Same Old Snit, Part III

Thanks to AB Chao for sending me the tape, Shack for being cool, and Sars for being patient and generally ruling.

The horrid voice-over guy informs us that so far, 158 have made it through the "harrowing" audition process. Now, we're in Atlanta and Nashville, doing more sorting. You know, wheat from chaff, cream from the 2% milk. Separating dirty, skid-marked underpants from the cashmere socks. Well, maybe cash-mink, and affordable cashmere substitute, now available at Target (!). I wouldn't call any of these contestants we've seen this far cashmere. VO Guy wonders if Atlanta will "produce another Tamyra Gray." You mean the contestant who should have won and was robbed? For Atlanta's sake, I hope not. I mean, twice in a row? I'd be bitter. Anyway, the final auditions, Nashville and Atlanta -- or "a double dose of southern comfort" -- are finally up. I'll just pour myself a...hmm, what goes with Southern Comfort? Oh, right. Ice.

So, 6,500 people camped out to audition in Atlanta. So, what, like, one percent of them could probably make it? I like those odds. Bring the pain. Simon walks in late, grumpy in a low-cut v-neck sweater (I can see his boobies!), and spreads his bad mood around like hot peanut butter on crackers. He says he'll be judging people not just on their singing ability, but on how they walk into a room, and how they react to the judges' critiques. Or as Gene Simmons likes to put it (and I don't mean to hot blondes), The Total Package. One more thing: No Paula. The nice one ain't here. What, does she not want to hang out with Jermaine Dupree and Ludacris this weekend? No Paula means this should be all nasty, all the time. Bring it!

First up is Nickie Nicholson, from Georgia. First off, change the name. To Jackie. Alliteration is not always your friend, Nickie. Neither is a shirt with sleeves so long and fluted they resemble piano shawls. She sings well, belting out a version of "Lady Marmalade" and impressing Randy and Simon. She makes it to Hollywood, or Studio City, or whatever they want to call it. They might as well say, "Welcome to obscurity!" Another southern belle, Jessica, earns a yellow sheet and, cheating out to the camera, tells "y'all" that the judges are "not that bad" and "if you walk in and be yourself, they will respect you." Hey, Jessica? What if you suck? If you just walk in and are yourself, and yourself sucks -- do you get respect then? Hey, Jessica? Shut up. The VO Guy talks over her and reiterates my two points by introducing Johnny Lee, a stout young man in a baggy blue t-shirt who is convinced that he will be a star one day. A SUPASTAH. Honey, you're fabulous, but this is a talent competition, not televised confirmation of what your momma told you. His song is "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." Simon says that's his favorite song, and Johnny launches in. He doesn't even get to the chorus. He's not entirely off-key, but he is truly awful. I think I hate him most for saying "moun'-ain." I hate when people drop consonants. He sweeps his hands from side to side like he's making a bed. Perhaps, his day job? Simon holds up a hand imperiously (like he does everything else) and says that was his favorite song. Johnny, leave the chateau. Johnny isn't daunted, though, and says he'd do it again. Johnny? Don't. Then he says he won't give up his dream, no matter what those judges say! Johnny? Do.

Enter our metaphorical head on the virtual chopping block. Ooh, Omega. She's a dancer, or so she says. She calls this not an audition, but "performing." That's a good way to look at it. If you're not terrible. But what are the odds of that? She's in this rather unfortunate (and clearly homemade) outfit of black bell-leggings and a half-shirt with Burberry checks on the bodice and thigh, and those heinous-yet-popular sheer handkerchief sleeves. There's so much wrong with her outfit that it's almost not a requirement that we hear her sing. But it's not up to me.

Omega's performance is...spirited? She has a lot of energy and projects? Oh, why mince words: She's terrible. She hops back and forth like a football player warming up by running though tires. She's built a little like a football player, too. Solid. And she really belts out some kind of medley of "Fame" and "Born To Be Wild." It's not singing, it's shouting. Randy playfully bobs and weaves in his seat, trying to match her energy. Simon more or less hides. Omega ends with a big flourish on her knees, but not in a way that might make the judges sit up and take notice, if you know what I mean. Simon says wearily that the whole time she was performing, he kept thinking of how he would pay her to stop. Omega takes this with a smile. Simon says she was exhausting. She says she's a performer and "not a boring person." No one said you were boring, my dear. I'd say quite the opposite. But you saw who won last year, right? A sickeningly cutesy-poo singer. Not someone like you. The judges turn her down, and Omega makes a very polite statement to the tune of she "disagrees" and she "will be in Hollywood someday," at which point they can audition for her and she will tell them what she thinks. Hey, I like Omega. She gave it her all and had a lot of class. Too bad she sucked.

up, a twee, dweeby redhead. Simon looks dubious. Red says he thinks he could have been in the top ten. Simon is all, reeeally. Clay Aiken, the dweeb, sings the hell out of "Always and Forever." Does a great job. Strong, beautiful voice. Randy says the contrast between his look and his sound is "weird, wild." Randy, Johnny Carson is on line one. I think if Clay ditches the glasses and adds ten pounds to his lithe frame...actually, no. Clay, don't change a thing. I mean, Michael Bolton is fugly and had a mullet. Clay, you are neither fugly nor sporting bad hair. Just sing and be cool, you'll do fine. The judges say, "Welcome to Hollywood."

Hey, Ryan Seacrest? Shut up.

A few shots of rejectees fly by -- one rips up his audition number and says that's what he thinks of Paula right now, another says she's never been told she wasn't good enough EVER in her LIFE, one says, "Slimfast doesn't work for everybody" -- and we're back with Josh Reece, a decent R&B type singer. Rumble rumble. Did you hear that? It was a quiet storm. Simon stops him and says he's a cabaret singer, not a pop singer, and that he can see him "on a big boat in the Caribbean somewhere." Randy says, "Just keep working on it, dawg." The judges agree that he can make a living from his voice, but he gets no Hollywood bid. Josh begins to tick, then walks outside and kabooms. He rants at Le Seacrest for a bit. Then Simon stalks out, presumably to deepen his v-neck, and Josh lobs a few words at him. "You called me a boat singer!" Simon says he said Josh could make a living off his voice. Josh isn't having it. Simon is all, "Fine, don't work on a boat then." Josh says, "YOU don't work on a boat. I'm mad as hell." Hey, YOU don't work on a boat. No, YOU don't. Fine! Good! Boat! That rules. It's so much better than "leave the chateau."

Now, Maria Ward sings a song she wrote. It's a country ditty. She has long brown hair and really pretty eyes. She sings okay, but her song is actually pretty great. It's got more than two sections, and a great chorus. The song? "Take Forever and Shove It Up Your Ass." I love country songs like that. You know, like "If My Heart Had An Ass I'd Kick It For Loving You," by Gerald Collier. Or the album title I Shaved My Legs for This? Which is how I feel most times I go out. I'd go search right now for a song called "Wasn't Worth The Makeup," but it might make me feel better to just write it instead. Anyway, Maria gets a bid, then makes out with someone who works on the show. Her husband. Woo, nepotism. It's okay, she won't win.

, we have Mitchell Asa. He sings "Always and Forever" well enough, but he closes his eyes the whole time and is wearing a very ugly shirt. It's Seacrest-tested and Seacrest-ugly, and the judges tell him so. He gets a bid anyway. Ryan takes the shirt. Seacrest-approved! Ew.

Josh Strickland sings better than Mitchell, but, um, has on the butt-fugliest sweater ever made. It's like a turtleneck crossed with one of those baby t-shirts with the snaps down the side. Turtlenecks are bad enough these days, what with Vin Diesel and his league of wannabes making me say, "Turtle, turtle!" every time I see them out. But the baby snaps? What's their function, to avoid mussing the perfectly mussed-'n'-gelled hair? It's hiddy. The judges actually call La Seacrest and make them stand side-by-side. The resemblance is nauseating. Simon makes Josh swear he'll move away from the Seacrest look, and welcomes him to Hollywood.

We get a shot of audition-ees singing their own version of "Straight Up," then segue into another audition. Hey, it's a punk rocker chick! Please don't be fake. Oh, vain hopes, thy name is Alex Richmond. This chica has to be as real as Avril. Which is to say, not real at all. Oh, a sweater coat. With a furry collar. Sweater coats are not cool, and are totally not punk. You can pin leopard trim on the collar, you can write "MY MOM HATES ME" all over it, you can even wrap a dead yuppie around it, and it still won't be punk. Skirt over pants, that's just odd. This girl is punky. She's funky. She uses Punky Colour and shops at Hot Topic -- online. Whatever, she's probably cool and auditioning just to take the piss and see how far she can go. Right? She's singing "Bohemian Rhapsody," the song made famous by Mssrs. Wayne and Garth. Party on, punky chick. Vanessa can sing. She can't dress, but she can sing. The judges says yes, and she jumps around (I'd say she pogo-ed, but -- you know. Not punk!) in glee. Ryan says Vanessa impressed the judges with her voice and style, and that Atlanta "is quite the fashion capital with its spiked rockers, laid-back hipsters, and...that!"

La Seacrest takes us through a clip show of more audition don'ts. One guy sings about beaver time and beaver heaven. The lesson is, no judge participation. up, don't argue with yourself. One guy turns his back and admonishes himself to "chill." Way to keep your cool, guy. One lady belches. Another squeals. A guy brings a cheat sheet he can't read off. One just sings, "I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you..." Over and over again. Oh my.

Finally, someone who doesn't suck. He's a big guy with a great voice, and I love his smile. Randy is all, "Big DAWG." Ruben sings a Stevie Wonder song beautifully, "Ribbon in the Sky." Paula is so totally in love with him. Randy says, "Welcome to Hollywood DAWG!" Ruben is over the moon, and says hi to his mom. Woo!

up, a five-year-old, Ira Lewis. He sings "Let's Get It On." He's not amazing, but so cute! Simon says he didn't like it. Ira says, "The Caucasian guy didn't like it, but the brown dude did." Again, I hate this cutesy shit.

Alden Wynn sings "I'll Be." He's fine. Another boring, gelled, groomed white guy. Deliver me from the squeaky clean.

La Seacrest asks the assembled throng who's from Nashville. No one raises their hands. In front of the judges, a bunch of auditioners state their hometowns. None of them are from Nashville -- except for one chick with a choker, a Britney news cap in camel, a reddish-brown half-shirt, and a really shiny face. Her song choice? "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." Um, how about a song from THIS DECADE? She sucks and is gone. up is Jeff, also from Nashville, who can't sing either. Back to the imports.

One import is a Justin Guarini CLONE. Le Seacrest asks him who he thinks he looks like, and he says, "Michael Jackson, El Debarge..." No. It's Justin. And you know what? Don't ever say you look like Jacko. It's just not cool. Yeah, he writes great songs (well, wrote) and sure, he's an electrifying performer. But he went on 20/20 and basically showed off his fourteen-year-old boyfriend. I mean, scandal doesn't even come close to describing the spectacle. As Barbara Walters said, it was wiveting. Anyway. Corey, the Justin clone, can sing. His voice is kind of high and annoying, but he's good. He gets a bid. And the moral is, Justin isn't the only guy that can wear a natural.

So, where's the love for the ladies? Right here. One woman sings a strong rendition of "Heard It Through The Grapevine." She gets a bid. Go Kelly Renee! Her joy leads us into a clip show of people celebrating. One guy runs all around the room in fast-motion. Fast-motion is so funny. I must be tired.