    What was in the whiskey? Quaaludes?

    I confess I did not see all of it. I caught bits here and there. Even though I am, at this moment, not five miles away from the Nokia Theater.

    Perhaps I will pop in and see them all tomorrow.

    You certainly know how to handle men, don’t you? IN fact, you seem to know how to handle everything except sleep.

    Perhaps, when I have finished my other work this evening, I will pen something for the remaining faithful.

    I hope I have amused you half as much as you have amused me.

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