Welcome, friends! The topic at hand is AI and all things AI related. Or, you know, anything else that crosses my pretty little head. If ye be fans, come on in. If ye don't get the title of the damn blog, then get to steppin'. This is not the place for you.
Kittens, I'm on tenterhooks. We are at the pivotal season, no? Well, scratch that. AI jumped the shark round about "And your new American Idol is . . . Ruben Studdard." in Season 2. Ah, S2. Remember the time? So young and innocent then. Now I'm no Claymate so don't get your knickers in a twist (Hey, Simon!) but really, Ruben over Clay? Even I know that ain't right and I'm black. But I digress. Where was I? Oh, yes. Tenterhooks. Turning point. Blah, blah, blah.
Tomorrow, the world's cutest tiny, closet gay host kicks us off into a season of change where we'll meet Randy, Simon, Paula and Kara WTF? Diowhateverherlastnameis in some No Name/Big Checkbook stadium and watch bad auditions. Or maybe not. Change is afoot. We are promised more good auditions, fewer bad auditions. Simon Fuller is chastened. He's learned his lesson. AI may have gone too far with the mocking of the mentally challenged (or follicularly blessed - though really, aren't they one and the same). So more good auditions. More back story on folks who might actually make the show. More Joy. To which I say, fuck that shit! Nobody watches early round auditions to see good people. We will see good people for about 100 million weeks during the season. We watch early round auditions to see batshit crazy fools like the Bush Baby. We want black girls snapping necks and popping gum and oozing delusion (Maybe that could be this year's coronation song, "Oozin' Delusion". Somebody get on writing that.) and screaming and cussin' and putting up a fuss. We want sheltered white girls with hair down to the floor, flaming gays who paint faeries and have super long fingernails and shrines to AI in their living rooms. We want Paula stalkers, dammit. And then we want to sit and feel superior about how scandalous it all is. We will "Tsk, tsk" with the best of them and bemoan the dumbing down of American culture. And then we will laugh our assess off at 16 year old crack babies. So strike one, already on the Season 8 newness and we're not even out of the gate.
Now, let's get back to Kara Diowhosywhatsit, shall we? Kittens, I don't know her from a hole in the wall and already I don't like her. Nobody puts Paula in the corner. Is she going to be meaner than Simon? More useless than Randy? Crazier than Paula? As if that's even possible!! So, then, tell me what the point is again? I'm sorry, I know AI was worried after last year where they merely destroyed their competition rather than utterly pulverized it, leaving smoking husks of TV shows in its wake, but this has got to be the lamest Cousin Oliver move in decades. AI friends and fans, I vow right now to burn the flame of Kara hatred hot and bright until we rid ourselves of this blight on our show. I don't care how charming, how witty, how sweet she comes off. She could be the next coming of Berry Gordy, she'll get no quarter from me. Unless she gets Randy to actually say something worthwhile this season. Then maybe, maybe she can rise from the seventh to the fifth circle of hell from whence she came. But enough mercy, back to the hating! Hating -2, Season 8 "innovations" - 0.
What am I looking forward to? Well, bringing back things that worked perfectly in the old days. Yes, kiddies, let's bask in the nostalgia. The economy is going over a cliff faster than lemmings on speed, clinging to memories of the good times may be all we have left. So by all means, more Hollywood Week. Drama Queens in a pressure cooker environment with easy access to alcohol and random sex? Yes, please! Bring back the Wild Card Round. Do I have to say Clay Aiken again? It burns. But wild card round rocks like a rocking thing.
Things your loyal blogger is on the fence about? More "behind the scenes" on contestants. Only because, my darlings, I suspect that the tidbits that I'm interested in are not the tidbits that we'll be given by the show. For example, I would've loved to see the dungeon where StageDaddy kept D'Archie locked up between shows last season. Poor, poor Archuleta. Between StageDaddy and the undead husk of Clive Owen, he'll never get free now. Or, another object lesson - What was the actual conversation when the stylist finally confronted David Cook about the fivehead and hideous comb over really like? How about the prank the band pulled on the Colonel to get her to sing "Eight Days a Week" like a crazed lost member of the Chipmunkettes? "Naw, naw, Kristy Lee. You sound good girl. (maniacal laughter) You sound real good." And that's just from last season. Sadly, I don't expect that's what we'll get. We'll wind up with more bullshit puff pieces and more sob stories about single mothers (Sorry, 'Tasia. You know I love you, girl). At any rate, I don't hold out much hope for this novelty act. What say you, friends and fans?
Ah, well, in the end I guess it really doesn't matter. I'm this show's bitch and I know it. I will watch it when it's in it's 200th season and it only comes on in syndication on some third rate local Channel 27 and they have to bring Sinbad back to host along with Mya, a broke ass Jermaine Dupri, fresh off getting fired from heading his fifth urban label, and still Kara Dionobodycares. And I plan to dig into this season and spare no one. Except Simon because he's always right. Just accept that and your life and this season will be much happier, mkay?
Hang on to your mittens, kittens. First show tomorrow!
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