Since you gotta go, oh, you had better go now

You know, I was all set for him to go last week, so I suppose I can't feel too bad. But can I anyway?

I guess I need to elaborate.

First of all, it's no secret that I consider this guy to be badass, and certainly this is comes as something of a surprise in the American Idol context. Not just that, but that I liked him from the beginning, yet he not only did not find a way to annoy me but also somehow managed to develop in awesomeness over the course of the show. He's a DJ, he sounds like Lyrics Born when he talks, he was doing songs for tha headz and yet he kept coming back. Maybe there was a little bit too much "the world as seen by Donny Hathaway" but you take the good where you can get it. And because he managed to stick around on this show as long as he did, you might almost begin to believe Mr. and Ms. America welcomed these concepts into their lives. This is the sort of thing that can make a person encouraged about, like, people an' music an' the world an' shit.

So in spite of all this, LAST week, I thought he was doomed before the show even started, right? Just because the odds, they were stacked, and I am a pessimistic lady. Yet he emerged somehow undaunted by the dual assault of Priscilla "Lady Cryptkeeper" Presley and "Creepy" Tommy Mottola (I for one was having difficulty coping), and he went and absolutely shamed, shamed, shamed everybody else on the show, maybe ever on the show. And I was like, "Aw dang, please don't send him home." And then they didn't and I was like, whew.

And then ... you know. You know. I hate to sit and accept that despite my emotional investment he didn't have a chance to take it all the way, as in ALL THE all the way, but if I can get over the Kings at playoff time (I'm still processing this trauma), clearly I can believe maybe this guy isn't too upset right now and I shouldn't be either.

Besides, that American Idol mess is restrictive. Sure you win, and we all like winning, but in a month people kinda forget that. I will be one of them. Who wants to come back next year and hear Clive Davis* blahblahblah about how you're Making Things Happen In A Major Way (kill me now)? The true test of awesome is in not becoming, say, George Huff II. (Preemptive apologies to my husband.) I think he can handle it. And with that, I feel a certain sense of peace about this outcome. There is a Greater Plan at work here. I can feel it.

But it ... still ... hurts. Ah well.

The truly hot part in all this is he got sent out on a) this gigantor emotional wave crest b) with full honors c) like a conquering hero, d) doing "I Believe (You're Trying to Make a Fool Out of Me)" for crying out loud, when if this happened next week they'd just kinda nudge him off the stage and hide him in confetti.

Do I wish that outcome on anyone?

Yes. Oh hell yes I do.

Prepare yourself, for I had a somewhat terrifying dark-side moment of clarity last week. This is on the level of that fateful day in 1993 when I finally accepted, then admitted, that yes, I did indeed like Stone Temple Pilots. (A frightening yet liberating experience, I might add.)

Ladies and gentlemen, my true feelings ... my true feelings may SHOCK you.

I believe someone in that picture, that GHA-A-A-ASTLY picture, actually deserves to win this thing, as in win-win, as much as for "if you want it that bad, jeez, help yourself" as for "I guess people actually like what you do, so we're stuck with you no matter what" and maybe a little bit of "I guess your mere existence won't actually give me a horrible, debilitating disease as previously thought."

Guess which one it is?

Well, it's not the one who shows up each week dressed like she's queen of the hooker prom.

HOE SIT DOWN. On the floor. Out of my sight.

I mean for God's sake. That's right, I said G-O-D. Look at that outfit. LOOK AT IT. What the HELL is going ON there? Is that a window to her gynecological functions? Is this from the new Jaclyn Smith for Kmart Show Your Lady Business collection? Did she rip the jacket open on a doorlatch and decide to triage that crap shut with a Fruit Roll-Up? That is ... that is the fashion equivalent of blunt force trauma. It is a Cow Tragedy. And she does this every week!

There's no other way to say it: This woman is delusional. Her devolution into a pathological disgrace over the course of this show trumps even Clay Aiken's, and that's really saying something (bop-bop shoo-be-doo-wah).

The joy I get from her agitation at being GASP! HOW DOST THOU DAREST CRITICIZE! is like overshadowed by her shameless, unbridled gloating. Maybe I exaggerate. Is it even possible to enjoy the way she makes "ugh" faces whenever someone dares not only make a critical comment about her, but perhaps sound as though they are preparing to voice a critical comment? Crazy Ass Paula just goes "but ..." and she was already like PFHUH. UNGH. LOOK OF DISGUST. Good gracious, woman, learn some restraint.

Also, this may be taking it a little too far and I'm sorry, I'M SORRY, but does her dad creep you out a little bit? Yes? Not just me? OK.

So yes, I will remember this week's elimination show for many things, not the least of which are the hometown packages showing how the two guys had thousands of people show up for them, parades, entire towns shut down, people crying and freaking out and all that hot stuff just to celebrate their very existence, while this one over here had a BBQ in someone's backyard and then got felt up by some 15-year-olds. Then whined about it.

I'm just saying.

So that leaves ... uh. Yeah.

Captain Ham Panders, I salute you. I have given up. I truly have. That is not to say I surrender, because I don't.

I'm not going to accept someone who makes faces between verses like he's just puked in his mouth and is trying to hold it back. I will not celebrate anyone who so readily embraces the "poop squat" as a valid stage move. And I will not stop gasping in wonder and anticipation when this person goes into his uncalled-for spazz dancing, because it brings to mind the hail of bullets at the end of Bonnie and Clyde and, if only for a moment, I believe I am witnessing his on-air execution. Plus I still think he looks like a demented old lady when he smiles. Shudder.

But if these are the two evils I'm left with, he is the lesser indeed. And he may be entirely harmless. Maybe.

See, going into last week, my greatest fear was suffering through a Capt. Panders interpretation of "In the Ghetto" (fear realized) but instead of being disgusted and mortified, I didn't have the energy to be either. Actually, I just kind of came out of it thinking, well, at least he tried.

He's a smart guy for acting like such an idiot. He does his stupid pandering moron routine for the people who like that, and ohhh they like that. Then he gets all serious, man, because he's like delivering a message through his art and you're like, wow, it's like when Robin Williams grows facial hair and he's suddenly an Actor!

What can I do? I ain't the one to stop him. People like him. People will support him. So, whatever. Fine. At least he's not truly offensive 100 percent of the time.

It's not right, but for the purposes of our experiment, I guess it's OK.

Ugh. I can't believe I said that. I guess the flip side is if he fails miserably, I could potentially find enjoyment in that.

There you have it: endgame. We're stuck with this guy no matter what, so we might as well make it legal.

I feel I've come a long way, America. You should all be proud of my journey.

*C.D. IS THE DEVIL. He flat-out sabotaged Elliott with that No. 1 karaoke-ass song choice. Don't get me wrong, I love that song and everything, but that was still some No. 1 karaoke-ass shit. I read Hit Men, I KNOW what you're about mister.

Posted by Kim at May 18, 2006 02:01 AM | The Sound of Breaking Glass