Ay Ay Ay, AI!

All right, there’s no delicate way to say it, so I’m just going to come out and say it: I watch American Idol. I figure everyone needs a vice, and since I gave up diet soda (it’s true!), I need something to fill the void.
So, having said that, please indulge me while I address the shocking results of this week’s competition. If you watch the show but haven’t yet seen last night’s episode, you may want to blur your eyes at this point and just scroll down the page until you get to pretty photos of this past weekend’s lunches. If you don’t watch the show and don’t give a fuck and/or hoot, I invite you, too, to enjoy the food photos.
I was out last night, indulging in a roll of chewable Spree while others around me enjoyed their own vices, so I didn’t watch the show (mostly fast-forwarded) until this morning. Although I had not yet enjoyed any liquid stimulants (either down my throat or injected into my veins), the results woke me up as if I had.
Last night delivered the biggest “shock” of the season (discounting, of course, the fact that either of the Jo(h)ns ever made it onto the show at all, let alone the Top 12). The three best performers of Tuesday night — “divas” all — received the lowest number of votes. Although I was thrown for quite a loop (and believe me, throwing me for a loop is a difficult task to accomplish), I was thrilled to see the Three Divas squirming and realizing they are not the most amazing people on the planet.
After much breath-holding and hand-holding, it was revealed that this week’s loser was … Jennifer Hudson.
Although I’m not her biggest fan, I must say she has been quite impressive the past few weeks. This past Tuesday, she did a “bang-up” job but was way too over the top for the song she chose. This week was, after all, devoted to Barry Manilow. “Weekend in New England” is a rather wistful song and she played it like the line “And when will I see you again?” was a life or death question demanding an immediate answer. Still, that didn’t warrant her being booted from the show.
I wasn’t thrilled with LaToya London’s performance, which, although perfectly lovely, bordered on scream-y at times. Still, she did an admirable job as always, and also didn’t deserve to be in the bottom three. However, her winking at the camera last night nauseated me, as most winking tends to do.
Fantasia Barrino, a/k/a Macy Grey Jr., although equipped with quite impressive pipes, rankles the fucking hell out of me. When she hugged Jennifer, after the final announcement was made, and said, through big droopy tears, “You’re my American Idol!” I decided she needed to be beaten with an even larger stick than I’d already selected for her. I was still feeling a bit nauseated over the whole Bring Out the Baby stunt from Tuesday night. (If you were getting a snack at the end of the show, you missed seeing Fantasia’s baby being brought onstage. “Oh, as if she needs the Baby Points!” I had screamed. Yes, screamed. But apparently the baby is a jinx. A jinx!) Fantasia should never be allowed to speak. She should just do her thing, whether it’s being all funkytown or not (her rendition of “Summertime” was brilliant the week before), and then clamp her mouth shut. Nothing good ever comes of allowing Fantasia to have words flow from her lips without a melody behind them.
Diana DeGarmo and Jasmine Trias were good, but forgettable. In fact, I can’t even remember what I thought was good about them, other than Jasmine’s long-awaited deflowering. Eh.
John Stevens managed to take a catatonic song like “Mandy” and lull it into a full-blown coma. The best thing I can say about his performance is that he did not snap his fingers to the song’s “beat”. Which is laudable, since neither he nor the song has one.
And last but certainly not least is my usual favorite, George Huff. However, I may have to start rethinking, which is something I don’t like to do, because the burden of thinking about this at all is almost too much. Listen. Ordinarily I find myself involuntarily smiling whenever I look at or listen to George. But the last couple of weeks are leaving me with no choice but to think the recent madness of King George may be his undoing. Indeed, I can’t even remember what song he sang on Tuesday — not because of any madness on my part but because his rendition was so unrecognizable that I didn’t know what it was in the first place.
So there you have it. All in all, a raging disappointment. As for next week, all I can say is that someone had better bring out a much cuter baby.