It Was A Shocker

I haven't been commenting on American Idol too much this season. I have been watching religiously and talking about it on my WGN show, but at some point there isn't much more to say. The entire country was caught up in Sanjaya mania, Simon's tight shirts and Paula's tenuous grip on reality. It seemed like a forgone conclusion who was going to win, so why bother discussing Antonella's racy pics, Phil's stupid hats or Ryan Seacrest's obvious longing for Simon's man teats. No, I figured that I'd wait until it was over to put my unique spin on America's biggest talent show, but I can't hold my tongue any more.

Last night AI made the last cut before the finale. The three remaining contestants were the fantastic Melinda Doolittle, the perky and talented Jordin Sparks and the annoying beat boxer Blake "I don't care enough about him to learn his last name." As you can probably tell, my choices for who I wanted to see in the finale are pretty clear. I'm not in charge however. America is. As we know, when left to it's own devices, America will go with style over substance every time. I was not proven wrong last night.

According to "Mr. Stubble" Seacrest, (dude, even Don Johnson gave up that look in '87) over 60 million people voted. That seems like a lot, but judging from the results, most of the 60 million were from preteen girls with unlimited texting on their mommy and daddy's cell phone plan. How else can you explain the fact that Melinda was sent home?

Melinda was excellent. She was a former back up singer who was ready for her close up. This woman could sing, but that really means nothing to the general public. What she excelled at in singing, she more than lacked in pizazz. She also made the biggest error of all in television, she was the ripe old age of 26. That's ancient to the Hello Kitty crowd who thinks that anyone over 20 should be hooked up to an oxygen tank and wearing a diaper. So in all it's wisdom, America has promoted Blake to the finals. I can't stand this guy. I think if I ran into him on the street I would head butt him. From his breathy, fake British accent to the fact that he can take just about any song and make it sound like a UB40 B-side, to his recycled Michael Jackson dance moves, this guy bugs me. Maybe to the "Club Penguin" set he's dreamy, but to me he's a smug little punk.

Wow, I didn't realize the depth of my animosity. Why do I care anyway? There's a good chance that all the votes mean nothing, that the producers just want America to think they have a say. I should know better. Being able to sing really means nothing in a sinGing (yeah, you need to enunciate the "G" harder just like Simon) contest. No, America wants flashy, even if the flash only lasts a second. What I'm really mad about is I wasted my 37 votes on Melinda. Later...Brian