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Tuesday

This year’s auditions kick off in Washington, DC, which means lots of crazy people and lots of boring people, lots of the utterly talented, and lots of the utterly crazy and untalented, and nothing in the middle. This makes things easier for Mark McGrath, our guest judge tonight, who…yeah, he’s just exactly like I always thought he was.

The Good: Sean, a boringly charming youth pastor of 27, who’s very smiley and very willing, as everyone seems to be tonight, to sing “Isn’t She Lovely,” is let through on the well-meaning white guy front. Anwar, a music teacher of 25 from Newark (Holla!), is well-dressed and sings purely and without a lot of bullshit, which is very refreshing for the judges. Regina, 28, is going to Hollywood, which thankfully prevents her death. Marlea, a 21 year old proud single mother, who is proudly from Syracuse NY, proudly sings a Bonnie Raitt song nobody has ever heard, and the judges proudly let her through to Hollywood, which is celebrated by her 3,000 proud gay friends in the proud foyer.

Some boring girl with giant eyeballs gets through because she has British parents or something, and her name is Sarah. A crazy girl in a pink fedora screams at traffic and runs off down the street freaking out after being invited to Hollywood. The unholy baby of Scott Stapp and Michael Hutchence perpetrates some fake shit about leaving his band high and dry to be on American Idol and his name is Constantine and I think they want him to win. I do not. This utterly hot breakdancer named Travis overcomes everyone with his hotness, and sings “Isn’t She Lovely” but gets through anyway. John of Hackensack gets into the competition and I like him but I worry it’s only by virtue of the fact that his family is hella connected and will break your legs if you displease them. Ian Holmes II does a creepy note-perfect rendition of the Mariah Carey cover of “I’ll Be There” but gets through anyway, because it was nice enough until he got all scary and falsetto.

The Bad: A big girl in desperate need of, um, “support” boobs herself through “YMCA” and the judges reject her once they shake the hypnotic spell of her breasts, each of which is larger than your head. A very wonderful and nice boy forgets the words to Josh Groban’s “You Lift Me Up,” like that’s a bad thing, but in such a brutally embarrassing and unending way that even the judges almost start crying. Derek Braxton is the very picture of a hissing, spitting gay stereotype and nearly loses it completely, and nobody questions his claim to being Toni Braxton’s cousin, because it would just be too sad to catch him out. Another fella, in fake blue contacts and many, many shades of purple, sings a song from Annie and holds the last note about ten minutes too long and generally makes everyone ashamed for watching. Good Will Bojangles, a janitor who dances a bomb, can’t really sing all that well. The most boring girl in the entire universe slaps her own ass while wearing a shawl (sexy!) to the “tune” of Madonna’s classic, “Hanky Panky.” Franchon Crews, an adorable middle-weight boxer from Virginia Beach, is rejected for being too untrained, although the judges think she’s got a great voice and hope to see her year.

The Ugly: Two boring DC intern types first bore you and then freak you out in different ways, one by telling the judges God has sent here there and then crawling around on her hands and knees and then bursting into tears, and the other by taking her rejection pretty well, then whirling around and delivering a bizarre diatribe about how one day she is going to make a CD while hurling obscenities at the judges. Why do the crazies always go for Simon? He’s totally the coolest one. This girl whose job is catching mosquitoes and testing them for West Nile virus sings like something way worse than West Nile virus is inside her, like maybe I know where Tsathoggua went.

The Unethical: A big scary functionally-retarded girl gives us fashion advice even though she is covered in scratches and bruises and cuts and cigarette burns and ugly jewelry. One crackhead from DC sings “Papa Was A Rolling Stone” in a variety of horrifying voices, and the judges can’t even laugh because it’s so low to even deal with him on the TV, and Paula does her usual “I like your shoes, though” thing with trying to say something nice, but all she can come up with is, “I’m glad you’re sober now.” Ouch.

Then there's Mary Guilbeaux née Roach. I don’t even want to talk about it right now.

Wednesday night: More of the same! But only half as much!

Wednesday

Tonight we visit St. Louis. And what do you know? Crazy and self-deluded people abound. In years past, the auditions sucked me in each year when I’d promised myself I would not watch American Idol, because they were funny and a little mean. But this year, not so much with the “not mean.”

The Good: Daniel (26, Washington MO), is average-to-good-looking and completely forgettable. I’m pretty sure he gets through because you see him yelling later. Osbourne (22, St. Louis) is apparently the son of a famous baseball player and gets through. A’ayesha (16, St. Louis), whose relationship to her gender is best characterized as “estranged,” gets put through due to Paula being weirdly obsessed with her. Carrie (21, Checotah OK) is boring and adorable and lives on a farm and likes Martina McBride, with whose oeuvre I am not familiar, and is going to be in the final 4, I think. Other Hollywood-bound auditioners include: an unnamed but very tan skinny guy, a cute girl with a “Rachel” and a black scoop-neck sweater, some highlighted metro dude, yet another pretty girl in a fedora, and some guy that looks like a janitor. There’s a total of 32 through from St. Louis, but we don’t see a whole lot of them, because these auditions are about the pain, not about the successes, really.

The Bad: Some horrible blonde triplets who kind of destroy their team from the inside. Johnny (18, St. Louis), who sings through his nose and is creepy. This small-town tanorexic local theatre type named Joseph (25, Oakville MO) who ironically sings “My Girl” and brought his own fan club. Katrina (25, St. Louis) admits that she has eaten human flesh and that “we taste like bacon.”

The Ugly: Maurice (25, Evanston IL) does nothing of note except have a petit mal seizure. That weird overly-tanned pink polka-dot halter-top girl from the commercials sings “Somewhere Over The Rainbow.” Justin (18, St. Louis) sings “Proud Mary” and is so gay that all of St. Louis becomes gay suddenly. And fabulously! And this whole other Maurice (28, St. Louis), is like the weirdest 40-year-old IRS worker you’ve ever seen. So we learn that in St. Louis a lot of the people, um, have ears that stick out. There’s not a whole lot of “bad” or “crazy,” per se, the watchword for St. Louis is actually just more like “loser.” There’s not a hell of a lot else to say about it. Oh, wait. There’s a mime. Did you know “le mime” is actually Francais for “the loser?”

The Unethical: This Mary Kay LeTourneau lady and her teenage lover-slash-music student show up and he’s all about them going to Hollywood together and it’s weird and gross and creepy. But then she gets in and he doesn’t, which is like the worst possible outcome for both of them, because nobody gets what they want.

And then, in tonight’s Mary Roach Guilbeaux spot, there are Adam and Dirk (21 and 24, both from IL). Oh, Adam. Well, Dirk first, briefly: He idolizes David Hasselhoff and chooses a song from the Baywatch soundtrack, of which thing I did not know until tonight. I love Dirk, but I don’t, like, love love him.

But Adam Pratt? I truly, madly, deeply love. I love him like a crazy person in the desert who desperately needs water and hallucinates a Deja Blue vending machine. I love him like Taco Bell, like Chik-Fil-A on a Sunday. I love him like that weird Spelling Bee girl that coughed a lot. I love him like Buffy. That’s all, it’s that simple, and I don’t want to talk about it further. I don’t want to sully it. He’s a boy, and he’s my friend, and that’s enough for me.

week: New Orleans, Louisiana. There’s going to be a goth guy with some scary Satan facial hair, and this guy who’s a tool, and…you know? It’s American Idol auditions. Do I really have to? Some fat people, some retards, some Cajuns, a crackhead or two, and some people too talented to show us just yet because schadenfreud = ratings.

Tuesday

We open on Leandra Jackson, a large twenty-year-old woman from Ohio, who is singing "The Star Spangled Banner" in a weird shaky, screamy voice that keeps changing key when she bounces off the walls of her admittedly limited range, like a remote-controlled bumper car or Roomba. She seems nice, and they always get points from me for being game, which she very much is, if only because she's sadly wrong about how well she's singing and, in fact, how well-advised her current choices in life really are. Fittingly, she ends by shrieking the word "brave" in a register just light years away from where we all started at the beginning of the "song." It's like whoa, there's just so much of her, and so much of her singing…cut to Simon, who looks at her for a second, and then shuts his eyes hilariously, like he's thinking of calling it quits for good. Like Leandra has done what we all want to do, and broken him for good. And…scene.

It's nice because there's no sound other than her tortured screams -- kind of subtle and funny. Actually, kind of brilliant. Then the credits, which…not so much with the subtle, although I gather they are new. The digital AI person this year is not so androgynous and creepy -- when it's a girl it's a girl, and when it's a boy it's a boy and so forth -- although when it finally swooshes its way through its weird Tron-Game Grid-world, it's a dude. With not-at-all Guarini hair. The more fringe elements of the American Idol conspiracy contingent ("The truth is trivial!") take this to mean, and I believe they might be right, that the winner of AI, by hook or by crook, is going to be a dude, only with, you know, a sack. We shall see. Although if it is Constantine, I will take my own life. He/she/actually he is backed up by weird neon green peacock feathers. Huh?

So it's August 18, 2004, in Washington, DC, where we lay our scene. We talk about Fantasia and some other girl who looks like somebody's short mom -- I think Diana Degarmo? Don't hate me, I'm totally your friend! -- waiting, waiting, waiting for the results from AI 2004 and it's Fantasia and she wins and then practically cries her nose ring out of her face and then Seacrest wigs in voice-over talking about how everyone ever in the history of American Idol has been mind-blowingly successful, including Kelly, Clay, Josh, Tamyra, Kimberly, Ruben, lots of album covers, Diana (yeah, so that was her), and altogether they've had 23 #1 hits (does that include "Baby Mama"? Because that's the awesomest song of all time!) and how this year is going to be bigger, better, louder, crazier, and generally more magical than everything ever. Hmm. Seems like it's in the interest of AI to think that. I'll reserve judgment.

Ryan explains that, this year, the age limit is 28 (note how he doesn't tell us about the 53 other fucked-up changes to the format that we'll hear about in a few weeks), meaning that the contestants will be, oh, lots "more sophisticated" (cut to an unsophisticated girl in a cow costume, clutching her udders troublingly and saying "Hold Onto To My Love" as she shakes her udders all over the place, and some sad unsophisticated girl in a giant red apple costume tripping over herself, and a totally weird unsophisticated girl in an '80s aerobics one-piece with a giant cardboard face over her real face, screaming, and the judges laughing) "and talented" (some funny, funny retards that aren't worth discussing). There's also an extended montage meant to explain to us that Paula will be yelling Shut Up a lot this year. I think me too.

Seacrest tells us that over 100,000 auditioners were seen this year, in seven cities: St. Louis, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Orlando, Cleveland, San Francisco, and Washington, DC, which makes the "odds" 100,000:1. (Is this on the test?) Also, there will be guest judges in each city (rather than during the finals), and starting us out is Mark McGrath. Also, we see shots of other guest judges: L.L. Cool J (who's as hot as usual -- what is his secret? Does he use Pearl Cream? The hell?), Gene Simmons (opposite of Pearl Cream), Brandi Moesha (in the clip she's saying she "looks for melody when people sing," which is wise, I think), and Kenny Loggins, who sings so dogs can hear.

Then there's crazy amounts of trite DC footage. Then we introduce Mark McGrath, and there's talk of how hot he is, he's so hot, it's so crazy how hot he is, et cetera. And yeah, he's better looking than he has ever been, right here, but God, it's Mark McGrath. Let's steel ourselves to ignore it or we'll never get anywhere. Mary Roach, who we'll talk about in a bit, gives him 9 out of 10, which is a good score, because she's very precise, because she has Asperger's Syndrome, and that's somehow funny. Then performances.

The first guy doesn't really count, it's this dude singing "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" in a creepy falsetto. The usual. Then there's cute little Sean McNeill, 27, of Plymouth Mass., who's currently stationed in Abilene TX as a youth pastor. Nice necklace, dude. He has a baby on the way and smiles a lot, you know the kind of person I'm talking about. Cute and well-meaning and big and very red-state and with a goatee and whatnot. The clear skin and wide smile of someone with evangelical feelings about God. Randy likes his voice and me too, he has a nice guy voice -- he's likeable, basically, so he goes to Hollywood.

Then there's filler girl, with the scary psycho Baby Jane lipstick happening. Her name is Rebecca Nassar (25, Sacramento -- which means she's basically nice and has a well-tended lawn), who sings in a tone-deaf manner that perennial Whitney Houston song about how Children Are Our Future. Then there's a girl who needs Otto Titsling like whoa who sings "YMCA" with crazy tits all over the place. Her name is Davon Wright and she's 16 (well, 48 FF) and is from DC proper -- I like her, but not exactly for the same reason Randy does, I think, because he's watching the boobs like he's on a bunch of drugs and her shirt is full of an amazing light show set to "Wish You Were Here," but so she sings "sit down and rejoice" and I don't know that that's necessarily part of the song as usually performed, but like the judges, I am not paying attention, because her breasts knocked down some stuff in my living room. And in Randy's brain.

Then there's this terribly nice 20-year-old boy with an eyebrow ring, Jessie Grazella, of Philadelphia -- who tries to convince Simon that all the contestants are supporting each other and loving each other and generally acting like they live in Amsterdam -- and then he says he's going to be singing that damned Josh Groban song my mom likes, and Simon is my mom but less hot and he also loves "You Raised Me Up" and Jessie forgets the words immediately. And again, like that's a bad thing, but for Jessie, it is. I mean, this is not a difficult song: "You raise me up so I stand on a mountain / So I can bathe with you in the sea" or whatever. It's not got a lot of words that will blow your mind with counterintuition. But in any case, it's not so much snarkable, as he's got a lot of grace and he's totally neat-o, in my opinion -- and the judges want to like him so much but there's only so much they can do…they really want him to remember the words and it's so not happening but they're so supportive and trying to help. So finally Simon sends him out to ask his buddies the words to the song (the better to prove his earlier point that they are all back-biting bitches with ambition running clear and spooky in their veins, not unlike Simon himself). And his friends outside write down the words for him, and he comes back and the judges are like, so into it. Then he starts to sing and…he's crappy. It all goes to shit. Oh dear. I really like him, that's too bad. The judges are like, I cannot believe we wasted this much time on your wonderful ass. So he starts crying and they stare at him and this goes on for one million years. Everyone's mind is blown, especially my boy Jessie. Finally, realizing it is all happening, he cries and wanders out and Paula's like, "Jessie..." but he keeps going because it's all so horrible. He cries and interviews that he completely lost it and can't even remember the name of the song. It's brutal. I want to hug Jessie Grazella of Philadelphia so hard.

Then there's the series of a bunch of people forgetting the words of their duh songs. This one cute girl goes all elbows and knees when she can't remember the chorus to "Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia -- a song I've always wanted to cover with my post-electroclash band, along with "What A Fool Believes" by the Doobie Brothers -- and Seacrest notes that not everything is horrible and that there are people with talent. Um, THEN WHY HAVEN'T YOU SHOWN THEM? Oh right, you never, ever will.

Then we are treated to the amazing outfit of nice-voiced Anwar Robinson (25, Newark). He's got dreads and a crocheted hat and awesome circus-striped cigarette pants that are nine miles long just like his legs, and his shirt cuffs open. He looks amazing. He sings openly, without a lot of glory notes and shit. He has a nice, pure voice. It's awesome, and I love him. He works with kids, okay, and teaches them music. Randy says he can "blow," so I guess that's a good thing (ask Derek Braxton! It's not always enough!). The judges rightly note how much they like how he kept it simple instead of trying to impress them with runs and all that. If there's one thing I would like to project onto the moon, it is this: we can tell if your voice is shit, even if you sing like Xtina. You're not fooling anybody, Miss Melisma. So then cute little, fratty little Mark McGrath says something dumb, and calls him "bro." What's weird and fun about Mark McGrath is how very cool and knowledgeable about music and the technical side of things Mark McGrath turns out to be -- although not at this second. Everyone loves Anwar and thinks he is "pure." So he's going to Hollywood.

Now for Melissa Constadine (Toms River, NJ, 20). Oh, starting in early with the retard bullshit. So she talks like an "angel" from 7th Heaven, plus kind of like Darla from Our Gang ("What's that?" You're so cute.) and she says this, verbatim (pretend it's 50 Cent saying this for the proper effect): "This is me...I look like this every day, I love to always stand out, um, it may appear that I look like I have a lot of money but you do not have to have a lot of money to look nice. You don't! And I think that's what separates me from a lot of the other younger ladies out there: because I'm still very classy, and I also know how to carry myself very well." Hey, if you describe yourself as "classy," what can I say? You automatically are not.

Cut to Simon telling her she looks like she's been dragged through a bush. And she does, she's covered in scratches and bruises and cuts and cigarette burns like she shared a sleeping bag last night with Courtney Love and a diseased tom cat (redundant). She's wearing a shapeless black dress with a halter top whose left strap is a piece of metal, a la first season Kirsten Cohen. The skirt part has ruffles vertical down all around the skirt. Also, chandelier earrings that are about six inches long, a few long hanging necklaces, and some bouffant unfortunate-prom-date bangs. She looks like she slept on the floor in this outfit, yes, but to be fair, probably she did. She tells a random story I don't understand about how she was attacked or something stupid, in the Lane Bryant fitting room, and that's why she looks like Margot Kidder after an all-nighter. She sings "How Do I Live" but there's, like, no real relation to the melody that you and I know about, having heard the song, and also she forgets the words. They let her sing "America The Beautiful" just to be mean.

Fine, Mark McGrath is pretty cute. Fuck it. Especially with that blue background of Idols past, it makes his eyes pop, but see, he's still not as hot as they want me to say he is. He's the soda pop Shack won't let me say by name of this episode. So fucked-up Melissa immediately realizes what she has perpetrated, noting, "That did sound very horrible," and referring to herself as "horrific." Nobody can disagree. So then she adds bullshit to bullcrap by criticizing the songs they're allowed to sing. Like she'd do better with like "Maps" or something. Randy tells her it wouldn't matter, and she disagrees, and Simon tells her that she has an "absolutely horrible singing voice," and she disagrees, and then as a group they're just like, yes, yes you do. They can't even get it together enough to get into it with her, so destroyed are their music-loving souls by what she has done. Paula mixes up some quick lemonade, pointing out that she has a wonderful personality, and, like, I guess so. I mean, she's actually retarded, so I'm sure people are pretty nice to her, typically, and that means she's nice. So then Simon asks if she's disagreeing with him, and then she starts singing that one Lisa Loeb song that the people in my shower always want me to sing. The judges immediately start laughing and she realizes she's bugging them, so she leaves and starts crying. She's interesting, this Melissa, because she's simultaneously self-aware and completely deluded.

I call it "the Dungeons and Dragons Rule." It's kind of like being a "little bit" pregnant. Basically, make fun, make jokes, try to out-Seth-Cohen yourself with the self-deprecating irony, but if you play Dungeons and Dragons, you are that guy, whether you feel like you are that guy or not. Not that there's anything wrong with that…? Generally those guys are awesome, and frankly, those Magic: The Gathering guys are pretty smart, and for some reason good kissers? It's just that you can't have it both ways. Either you're a loser who can't sing, or you are a non-loser who can sing, but making jokes about other losers who can't sing doesn't make you a non-loser, it just makes you Axl Rose. Or maybe Mike Piazza. You know?

And anyway so of course her gigantic trashy mom is there and follows her out, as she delivers the most somehow-ironically-not-exactly-what-you-are speech to date: "I'm crying because you know what? Not one of them, not one of them [three times total she says this] said I could sing. I CAN SING. I wouldn't have made it this far, I wouldn't come here. I'm not like [this is the part where the D&D Rule comes back in, see?] the stupid idiots who come here and want to sing…" And here I must point out that the camera swings away from Melissa altogether to a blonde girl nearby who is holding her head in embarrassment and maybe just a little bit of the Church Giggles… "I'm one of the good people that they cut. They have to cut some good people I guess."

Then there's a pretty girl named Regina, who says with liberal tears rolling down her cheeks, "If I'm not able to express myself through music, I will probably die." Which is awesome, because if anybody else said that, I would say, "GOOD!" But it turns out she kind of rules. Well, she's likeable. Her choices do not really rule. We'll see her a bit later.

But first Seacrest is nattering on and on about pressure. We meet Derek Braxton, who is just bursting with hubris and bullshit and gayness, telling us that "singing is [his] life." Seacrest asks him if he has famous relatives, and we cut to a Toni Braxton video for some song I don't know. Seacrest now chooses his words very carefully, saying, "Derek says he's the cousin of Toni 'Unbreak My Heart' Braxton," thereby inoculating AI against the power of Toni "Unlodge My Lawsuit" Braxton getting all litigious and shit. So then Derek starts singing and Oh God. It's so…weird. It's like he is not a speaker of English and learned it phonetically like Ace of Base, or like he's making up the song his own personal self, but it's in the confessional/interview, and not in front of the judges, which means this is going to be priceless. So he enters and the judges talk to him so that we can see he's not just deluded and possibly lying through his teeth about his family, but also dangerously out of touch, and Mark notes that Derek loves to be by himself. Derek admits he doesn't like people that much, which is awesome, because he's wicked off-putting and I imagine that's his only option. My notes say he's 129, but I'm guessing I meant 29, and from Baltimore. For the judges he sings "How Could An Angel Break My Heart," a song with which I am not familiar. And after hearing this…still not so much.

The singing is even weirder, and then there's this intense part that's a little crazy and then he stares at the judges and they can't handle life at all because he's so discomfiting, and then someone says, "Derek?" and he snaps out of it and says, "Okay great," and stares at them and asks if they want another song and they all just stare into space and Simon says it's the weirdest voice he's ever heard in his life. Which, yeah. Basically a three-way split tonight between this guy, the West Nile chick, and Mary Roach, as far as what makes my skin crawl. So Mark, who I'm really starting to enjoy because he's smart and cool (surprise!), thinks it sounded like a different language altogether from what you and I speak, and Randy asks him to get his hearing checked. It's weird because he says it in a nice and medically-necessary way. Then Randy says the sad truth of how nothing about singing "do you have going on. You can't do any of it." So then Derek wanders out and gives his confessional, and it's exactly what you think.

"I'm a survivor and nothing affects me I'm still confident and I'm still sexy" and that weird gay secretary k-thx thing happening throughout: "Okaygreat…" and then some bitching: "Oh Miss Paula I'm going to be doing it, I'm going to be singing English, and I'm going to be singing Spanish -- I'm bilingual, yes -- well, and well, I don't know what race you are... [Oh, cool, because that means I get to be about twice as mean as I was going to, because you're actually pretty much a douche.] Um, and Simon I'm going to be doing it and I'm going to be doing it and [three times total he says this] because I'll be representing you [note: I have no idea what he means by this, unless it's some reference to that little-known guild, the Bitchy Queens of the Northern Hemisphere, of whom I am so not a member]. Randy, you don't even matter. I mean, what have you done? You haven't even been in the industry, what have you, produced a couple of songs with Toni Braxton and Mariah Carey [aww, bitter that your Toni Braxton lies/shameful truths didn't carry any weight]? Wow, um and Sugar Ray, whatever your name is, one-hit wonder? Have you ever sung a note? Do you know what that is? I don't think that you do, but guess what? My album is going to be multi-platinum. Not just one [uh, platinum?] like you, but many of them [um, platinums?]. And Paula? Not just three [you loser, with your three platinum albums], but actually eight! [Precisely?] So anyway, that's going to be my future, and you just wish you could be as fabulous as me." Derek Braxton: He has a nice smile. Lovely smile. I think with no mustache he'd make a pretty lady. Kind of the black version of David Spade's "admin asst" character. Woe betide the breaker of a flaming homo's dreams. Braxton out.

And now to carry us through the horror of where we're at right now, there's a medley of bad singing of patriotism. A guy in a t-shirt with no sides and he's wearing pajama pants and plaid boxers over them, singing badly and forgetting all the words and just humming with a hopeful look on his face. Then a super-weird girl who looks like a victim of her trailer-park uncle wearing latex pants and a blue tank top who hasn't really conditioned her hair ever, swaying creepily with her hips like she wants to fuck Francis Scott Key even though he's dead and singing breathily and gross and forgetting the words and her number paper falls right off her troublesomeness. This wacky guy who moves his arms robotically at the elbows, palms up like he's cursing in Italian about abbondanza, instead of forgetting the words to the national anthem, which is actually what he's doing. Then this creepy undead kid with a really nice voice, actually, that unfortunately cracks and it's too bad. Then Boxer Shorts comes back and I don't know what he's doing, exactly.

Then this chick from Muriel's Wedding in a neon orange jersey sack with a giant floppy hat with orange fabric all over it and a couple of bananas hanging down, and her right shoulder strap is a somehow a belt from Wet Seal in the same orange color -- I'm not describing it tragically enough. Her hat is fruited like the plains. Then an opera girl who trills the /r/ in fruited like that one episode of A Different World where Gilesa wanted to sing backup for Aretha Franklin or somebody and they drafted this girl to try out with them and she kept pronouncing things and forgetting she was black and it was driving everybody nuts. Then lots of unfortunate young ladies singing the word "fruited," which honestly is kind of genius in itself. Then back to Derek Braxton, now one of the fruited young ladies (perhaps their leader?). Then he laughs psychotically and not unlike a spitting camel. Then this melisma girl and then a big guy with a cracking voice who knows he screwed up. Then more explosive scary laughing and talking of Derek. So tired of him so tired of him so tired of him. Three times total I have said this.

Then Clea Duvall with some kind of lesbian appeal and then the same tragic girls from before. Again with the fruit hat girl. STOP PLEASE. And this kind of creepy but kind of pretty Natalie Merchant type with the long curly hair and a faraway look in her crossed eyes. And then the main tragic girl, who's not ugly or anything, although a little foundation would even out that skin tone, sweetie, who's wearing a Cherokee brand t-shirt and a gold cross on a too-short chain, and what she does is sing intensely and then repeat the "sea to shining sea" part in another register, and then piercingly screech "AMERICA!" at the top of her lungs, and honestly, it's an interesting way to do things, and the note is a LOT more clear than it should be for someone so lacking vocal training, but it's really kind of scary and weird and she does it RIGHT AT YOU. Simon sighs and it's over. No more ruining of America for now.

The deal is that they're so interested in showing us shitty singing and hilariously fat/crazy/deluded/ horrible/trashy/tragic/monstrous people that they're just shooting them at us like with a gun and that makes them not matter, which is good in some ways because you don't get invested enough to get off on watching them embarrassing themselves to the point where you hate yourself, but also, like, that's why we're here.

Bags under his crazy Muppet eyes, Seacrest introduces Regina Brooks, that girl who might just DIE. She is beautiful. She tells us that she didn't have enough money to come to the auditions (traveling from Belpre, OH) so in a twist right out of O. Henry, she chose keeping her karaoke machine over hocking her wedding "rings" (I assume she means "engagement and wedding rings" and not her multiple wedding rings from her multiple weddings) to get the money to audition. She immediately starts crying crazily and I…really like her. I do. So anyway, she got $200 for it/them and is now already again out of money, and she's not sure if she'll be able to get the rings back. And this time, when she says she will probably die, I believe her. She pronounces words in a very weirdly precise, quasi-Baltimore way, like Amy Sedaris on Strangers With Candy, like I would like to hear her talking any old place: automated phone menus, public transport, whatever. "For English, press one."

Her husband is…not someone I would personally have married. He seems to like TV wrestling, and I am betting his pickup truck has a "3" sticker somewhere on it. But his name is Mark, and I like him, and he only-a-little-ambivalently supports her dreams of superstardom, and clearly loves her. Anyhow, she sings "Misty" by Johnny Mathis. I don't know any of his songs, but I love him anyway because -- and your grandmothers' mileage may vary, and I sincerely hope it did, because you lucked out and I salute you and your grandmother -- but those of us whose grandmothers were total white racist jerks, Johnny Mathis taught them that it's okay to think a black man is hot. As far as I know, this is universal, judging on the informal poll I conducted yesterday. All the white grandmas, raise the roof for Johnny Mathis.

She sings the song already, and it's nice, and super-pleasant, and lovely, and I like her a lot even though she might die from not singing. Mark likes her "smoky, billowy" voice. I might agree but I don't know what that means. She reassures him that she wants to be here more than anyone (so much so that she might die, in fact, although she does not say this again). Simon brings in Mark the husband and their beautiful, wiggly four-year-old child. Simon wants to talk to husband Mark about how she's going to be gone if she gets accepted, and husband Mark wishes her the best and thinks she's good enough to go all the way. Randy and Paula like "the story" and Mark McGrath admits that he too is "emotionally involved." Simon says no, and that she's not good enough for this, and it's down to Paula, so of course she says yes. Lovely Regina cries, and her husband hugs her and holds her up while they cry, and the judges congratulate him too. The whole crowd outside goes bonkers. She interviews that she is just happy to have confirmation that she's right about having a good voice. That is awesome. I'm pleased, although I think she won't be final 24.

Seacrest asks the awful, soul-killing question: Which of these contestants is the William Hung? Jesus. What you mean is, how do we raise the bar from retarded Asian dude? Using actual crazy people. But that's not coming up for a while. It's so goddamned funny that we're going to tease you with the actually mentally ill throughout the rest of the episode and that's how we'll keep you watching for the whole two hours. Because we are kind of like Satan in that we hate you and your soul.

Meet Marlea Stroman, 21, an absolutely gorgeous proud single mom, who gained the courage to audition from Fantasia Barrino, who's proudly from Syracuse. She looks and prouds around kind of like Yaya, but is not disgusting. She sings some kind of Bonnie Raitt song about her daughter running away and I like her voice. They cut her off early because it's not funny, it's just awesome, and Randy makes a lot of approving noises that aren't so much talking like you and I do in our daily lives. Mark points out that her high register is strong and "lithenable." I don't know why he says it like this but it's my job to tell you that he does. The judges are unanimous, and even offer helpful notes for the round, Simon saying that voice notwithstanding, her performing could stand to be livened up (true), and Ryan saying that she could do with some more contemporary song choices (also true). Then she goes outside without repeating the word "proud" and is met by the entire gay population of Syracuse, NY, who scream their little asses off like a whole Matrix of Rickie Vasquez.

Some girl with Japanese Cartoon Face named Sarah Mather (22, Wilmington), who has British parents and wears unflattering clothes but is quite cute, sings "Rescue Me." The judges smile and watch her instead of looking away, which tonight is a great sign. She cocks her hips back and forth awkwardly as she sings. She has no idea what to do with her body while her mouth is working its boring magic. Randy says it's really good and that he didn't think she was going to be that good. Mark thinks she looks great, but awkward. She looks like what's-her-face from Smallville, Lana Lang, but even stranger-looking. Not in a bad way, because they are both pretty, just…weird-looking. How else do you say it? Mark kind of flirts with her and he and Simon giggle weirdly and kind of gaily at each other. Paula also notes the weird movements of Sarah. Mark abandons Sarah and just keeps hitting on Simon but not in a funny, asexual way like Seacrest does. In this whole other, hot way. And then they put her through.

More losers for us to laugh at, although they are through to Hollywood. So: winners? I can't tell anymore who they want me to laugh at and make fun of, and who I'm supposed to care about and make a web page for with a lot of OMG and page-counters and, like, Orlando elf-guy all over it: Some girl in a weird black dress with crap all over it and a silly weave. Some girl with chains all over her jeans. Lots of screamers. Pink fedora girl. Some crying girl with no friends who celebrates all by herself. A whole family freaking out. Some dude. Pink Fedora screaming at traffic that she's going to Hollywood. This girl cannot be trusted. With ten weeks of auditions, we don't have time to meet this girl and figure out what her problem is? Cute girl in a sport jacket screaming her ass off. This totally, utterly hot joker freaks out silently, mugging into the camera with a goatee. Some guy does a jig. This bald girl freaks out. Another entire family loses their collective shit. This skinny guy with ears. Hot cheesy guy again, who falls down in a faint. Pink Fedora takes off down the street and cannot be stopped.

Oh dear. Aven Moore (19, gender-estranged, Harrisburg VA). Fake blue contacts (I HATE THAT SO MUCH! You look like an alien! Is that honestly the effect you wish to create?), lots and lots of different colors of purple. Lots of layering. Of purple. He's so freaky. He looks kind of like Gargoyles and is very sexually confusing and cannot sing or…just get it together, Aven. Pull your ass together for five minutes for me. He refuses, and sings "The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow" and it's terrible and because this is mean TV, they let it go and go and go. And he's just so scary! So purple. Paula is troubled and maybe about to laugh (the other judges, who are not high right now, it's not a question that they are laughing). So then this Carol Channing thing happens with his voice and he's trying to find his key…but he can't, so makes up a new one. Songs in the Key of Purple. Randy makes the face of someone who is about to vomit. Then Purple guy gets to how it's "only a day away" and sings "A-WAAAY" longer than anybody ever sang a word and then stops, and then does it again, and maybe two more times he does this, just screams the word "AWAY" and Purple's got some lungs on him and this goes on, technically, forever. It's crazed. It's so fucked up, the judges just stare, but not in the usual showy ridiculous way that they stare when things are weird. He's gigantic and purple and wants to sing another song and they don't let him.

Then Seacrest making some kind of bullshit parallel about voting and I guess it's because we're auditioning in DC? Whatever, there's no reason for this talking, but basically he goes through how the voting has caused "surprises" each year, like Nikki McKibbin for example, and then segues into the usual thing of how you have simply got to vote this year or else horrible, terrible things will happen. Probably to Latoya London. And make sure you vote for the right person, he says, and then shows us a guy who will win if we don't vote or something, and he's a chucker. This part is stupid and I'm so used to being inundated by people having opinions about politics this year that I just assume Ryan Seacrest is accusing me of voting for George Bush or something, or not voting for him, it doesn't really matter, because why the fuck does Ryan Seacrest get to express a political opinion on TV, much less American Idol? But maybe that's just me assuming that that is what's going on. I'm still in a bad mood because of Derek Braxton.

Then there's such a huge lie of "band video" footage of this band that is clearly shot by the selfsame cameras that will bring us hours and hours of American Idol each week. And this band is a little screamy. So this kid Constantine Maroulis (25, NYC) interviews basically that thanks to the new age limit, he's old and very, very special. His hair in the "band video" is being blown by a fan. Speaking of, he tells us that he brings an edgy NYC rock and roll thing, and all this is intercut with him screaming with his band, and they're trying to make some kind of point about how very non-American Idol all of this is, but that would only be funny if his band were hardcore instead of just this side of Better Than Ezra, plus screaming. So then he sings his American Idol audition and you know, it's not that great, generic boy-band stuff basically, and his face is weird when he's singing. I don't care for him but I do think that it's awesome and funny that he's secretly the AI type, while having this Clark Kent life of a screamy band. He was in Rent, is what I heard. He's a little obnoxious in my opinion and is not good-looking enough to keep saying the stupid shit that he is saying. Simon says he doesn't want to live door to him and he just wanted him to stop singing. Mark McGrath and Paula just want to fuck him. He is what this competition needs, says Paula, because it's one of five phrases she knows. Simon says no. The others say yes. I'm grossed out. Everybody outside cheers. He hopes "the boys" in his band will understand. His hair is stupid. Please do not email me about how I am a hater. Thank you.

Then we meet two girls who are boring, it seems. One says boring things like "I normally wear…preppy stuff," and the blonde one says she's "32 flavors and then some." Bleh. They are both sororitastic. "Preppy" girl sings poorly as we learn that her name is Amanda Hubert (17, DC), and she's so boring. I don't know what else to say. She's wearing a long argyle scarf and singing crappily. I mean, I am positive she's nice and I would love to go out for drinks with her, or to see a Kate Hudson movie, or take pictures of ourselves with our camera phones having a laugh over mojitos. So meanwhile, blonde girl keeps babbling about how CRAZY she is, and you know? Maybe she is crazy. Jillian Bennett (18, Eliot ME), might be crazy. So she sings her ass off and dances all around and she's very Broadway, but more in a via-Christopher-Guest way. Back to Amanda, who says some more boring things, and that God wants her to sing. Mark McGrath responds that she is hot. This is weird because A) it comes out of nowhere and B) she actually is not. Randy jumps on the crazy train and he and Mark McGrath talk for awhile about God and her hotness and Mark says that God wants her to be hot, and Randy says that God made her hot. She jumps into this pile of random and tries to get them back on track while simultaneously being crazier than both of them by explaining that God sent her here to "do this." Simon explains that, in fact, God doesn't want her to win this competition. She annoyingly pretends to talk to God and relays the message that He disagrees. And I'm officially over this part because this is just people being too dumb and pointless to deal with.

So back to Paula telling Jillian, the blonde one, that she is showy and silly, and Jillian takes her hair tie out and grins and walks out. And that's fine, except then she whirls around on them and starts laughing hysterically and babbling about how she's going to make a CD and she curses at them and then almost walks into a pillar and yells that she doesn't want the cameras around and then she almost walks into a wall. Then Amanda is on her knees catting around and they are like what? and then she starts crying and then she says in interview that Simon is an asshole and has no consideration for anyone else but himself. I hate that. It makes no sense in this context, it's just this all-purpose character criticism, if you're five years old, emotionally, that really just means they did something you don't like. Hate her. Then there are some losers I don't care to talk about, some of whom we've seen before, but really, it's nothing we haven't seen before, if you know what I mean.

Now Brian Scott Bagley, who is a "hip-hop dance instructor, ballet student, and a janitor." He's great. There are a lot of shots of Brian dancing around with a mop. For real. Including in a bathroom. Which he is cleaning. What makes this less than abhorrent is the fact that it is some really great dancing that he is doing. So he walks in wearing a newsboy cap and suspenders and his pants up to his nipples and a kerchief around his neck, tucked into his shirt, and a gap in his tooth. Like an extra in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, basically. Then he says that Paula inspired him to be a dancer. Awesome. I like that when they do that, because your first impulse is to think that they are ass-kissing, but like…okay, yeah, she's this awesome choreographer and dancer and I personally know the words to every song on Spellbound, in particular "Vibeology" which is like my personal rallying cry, but honestly? It's Paula Abdul. It's embarrassing to say that you are inspired by her unless you mean it, and then it's cool and earnest and sweet. For the record, I am totally inspired by Paula Abdul.

To drink in the middle of the day. So anyway Brian Scott Bagley the Dancing Janitor sings and sadly, I don't like it. The judges all look bored. Why did we get all the backstory if he wasn't that great? He sings like Billie Holiday as a boy, only not good. Simon won't let him sing another song, and Paula doesn't think he's right for AI. Brian laughs hysterically for no reason and they toss him out. He grabs his box of stuff and goes outside to beg for money because he has none and he looks like a hobo dressed as a hobo, like a hobo squared. This guy pulls out his wallet to give Brian some cash, and totally drops his drink, which is a glass bottle of possibly alcohol, so he curses, and it's so freaking ugly and sad and Brian feels terrible and I think he tries to give the money back. God. So then Seacrest writes some kind of fucking poetry about how Brian's dreams are dashed like a bottle of Mad Dog on the sidewalk in the DC raindrops or something.

Now Travis Tucker (21, Manassas, VA) beatboxes for himself as he dances around. He's not singing, just dancing. Then he does the hustlin' pose and Simon likes it. To Simon, abs look like dollar signs. Then at the end he sings "dancing machine" as part of the beatbox, and they laugh and he breakdances for them. Then he puts on a shirt and sings "Isn't She Lovely?" because it's been five whole minutes since somebody sang that song. It's not bad. He's a very good-looking dude. Mark is totally feeling it, and the judges all agree with Paula's suggestion that he vary his "power" level instead of pushing every single word. Dude, I just had a hate flashback to Constantine in the middle of writing this. I saw red. Anyway, Randy does this weird thing where he sticks his hand in his shirt and it's so not cool, but Travis Tucker is going to Hollywood.

This boring girl in cat glasses sings "Hanky Panky." She thinks she looks like Madonna. Ugh. Randy LOVES "Hanky Panky," he says. Jesus. So she's dancing around all weirdly and spanking herself, causing Mark McGrath to giggle like a ten-year-old. This whole deal is revolting and it's embarrassing for absolutely everyone. I feel like I was there, I'm so ashamed for everyone. "I think you spank very well, I think you sing terribly," says Simon. Mark and Randy are so boring talking about the awesome spanking. Mark is kind of a joke. He's like those boys that don't like girls yet, but know they're supposed to talk about boobs. God. If your sexuality is a performance you need a different hobby, dude. Try writing a different song, how about that? Give that a shot. The boobs and spanking will be here when you're ready. Or Simon's cock, if that's what you're into. That'll always be here…what? No, that's Seacrest keeping it SAFE for you.

Some testosterone-deprived dude goes into Mariah Carey whistle tones trying to do a note-for-note rendition of "I'll Be There" Unplugged. Ian Holmes II (28, Allentown PA) gives everybody the creeps. Simon and I liked it until the falsetto crap started. Randy simply cannot decide about this guy, and Mark McGrath is also "fency." Simon can't figure out if Randy is voting "yes" or just saying the word "yeah" over and over in that way where sometimes Randy stops caring what the hell comes out of his mouth and just says words into the air. Eventually everyone but Simon votes yes. Outside there is effing pandemonium.

Meet Michelle Fisher (24, Franklin, PA), a "West Nile virus tech" who catches mosquitoes as her job. She's pale and blonde and skinny and nothing really memorable…until she starts to sing! It sounds literally like she's dying, or has her foot in a bear trap and is trying not to scream because she doesn't want to mess up her audition. She crunks herself. She hovers around notes and then slides into them and it is very freaky. My friend Sarah turns to me and says, "This is...eerie. I have goosebumps right now." She sings like I'm on drugs. She sings like she herself has West Nile. The judges laugh painfully. Simon: "You sound like you've GOT that thing." HA! Me and Simon are so in this together tonight. How weird. Simon shakes like he's got the willies and moans in an approximation of her creepy, spooky singing. She takes it well, she's cool. I like her. People from Pennsylvania, generally, I like.

Ryan comes into the practice space of Constantine's band Pray For The Soul Of Betty, where they're singing that song from before, and the fan is going and blowing his hair, and what do you know? It's the "band video" from before! So I heard that what was going on here was that he told them they were going to be a documentary, because of course you're immediately like, they didn't notice all the cameras? But in any case, the jig is up when Seacrest shows up, and everyone immediately is mortified and kind of pissed because they're so legit and real and cred and street. They're so busy being all Park Slope hipster that they forget they're supposed to not even know who Ryan Seacrest is. Their drummer Hamboussi, in reference to American Idol, mimes masturbating. Classy. Additionally, it seems to be that he's a drug user, you guys. Just a feeling. Poor Hamboussi, he's so he's pissed and sweaty. He gets pissy and leaves and as he's leaving, Hamboussi hits a cymbal and it flies into the air and hits another band member, who giggles. That's it.

This show American Idol is kind of fake, I think.

Now for the hilarity of mental illness. Jason is from DC, "representing Southeast," and he is wearing a Karate Kid headband that says 5.9% and a t-shirt with a Homie on it that says REPRESENT. Do you know "Homies"? Do they have those not in Texas? ["Yes." -- Park Slope hipster] They are charming. Little tiny collectible stereotypes. Hilarious. Anyway, he's an HVAC Technician, which he explains is heating and air conditioning, apprentice. He's also got the fake contacts that I hate so very much. He explains that he is going to have a flawless victory, and he tells us a little story about how he is going to come back out, and wave his "golden ticket," and then he's going to "say yeah and blasé skip and dadada." Whoa. "I just found out I could sing like a couple of weeks ago."

Now he rolls around on the floor in the room where all the auditioners are. He's crazy, actually. He pretends to do something but I don't know what. Type numbers into a huge number pad or something. This isn't funny, because he's actually crazy. He looks right into the camera and yells angrily, "IT WAS MY DESTINY!" and he's really pissy in that schizoid way where his facial expression is not doing what he needs it to and it's not appropriate. So the over-emotion and the verb tense issues here would suggest that this is from his post-audition interview, but no, he's just a nutjob I think. Sigh. Simon asks about the headband. It's a percent-alcohol-per-volume, basically he was a drunk and then found Jesus and then found out he could sing. All of this quite recently. The judges are pretty game for this sequence of events, but I guess you have to be if they say it right in your face, all undeniable and fragile and with the zany insanity. He starts out singing "Papa Was a Rolling Stone" in a deep voice, doing weird dancing and flipping his hands all around, his shoes squeaking. Then there is a separate voice for a little bit, then a screechy voice you can't understand. Then a bass voice, then a "normal" voice and lots of dancing. Then back to the high screechy voice and fruity dancing, and the judges are still laughing but I think they're catching on that he's not okay but it just keeps going forever. So then the judges' laughter is just nervous and embarrassed, and Simon makes some joke about how Jason is a good vocal group and Randy and Mark jump on this wagon because they have to say something, and that's the only thing you can legitimately make fun of here: that Jason sang in more than one voice. Just like Jewel. Because you can't say anything else that isn't too sad to deal with. Paula makes first lemonade that it was enjoyable to watch, and then that he is awesome for being clean and sober. Jason is very sad and it makes me very sad.

Franchon Crews (17, Virginia Beach but residing in Baltimore) is simply adorable. She's got the Kelis hair happening, kind of pink and bouncy, and she's a boxer and they're like, "That's interesting." It is. Paula grooves out drunkenly to her flow. I think the issue is that Franchon Crews continues singing on past when she should have stopped, because the more she sings, the more flaws you can hear. Simon likes the human interest of her boxing story but notes that her voice was all over the place, and he's right. They collectively flip out about how they can't believe she's 17. Then Mark McGrath says that he likes boxing, so much so that he named his band Sugar Ray. But Franchon Crews is 17! She's never even heard of the guy Sugar Ray, much less the crappy band Sugar Ray! Basically, they tell her to come back year when she can sing better, and Simon points out that she's already got one very special thing that she's good at, which is the boxing, which he would know how? But I don't totally dig him saying that, because it makes it seem like she can't sing (or like she's greedy or trying to be J. Lo with singing and boxing both) but she totally can sing. Anyway, she's total class as she smiles and cries and leaves, and she's awesome and everyone loves and encourages her.

Then there's John Zisa (25, Hackensack NJ). He's kind of a little sleazy and his dad had been the mayor for 15 years, and his father was also mayor, for one term. I hate John Zisa's stupid voice, but he's better looking when he sings. The judges pretend to like his voice. He sings "Baby Come To Me" by James Ingram, which cracks me up for some reason but I don't know why. It's just a funny song to audition with. They all like him, except Randy, and he's going to Hollywood for mysterious reasons I do not understand. Then John Zisa comes out into the foyer and it's really quite nice. He's very happy.

Coming up is Mary Roach. Christ on a cracker, this is going to hurt. First, a very strange commercial. It's like one of those teenage girl disposable contacts ads ("I'm in a band called Lillix…"), crossed with the Victor monologue from The Rules of Attraction, and I can't figure out what I'm being sold, and that always makes me nervous, like they're getting something over on me. It seems that the point is that this girl is in a band, and goes shopping, and macrobiotic food is not just for Gwyneth but also for cheap people, and this girl has, like, friends, and they have lots of fun but we don't see that part. Anyway, turns out that they drink that soda pop Shack won't let me talk about. This is the dumbest commercial ever, not because you don't know what they're advertising -- although I'm getting tired of the coyness of the advertising for that soda pop Shack won't let me talk about -- but it would be just so much better if anything happened in this girl's life, ever, that she wanted to tell us about. I like the book Girl by Blake Nelson, I know that much. Well, drink soda pop, I guess.

Then there's Mary Roach (18, Manassas, VA). They want her to be the William Hung...dude, this is as unfunny, if not more unfunny, because there is a generally fake vibe about all of it, but also some true things. Now, either Mary Roach is exactly what she seems to be: a weirdo Pee Girl with Asperger's Syndrome who doesn't get the joke; a weirdo Pee Girl with Asperger's Syndrome who DOES get it; or a total fake-out. But it doesn't really matter, because the show's aims have nothing to do with this, because the message is that she is mentally ill and that is hilarious. And she's funny and I laughed my ass off and rewound and watched it again, but it's only funny because I know people like this, and because she's pretty much a Molly Shannon character, not because she's nutty. Crazy is the new retarded and Asian.

Anyway, I like her, because she's very interesting. Here's everything that Mary Roach does, because they want us to talk about her, so let's just get it over with. Mary is dressed like Gilligan, as the posters pointed out. She is wearing a red and white t-shirt and some crazy white low-rise jeans with zippers all over it and a whole lot of camel toe happening. "I think I have a very unique vocal style," she says, and she's not lying, "It's like pop/rock meets Broadway meets jazz and R&B -- it's a very unique combination of all the three." Which math I can see, sort of. In terms of radio, that's really only three, but the way she says it, you stop and wonder, and that's bad talking.

Over her weird, weird dancing and some other audition girls laughing at her behind her back, she interviews her master game plan for the audition: "I'm going to walk in like I'm confident, you know, head up high, strutting my stuff -- not too much strut though, because that looks tacky." She really lets you in on her mental processes, I think to reassure you, but the sad truth is that when you do that, it is the opposite of reassuring. "I want this so bad, there's no way that I'm not going to get it." She grabs her water bottle and "converses" with another girl. "Break a leg," she says, and the girl clowns that her leg is broken, because they're all nervous, but Mary of course does not get that, explaining, "That's what they always say in theatre." For some reason that's very weird to me.

Camel toe all up out the joint as she explains to the judges, "If I do make it to Hollywood, I'm going to change [my name] to 'Guilbeaux,' because it has more star quality." Most of the things she says, she pronounces so weirdly it's like it's got air quotes everywhere. I just realized who she talks like, and you're not going to buy this, but she reminds me most of Jackie Kennedy, in terms of her vocal quality. The House of Yes is my favorite movie, and there's a bunch of Jackie footage at the beginning of that, and Mary Guilbeaux talks like that, like Jackie giving the White House tour all "I wish there were more people like Mrs. Noun, because it is hard to get people to part with fine furniture."

So then Mary explains that her plan to go "to cosmetology school at the end of the month…unless I make it to Hollywood, then I'm going to cancel my plans, because I would much rather have a singing career than a hairstyling career, even though I very much love hair, makeup, and fashion, as well." I love Mary Guilbeaux for many reasons, but her flexibility is a main one. That and the fact that around August of last year she made a bunch of decisions at once. Simon wonders why she is there auditioning. "I'm here because I want to be the American Idol [she does the air quotes with her voice again, and it's augmented here with jazz hands], and I want to make it to Hollywood, and it's been my all-time dream for a long time, to become a big famous singer and performer, and this is just one way to do it if I make it." And she's right, because the unholy way that the industry works is that she's already roped into this shameful deal where Mark McGrath and Extra are giving her a makeover some time soon.

So she starts singing "I Feel The Earth Move" by Carole King, and her arms swoop around and her camel toe flops around and her voice wiggles and moans and it's bizarre and scary and weird and freaky and bad. The dancing is weirder even than the voice, which is plenty weird itself. The judges all look at each other like something terrible has happened. It's still happening, y'all. Mark McGrath gets a headache. They can't look at each other or they will crack up.

Simon doesn't know what to say when Mary's done, and she smiles goofily and sadly. Simon asks how she thinks she did, and she replies, "Not too shabby." He asks her, "Box out of ten," which is one of those Britishisms I don't even get how they got there, and this is kind of a curveball for Mary but she swiftly figures out what he means, and gives herself an eight. He tells her honestly that her voice is one of the worst he's ever heard. She asks if he's being serious or just trying to get on her nerves. They all laugh. "Something tells me that I think you're saying it to annoy me," she says, and it's not so awesome, and it's weird and I think she really thinks Simon Cowell has time to punk her around a little bit since she's just that awesome. She protests that "all my friends told me I was an awesome singer," and Randy abruptly blurts, "WHAT?" Simon tells her she has one of the weirdest voices he has ever heard. "Weirdness is originality too," she says, apropos of nothing, and Randy and Mark both laugh and concede that point. Then she says, "At least I'm not going to walk out of here crying like some people do, I'm going to walk out of here being like, 'Hey, whatever.'" Very air quotes, the way she says this. She mentions that she has "a ton of different voices," but Simon doesn't want to hear them. Randy asks if she means that she has voices in her head, talking all the time, and she goes with it.

The rest of this part is a joke she thinks she's sharing with the judges, as she tells them what the many voices in her head have to say. "I didn't know the judges on American Idol would actually think I was terrible," says one voice. The voices also say that Mark McGrath is a hottie, that Paula is pretty, and that Simon and Randy are smaller than you think. My same voices say the same things, but I'm not on TV so you can't laugh at me. They all just kind of laugh nervously, not realizing that she thinks they're all having this joke together, and they wish her good luck at beauty school, and she asks for reiteration of the unbelievable fact that she is not good at singing…"but whatever." Paula calls her "honey."

Outside the room, she talks crazy about not pursuing a singing career ever again, and how she's going to "go to beauty school, and style hair," because that's what she's good at. And this part is not a joke, in fact this is straight-up crazy behavior. She's flinging her water bottle around and being totally intense and spooky and full of rage. I am not going to lose it, she says, losing it so completely. "All my friends" and "random people I don't know" all say she's an amazing singer, which would lead her to believe that the judges are wrong, but even still, what the judges said certainly does not make her want to pursue a singing career…"not unless I'm going to be a lead singer in a rock band." See how that makes no sense? Why is this funny? I don't know, but it is. She's cool.

Then she confessionalizes a big Fuck You to Simon and Randy, and "Mark McGrath even though he is a hottie, I'm not going to deny that," but she is not going to say shit about Paula, because at least she was nice and sweet. And then she sings to the camera. It's weird. She's angry, and scary, and it's impossible to describe but it's very growly and awesome, and then for a second I think she's going to crack up and laugh, and it'll all be a big April Fool's joke on me…and she sings the crazy, crazy way of herself more. But then she smiles goofily again, because it's not a joke, I am not punk'd. It's just Mary.

Then it's over and we see more winners whose auditions we didn't get to see because of all that time we spent on Mary Roach and Captain Purple and the functioning retard covered in cuts and bruises. They look very happy, in any case. Also that hit single from Princess Diaries II, "Breakaway," is playing this whole time. I wonder why?

Wednesday

Tonight we're in St. Louis, which is a city I always thought I would really like. One day, St. Louis. Just you wait. So Seacrest points at the St. Louis arch like any of us watching are old enough to know what that is, and then there are the swooshy credits again, and all the winners of the show on giant TRON video screens, and we learn that last night had awesome ratings, and 42 people went to Hollywood from DC. Sadly, I think we maybe saw ten of them, because crazy people are much better to watch on the TV than are really good singers, and that's what the auditions are all about. Crazy fast clips of all manner of random things while Seacrest talks out his ass, and Randy is wearing pink shoes, and only Paula can sell the whole "this is the best season ever" thing, because she's the only one in whose oblivion I can honestly believe. Sadly, tonight in St. Louis there is no guest judge. That bums me out because I liked Mark McGrath, on final analysis. Seacrest says "triple threat" like he just invented the phrase.

First up are these horrible blonde triplets with a little dog. They're wearing a smoky eye, but it's also kind of crossed? Which is distracting? Meet Mandy, Erin, and Melissa Maynard (18, Omaha NE), on whom we're about to spend way too much time. The judges ask them straight up which one is the best, and there's an immediate unanimity on the fact that Erin, the one in the middle, is the best singer. They sing together, and Simon's snarky about that, but their harmonies are nice. Oh, they're singing "It's Raining Men," but that's not why I hate them. Still with the crazy eyes, by the way, and Simon just staring. Randy says that Erin really is the best one, and Paula and Randy agree that the harmonies are good. Simon calls them "three overweight Jessica Simpsons." They're not fat. They're cute. They're not wearing clothing that's, like, overwhelmingly flattering, but they're cute. So they say they'll lose weight, and Simon finally has to lead them to the real thing, which is that he was just calling them fat for fun, and the real problem is that they can't all go to Hollywood, because there are three of them, and they are not getting it. Like, so badly are they not getting it that Paula has to jump in and explain to them the concept that one person is going to win on this show, and they still just look crazy like they don't get it. Simon dismisses the non-Erin ones and Paula thanks them and they come out crying and one says that he called them fat. So without Erin singing another song, which I found weird, Randy says yes, and Simon and Paula say no. Outside, the girls bitch triply about how they were called fat and one of them says that in fact they are fat. NO THEY ARE NOT. Why did Paula's eating-disorder ass not crawl up Simon's nose about that like she normally does? One of them (does it really matter which?) goes confessional and says that they are not fat and that "Mandy" is only 150 pounds and then Mandy and the one on camera get into a fight about how she doesn't want this one calling her 150 pounds on TV, and you know, it's awesome. Just cute blondes bitching and bitching and pointless and it's so cute.

Seacrest points out that the one (and presumably all them), even though he might get made fun of, does better than he, Seacrest, ever could: Osbourne Smith II (son of some famous baseball player, quoth Google, 22, St. Louis), who has a nice smile and my exact same glasses, and even though he walks in and tells the judges he is "chilling like a villain," they let him audition anyway. Simon's got something in his mouth as he asks if Ozzie's got "what it takes." And Ozzie, of course, thinks he does, because what the hell are you going to say? No? So he sings "All I Do," by Stevie Wonder, and he has a very powerful, nice, voice. Maybe a little young, but well-controlled. Paula dances along. Well, Paula dances while the singing is going on, but to her own rhythm that has nothing to do with the singing that is going on. Randy and Paula are down, and Simon of course says no, but it doesn't matter because there are three of them, and Ozzie freaks all out and dedicates it, this minor thing, this chance to enter a competition is all it is, and this he dedicates to all of St. Louis, who has been held back or down in some way. But no longer, because Ozzie Smith II is going to Hollywood.

Then Seacrest name-checks Tennessee Williams, Chuck Berry, and Phyllis Diller. I hope to God he writes these interstitials himself: Tennessee Williams, Chuck Barry, and Phyllis Diller. That's like the holy trinity of warped sexuality. Also alcoholism.

Now we meet Johnny Hayes (18, St. Louis), who is pretty much unmemorable. His family loves his voice and "has adored [him] since [he] was three." He sings some song I don't know about his first love and it's almost entirely through his nose, and Randy cracks up immediately and Paula does that thing she sometimes does where she looks all around herself, wondering where she is and how she got there. They don't stop him, but they look at each other for some reality. Simon calls it extraordinary and calls him a cartoon character. Randy makes the lemonade that there must be other things he does "great," and Simon opines, "Pluto." Unnecessary. Hammy.

Oh, speaking of Seacrest -- there he is again, by the Arch. He introduces us to Jeremy, and to Angel Higgs, Jeremy's vocal teacher. Angel (24, Knoxville, TN) is herself auditioning, on the first day of St. Louis, and we meet her freaky ass vibrating like a Pokemon at this disturbing frequency, and she gibbers and jibbers about how she "floats like an Angel and stings like a bee" and she says she's going in there like "this," pointing to herself to indicate that "this" refers in this case to something very like a Chihuahua on lots of crack. Of course, "this" also refers to Mary Kay LeTourneau, because that's who she is, basically. Outside, Jeremy says he wouldn't have even have been there, if not for her, and then with the mumbling of the kind of really shy kid that the perverts are looking for, he wishes her luck. She is cute, I guess. I mean, I wouldn't want her necessarily to rape me if I was a high schooler and she was my pervert teacher, but I must give the props where they are due. Angel sings not that awesomely, kind of like the idea of Anita Baker, but without the good. And she dances all weird, which is starting to be the best part of this show, for me. What people's bodies get up to when they're too nervous to watch out for it.

Maybe this is an Anita Baker song and that's why she sounds like that. No, it's Sawyer Brown, and Michael Jackson did it too. That's funny, that a 24-year-old woman who…you know what, never mind. We'll call it a Sawyer Brown song. Paula offers the nearly-diplomatic suggestion that Angel try harder "on looking and celebrating and being young," meaning that she looks far older than 24, and yeah, she does. Randy says she was fake and trying to be Anita Baker. HA! Randy and Paula say yes, so of course Simon says no, because he thinks she looks like she was on a shopping trip and just happened to find herself in an audition. Word. He calls her a "backroom person." He would know. Randy says that on voice alone, she's one of the best they've heard. Which, I guess so. She just seems like somebody's crazy mother. Or like a teacher that fucks her students. So she goes outside and she and her student Jeremy…hump, basically, in the hallway. Oy with these people.

That weird tanned pink polka-dot halter girl is sure she has the "look." Ever a good thing. She loves to "shop" and "tan," and she wants to be the American Idol. She will now sing my least favorite song in the entire universe, "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." I fucking hate that song, you guys. I'm sorry, please don't think I'm hateful or heartless, just get over it because I've always hated it and I always will. I hate that song so much. It gives me back pain when I hear it and I start hearing wings fluttering somewhere over my left eye. This girl is Jessica Pontius (16, Indianapolis), and I hate her because she broke a long-held belief of mine that people from Indiana are all beautiful and nice and lovely. ["There's a joke about my family here somewhere but I'm just going to leave it." -- Sars] Then there's a little growl in the middle and it's awful, and we've seen it on the commercials. God, I hate this song. It just goes on and on. They laugh at her.

Simon calls it "excruciatingly awful," and Randy says that singing is "honestly" not her thing, and Simon tells her to do something else. Randy and Paula, frankly, try to be nice and tell her to do voices for cartoons maybe, and Simon asks what cartoons she could do, and they say Rugrats because of the high stupid sound of her voice, but they're brainstorming, and so they start saying, like, "or dogs or whatever," and Simon doesn't know what the Rugrats are so he thinks it's even worse than the truth, and so he yells at them that Jessica is 16 and will be walking out of there having been told she should do the voice of rats. "Charming," he says. What's with the high horse, Simon? Um, I mean, she sucks. Paula just goes buck wild at this point and starts babbling about how it's really hard to get an agent and it's hard to get a "rat job" and they all laugh because she just keeps going with the rat job thing until Jessica leaves, and Paula admits that she was just riffing and being weird and it's pretty funny and real. Simon is, like, so amazed and admiring about all this because he didn't know Paula could turn it on and off like that, basically. I know what he's talking about. I like Paula this year. I like it any time she's weird on purpose.

One of the most confident auditioners, Seacrest tells us, was Joseph Schoen (25, Oakville MO, pronounced "Shane"). The difference between Joe Schoen and Ryan Seacrest is purely geographical in nature. It is not qualitative, it is nothing to do with talent, it is only that there is already a Ryan Seacrest. That is the only problem here. And I kind of like Ryan Seacrest, he seems like a funny guy who sold his soul to the devil and is reaping the pleasure and pain of that each day of his life, and I'm sorry for him for that, and I think he's kind of cool, but I'm just saying. Same guy. So Joe Schoen (I have to call him by his full name, he's one of those guys) gives some terrible canned speech about how he called off work for a family emergency, but that the family emergency was that his family wanted him to audition for AI. Like they were just begging him and threatening suicide and acting like Clay fans. I'm so sure, Joe Schoen. Asshole. He even has the gall to act embarrassed about it, like, "What can I do? The fans won't let me rest!"

So he enters the audition area, wearing admittedly very flattering clothing. Simon asks the leading "why are you here?" question that I hate so much, because there's nothing you can say here that won't make you look like a chucker. Luckily, that's what he is, so he avoids the existential crisis of answering that one. He's here, he's proud to say, because he is really talented. And blah blah blah a bunch of other crap nobody listens to. "What have you done?" they ask, and he actually says, "What haven't I done? Ha ha ha, that's the good answer for that one." Get me? He editorializes about his own witty talking. He's so like, "But I kid." I start biting my nails. He has: Television news reporting at a small Texas TV station (and he totally yells out the station call letters like "represent!"), singing on a cruise ship, and now training cruise ship performers…I love how they're all, "What are your credits?" and his response is basically, "I do nothing well."

Joe Schoen sings "My Girl," which is ironic, okay, and he's got a really big old mouth as he sings and just could not be more into himself if he were a Greek myth. He's got the small-town local-theatre ego singing right into the camera thing, and God. He's a Christopher Guest movie. Then comes the falsetto. And then it's over. Randy calls it "nicely done" and he says "thanks bud." Simon basically calls him a cruise ship singer. Joe Schoen freaks right out of his rigid, tanned skin and bleached hair and teeth and says that he is not a cruise ship singer (shades of Matt "Velvet" Dusk) and that he "only did it once" and they "made" him sing Broadway (uh huh) and then he bitches that he came in there and gave them his "heart and soul" and Simon rightly points out that, um, so does everyone. Joe Schoen "thoroughly" disagrees with…something…with the negation of the awesomeness of him, basically. He says that he can sing more than one genre and then tells them what they "need" to do: let him sing something else, and then put him through to Hollywood. Simon calls bullshit with a face, and Joe Schoen stupidly asks, "What's that look for?" and for a second, he's almost good-looking and then it goes away and he's just another bitchy waiter again. Simon says Joe Schoen's going to be a problem if he continues to act this way. They fight a little, but Joe gives in pretty nicely -- it's not at all like the freak-out I was expecting. Joe Schoen actually shows a modicum of class at this moment. Simon then points out that Joe Schoen is utterly annoying, and Joe Schoen's whole contingent is so fucking freaked out by this turn of events.

But it's a good segue to the set of losers we'll never see again. Meet Justin Smith (18, St. Louis), this guy who is crazy and gay and dressed like a janitor, who tells Paula she is so cute. Then he starts with the "Proud Mary," okay, and suddenly morphs into some kind of Voltron of gayness and they must watch it all happen like a train wreck, but I don't have to because he's turning into Tina Turner inside his own mind, and dancing around and very scary. Simon points out to the others that singing "Proud Mary" seems to somehow magically turn you into a freak, and that's too bad that it is a cursed song because everyone always chooses it. Which provides entrée into a montage of just this thing: some horrible yelly girl, a cute emo boy who forgets the words, a pretty black girl who really forgets them, this dreadlocked guy who forgets the words, a horrible cowboy hat guy jittering and freaking out while singing, and the judges look like they've smelled a bad smell, and then some other people who are freaky, whatever whatever, nothing of note and they're all on screen for five seconds. Losers! Losers! Some guy with ears! And then another guy with ears! Then a chubby drag queen with the eyebrows and a bowler hat! At then end Simon goes to a drama place and collapses, saying he doesn't "like music anymore." And yeah, kinda.

Okay, Coach Carter. If you insist. I mean, I like Samuel L. Jackson, and Phil Collins covers, and I really like Stand and Deliver, but Ashanti? For real?

Speaking of P.E. teachers, meet Aa'shia Jackson (16, gender-estranged, fedora hat, St. Louis), the girl version of T.E.V.I.N. Campbell, basically (I cross my fingers for Prince watching creepily from behind a pillar or something, but no dice). She comes into the room singing really fast and awesome and creepy, dropping rhymes before the door's even closed. I love that. It'll be awesome season when fifteen people copy that move. The judges just watch her delightedly throughout the whole thing, and then she starts singing, and she sings like Alvin, my favorite chipmunk. It's weird and kind of creepy considering how awesome the first part was.

Then Simon compares her to helium. The gas. Her hair's in all cornrows like a rapper with bullets in him. They say that she is a great entertainer, and Randy tries to make the point that the first part was awesome but that nobody is ever going to enjoy the horrible chipmunk singing. Simon gives Aa'shia a "100% Categorically No" so Paula gives her a "100% Categorically Yes" and hopes that she is in the top 12. Why? No telling, she's high. More screaming outside about how she made it through. Her mom is so irritating that she reaches back in time to a few minutes ago when I didn't want Aa'shia to totally fail like Quantum Leap and makes me want Aa'shia to get hit by a bus instead of succeeding at anything, ever. That's how obnoxious her mom is. Randy and Paula, and the mom in another room, all talk about how Aa'shia has "something unique about herself." And it is a penis, is what I said to this, while across the country, everybody in the world (Hi, wwigbeee!) also said this. Seacrest calls either the mom or Aa'shia "cocky." Funny. Then there are lots of losers both outside and inside the audition room. There's a mime, you guys. Fuck that. I'm not recapping that.

This crazy man Maurice Thomas (28, although I maintain that he is 40 years of age if he's a day, St. Louis) tells us that he sounds like Brian McKnight. Now he's singing and it's funny because I just mentioned T.E.V.I.N. Campbell and now he sings a song by him. How weird. He sings this song like an idiot. Seriously, it's not even worth making any kind of point about, it's just so tiring. Randy tells him it was "wow" and thanks him, and they all kind of laugh and yawn and are speechless. Randy keeps explaining that it's a definite no but he just hovers and grins and finally Simon asks Maurice what the fucking problem is, and it's that his family tells him he sounds like Brian McKnight, to which Paula responds with the classic spit take, and Simon tells him to go ahead and sing already, and they just stare at him because it's awful and ridiculous but worst of all, it's boring. Simon tells him he does not sound like Brian McKnight. He doesn't!

After the commercial, which really means "at some point," Angel Kay LeTourneau's student Vili will sing "Ain't Too Proud To Beg." I wonder, would that be the TLC, or the James Brown song? I love the scandalous TLC song by that name. "Four inches or a yard/rock-hard or if it's saggin'/I ain't too proud to beg, y'all!" That was about the most hilarious thing I'd ever heard in my life when it came out, but remember that I was two years old or something. Anyway, sadly, it is the latter that Jeremy will be singing. I really think one of those Alanis Morissette songs about fucking Dave Coulier would be more appropriate, but whatever.

Seacrest on a farm. Okay. So this is Carrie Underwood (21, Checotah OK). She lives on a farm. It says "home video," but just like with Constantine, this is a lie. She wants to go to Hollywood really bad, she says. She's really proud, and really blonde. She comes out and sings "I Can't Make You Love Me." It takes a few seconds for Paula to click into it and get how good she is. Randy's immediately nodding. It's lovely. Good control and the ornamentation isn't just lame cover-up bullshit -- it's because she's awesome. Randy and Simon are unsurprised to find that her favorite singer is Martina McBride, since they both know who that is, which makes them cooler than me, I guess. Simon tells her to "keep doing what she's doing." Randy tells her she's got it vocally, and so should work more on the presentation. She's through to Hollywood, of course -- the suspense is really lacking with this full-on backstory fake video stuff. Like she's not going to Hollywood for one second: fucking Seacrest WENT TO A FARM. ["Insert 'terrified flock of sheep' joke here." -- Sars]

Now it's time for Angel's little student Jeremy Wakefield (18, Knoxville TN), and he immediately starts in with the "I am going to Hollywood with her, and we are going to have some fun in Hollywood." Jesus. Angel is very nervous for him outside. He snaps his fingers nervously the whole time, which bugs the shit out of me, but the judges seem to be really into it. Angel bounces around outside -- she's just so energetic, and just so upsetting. Now the judges won't look at him, because he is all tricksy and singing like a really good singer would sing, without the foundation of being really good before you add on all the bullshit. So not only should Angel be fired for fucking a child, but also because she's a bad teacher. Randy asks him to sing something else less affected and he thinks he can do it, but I think he'd have better luck with that if he knew what that word meant, which he patently does not. So he immediately busts into the most overblown, ridiculous Phantom of the Opera-sounding "Superstar," and Simon immediately cuts him off to remind him that they said less affected, not more, but it's totally over already. Randy says yes, and Paula -- boobs squeezed up to my own personal chin -- says no. Then somehow it becomes a unanimous no. Outside, Vocal Coach Angel freaks the fuck out -- what children will she fuck in Hollywood? It's so sad! She can't even fucking stand up. Speaking of affected, ya'll. It's retarded. She just falls down and stumbles around with her mind blown and then finally falls on the floor screaming -- and I'd like to point out that another teenager (possibly a fellow "student") throws her arms around her. Anna says, "This woman sleeps in a pile of high school seniors." Psh, lucky. What? I said seniors!

Lots of people screaming and hugging and being happy. And some fat people crying. Also some kissing of babies. Blonde people laughing. Dorks slapping fists as Seacrest introduces the final segment, "What Happened When Adam Met Dirk." Who are Adam and Dirk? Well, Adam is young and misguided, and unless I miss my guess, he will be hot in about five minutes. Dirk is…oh, crap. Dirk is one of the funny, funny retards from Tuesday. They are both fucking dorks but in a loveable way. Adam LOVES Dirk and wants Dirk to make it through to Hollywood and be with him in Hollywood. Also, Adam says he can "appeal to America" and that he has "one of the coolest personalities you'll ever meet." I stand by what I said, which is that when he gets tired of being a virgin, he will become hot. Until then, really hard math problems. He's so awesome! He hugs Dirk and he loves Dirk and they're just so…lonely. Everybody thinks they are so funny. They are the hit of the audition group. Dirk likes to put smiles on people's faces, and especially, he tells us, on Adam's face. I like anything that puts a smile on Adam's face, because he is unutterably wonderful. "I think the judges will see an awesome performance by me. I have the little voice going, a little hand movement, and maybe a little movement also with my legs…" I don't know what that means but I cannot fucking wait to see Adam work his magic.

Dirk, additionally, really loves Adam. And Adam's future, which they both agree is chock full of promise. Dirk gives himself lots of pep talks, including something I say in the mirror every morning: "Don't be the William Hung." In his audition, Simon asks why the hell Dirk is obsessed with Baywatch. Outside, Adam does a fucked-up dance, so very much in love with Dirk's career is he. I could make MINCEMEAT of this kid. I am so glad I did not go to college with Adam or he'd be this hollow shell of a person on drugs right now.

So why Dirk loves Baywatch? Is that David Hasselhoff is awesome. Simple as that. I love DIRK. So now he sings some crappy Hasselhoff song from the soundtrack of Baywatch! It's embarrassing, and there's no need to discuss it further. Dirk Pearman (24, Granite City IL), is just exactly like the one other person I know from Granite City, although there is one difference: I have it on good authority that Dirk, in high school, did not take "regular classes," is how it was put to me. I'm sure there are other awesome boys in Granite City that I would like to be friends with and eat carbs with whilst enjoying Baywatch. Anyway, it goes on and on and Paula so cannot even handle this shit. Simon asks him if he is serious about any of this because he cannot conceive that this is actually happening, and Dirk adorably says that he "plays 100% in everything he does," and Simon points out something that is almost always true, that no one seriously chooses Hasselhoff ever. Dirk doesn't get it, because he's the exception that proves the rule. Randy says he sounds "almost as good" as Hasselhoff and Dirk totally takes it as a compliment. I had a boss exactly like Dirk and I loved him so much. I'd remind him to eat and every morning we'd have a meeting and I'd tell him who to call and what to do and where to go and make sure he knew what was going on with every aspect of, like, life. Later my office got unavoidably moved to another floor and I couldn't be there every second of the day for him, and it was a bummer, and he was fired six weeks later and I was saddened by this, but in another way it made me feel good about myself. It's a no, says Simon.

So Dirk comes out and everyone claps. Adam is fucking destroyed, of course, and hugs him awkwardly and then goes in for his audition. He's adorable as he throws some made-up gang signs and asks wassup. Oh dear. They have to tell him where the mark is. He tells them that he "just turned 21" on Tuesday and it was the most awesome birthday ever, and then he does a shitty Simon impersonation. Simon has already fucking had it and the audition hasn't even started. Then Adam turns his dubious attentions to Paula and says she is his first memory. NICE. He starts up talking about "Opposites Attract" and pretty much just narrowly avoids talking about her eating disorder, in terms of alienating her forever. He calls MC Skat Cat a bobcat or fox and she just pretends none of this is happening and Simon corrects him and he looks away and mutters, "Whatever," and everybody in the world starts laughing because it's all just so ill-advised, and I LOVE HIM, I LOVE HIM. Not in like a gay way? I just…okay, I wasn't going to mention this, but Adam, for me? Has the (Eeeeee!) a little. Okay, I said it. So anyway Paula laughs more authentically than maybe she ever has in her weird life, and everyone just fucking loses it and it's beautiful because he's like, "What's up? I'm ready, guys!" and they cannot get it together and the crew is laughing louder than everyone and it's just chaos and he merely wants to get them back on track but it's not happening and he's like, allow me to inform you that America will watch if I am on American Idol due to my personality and my singing ability. And Simon says that already he has failed on one count -- and I'm sorry, but Simon is so wrong because had I the option, I would watch the ADAM CHANNEL all the time and give up my active social life and just order pizza forever and grow my toenails like Howard Hughes because I LOVE ADAM.

Randy asks him what he will sing and he says, "'This I Promise You' by Richard Marx but performed by *NSYNC." I love that he knows that, and thinks it's important enough to mention during the audition. Honestly? I think I might love him more than Sadie from Helter Skelter. I want to build him a car and I want to make a Chrismukkah miracle happen for him every day of the year. He's my new spelling bee girl. Adam Pratt (21, Hoffman Estates IL) starts singing and it's a bloodbath and the adrenaline of the "whatever" causes them to crack up immediately. He's got a little hand movement and not so much with the leg movements and they laugh and he just looks around all confused by the bedlam. Simon asks again why people would watch him and Paula turns around 180 degrees to put her head between her knees and Adam says again that it is his singing ability and she whirls around so fast that her bangs stand straight up in the air and she looks deranged as she spits drunkenly, "NO, REALLY." And they're not laughing anymore because…I don't know. I sucked up all the love of Adam Pratt that there is in the entire universe due to loving him so much like the vacuum of space so now everybody hates him. Sorry, dude. He wants to do another song and they all scream "NO!" Should I finish the song, or…? "NO!" So he thanks them and leaves.

There's sad music and Adam leaves with no regrets and says, "I have no idea what to say or do, now." I know. Me neither. The people in the foyer clap him out and I almost start crying because he's just so wonderful. Look, I don't have any kids, but I do have like a hundred younger siblings, and they are absolutely the most important thing in the world to me, and that thing happened when I turned 26 that happens to guys that year where they get all schmoopy and emo and broody and start liking babies and thinking about getting over the whole "commitment" thing and, like, the thing that kids teach you is that it's possible to just love something for no reason, and nothing to get out of it, there's no utility to this kind of love, because they're just kids, they can't do anything cool except be awesome. Or like puppies. And this is an important lesson, and children teach us this lesson. And puppies. And Adam Pratt teaches us this thing too.

So for once I cannot begrudge this show for wasting twenty minutes on someone we'll never see again, because I'm pleased with the opportunity to think about puppies and babies, and I can't even blame them for the slow-motion part where Adam and Dirk hug and are both losers and try tragically to bump fists. However, that does mean that we will not see the actual people who got through from St. Louis except in an exceedingly fast-moving montage of: a suede-tanned skinny dude, this cute girl in scoop-neck black sweater, Seacrest telling us that 32 total made it to Hollywood tonight, then there's Mr. Cute Metro Guy with highlights in a tweed military jacket, another fedora girl, this one beautiful woman with feather earrings like in Crossroads, and this guy that looks like a janitor.

So week is New Orleans. New Orleans people scream and laugh like assholes, because this is American Idol. This goth guy with a scary mustache screaming. You and I both know what it's going to be like. On the other hand, the recap will be shorter by an hour, so that's cool. See you then. Seacrest out.