It is Tuesday. A day that used to be defined, and, some might say, infested by that curious rubberneckfest called American Idol.
So I thought I’d write the final and definitive sociological analysis of this curious show.
All the talk, hitherto, has been of whether Big David or Little David should win. Of whether Little David’s Little Daddy was devil-may-care or just plain diabolical.
But now I ask you all, you who chose to join fan forums like actors’ unions and post your enthusiasms like Christmas cards, you who believed a vote for Cook was a vote for the terrorists, to look in the mirror and examine yourselves.
Over the weeks, I have monitored the opinions of the allegedly normal human beings who chose to express themselves, one way or another, on this important social subject.
Here are the results.
What was curious was just how many of David Archuleta’s fans turned to the bile of a thousand abandoned spouses when noting just the merest trace of criticism of the curiously child-like warbler.
When one is Principal of the Pond Dwellers, one is free to approve people’s comments or place them into the corner of one’s desktop marked ‘Piddle.’
Though the Pond did not endorse either singer (although we were pressured by certain nefarious factions), though we were sometimes critical of both these imperfectly-formed performers, not one David Cook fan wrote with anything other than polite, enthusiastic disagreement.
On the other hand, certain fans of David Archuleta, all, it seemed who had aged rather longer and less well than the object of their infection, chose to access the parts of their mind labeled “death to the infidel.’
There were those who suggested I access both talent and education. There were those who wanted to forbid me access to the expression of my opinions. There were those who called me an f-ing, c-ing, b-ing- oh, please choose your own letter of the alphabet and turn it into a verb.
Why might this be?
What did Little David represent? There was the somewhat nice lady who said that, in twenty years, she had only listened to talk radio and classical music. Until she saw and heard Little David.
Which made me wonder how it was, if she only listened to talk radio and classical music, that she enjoyed the salvation emitted from Little David’s tonsils at all?
There was the commenter who said: “a lot of us are sick of the drugged-up losers, gang-bangers and sluts.”
I am not sure whom she was referring to. The Jonas Brothers, perhaps.
Yet David Archuleta clearly represented a return to something that had been painfully lost by so many of his fans. I don’t know whether it was hope, virginity, or some kind of control over all around them.
In any case, for sixty minutes a week and a 99-cent download, these people believed that someone was finally representing their own values.
There will be those who cannot wait until the day when Little David is treated for nervous exhaustion or knocks up Miley Cyrus out of wedlock.
But it is worth wondering how miserable must so many people’s lives be for them to lose all proportional emotion over a sweet, mechanical singer straight out of a high school end-of-year’s musical.
It is as if Oprah has ceased to inspire the appropriate solidarity. It is as if people have tired of Maury Povich’s ability to make them feel better by showing them individuals whose lives are more debased than one’s imagination could even contemplate.
Meanwhile, David Cook’s fans just want to have a few beers, some guilt-free illicit sex, to hear old slow songs sped up and gruffed and to forget that someone in authority made them feel like a worm today.
They don’t expect him to change the world. They don’t even expect him to date Kimberley Caldwell for very long. They just want something to stick in their iPod and wobble their fat to in a battle they know ends like every opera ever written.
I cannot end without wondering what went into some people’s minds as they trawled the web, searching for things American Idol.
I know that visitors to the Pond googled such literary phrases as “David Archuleta’s Dad talks about him being gay”, “what kind of cellphone does David Archuleta have?”, “how much money David Archuleta” and the quite inconceivable “David Cook cock.”
This last gem was googled not once, but several times. And I would like to underline that the Pond never broaches such debased topics.
What has happened to these people? What microbes have infected their world?
And what can we possibly expect to see next year?
More of the same, quite probably.
Though I know there are those, those whose sneakers glory in dirt, who would welcome a final between a defrocked nun balladeer and a jihadist country singer.
I would, quite naturally, not be one of them.
The Pond thanks ingorr for this symbol of a David Archuleta fan.