"So What Are You Doing Here?"

Tuesday

Creepy doom music as Seacrest reviews some uninteresting statistics. Note to show: not everything is suspenseful. In fact, none of it is, given that we've been watching for a month and still don't know anybody's name, and we're scared to get attached because we might never see them again. So the suspense is less focused on anything in particular and more moment-by-moment, which is less like the narrative drama you wish to create, and more like having dinner with McG: Irritating and jittery and a little gay.

So we've traveled 10,000 miles, to seven different cities, and then we name the cities and show their stupid landmarks, and I'm sure it is in some totally fake order that is neither the order we saw them on the show nor the order that they were actually visited, because for some reason this show would prefer to be fake and jacked-up when it would actually be easier to show things that happened in the order in which they happened. If all this were for any real reason, well, the show would be effective then, wouldn't it? Needless Seacrestiana about how there were some good singers, and some bad singers, and some that were "just plain weird." The accompanying shots are of, I think, Sarah Mather (you know I can't identify any of the good singers yet), Good Old Dirk, and Mary Roach Guilbeaux.

You know what? Imagine growing up with the last name "Roach." Girlfriend has done okay, on review. I'd so be in jail by now, especially if I were also congenitally a weirdo. You go, Mary Roach Guilbeaux. Happy Valentine's Day, to you from me.

So now we're in "Hollywood," to face the "most intense" week of their lives. Twin Richard, perhaps inevitably, likens it to "Hell Week." His entire life is like this. I love it. Hopefully there'll be no elephant walk necessary to enter this esteemed brotherhood. Although honestly, he'd probably have a better chance.

Seacrestiana about the "roller coaster of emotions" and how there will be eventually 12 "boys" and 12 "girls" going into the finals. And by the way, that's an insult. Apparently you didn't know that calling a 28-year-old woman a "girl" is bad? It is. Don't do it. I mean, I know there's a whole Peter Pan lesson to be learned here about how Ryan is something like 75 years old and still trying to look like a Mining Company go-go dancer but, like, your life is calling, Seacrest. Okay?

We see the past winners yet again and some confetti, but I still can't care because none of the hopefuls matters so I can't imagine them singing whatever thinly-veiled coronation song Tamyra will write this year, and then the credits, which are also mostly about the past winners, and you know? It's kind of like those light shows in wrestling where the fireworks go off and the people scream and it's very loud and pyro and the man in his underwear, only all digital. The credits get more confusing the more times you see them.

So everybody gets there on Sunday, and they all scream into the camera, and of course we've never seen any of them because all that mattered was that people are weird and want to be on this show. I mean to say that I've now recapped seven hours of this show and I recognize three people in this whole unending montage: Richard Molfetta, Scott Savol, and effing Constantine. None of whom are going to win anyway. That's just dumb. But anyway, it doesn't really matter, since they don't even really want us to know any of the people until they've thinned out the herd considerably. What did I say? A hundred and ninety-three people in "Hollywood"? Yeah. It's going to be a while before I give a damn. Assuming that ever happens.

This girl Faith, whom we'll actually meet tomorrow night, used to work at the Hilton, and is freaked out because she's now staying in a hotel room. That's pretty cool. I can't imagine working in a hotel and never having stayed in one. I would end up a huge asshole, I think. You know? Resentful. But then, I'm a weak individual, and prone to bitterness. Faith is more prone to saying things like, "I know there's no excuse, but here's my excuse." Which is repugnant, but I kind of like her anyway, and I'm happy she gets to stay in a hotel for the first time. Also making me happy is a giant black man wearing a mint facial mask. It's important to have a regime, I think. Nobody else is going to take care of your pores, people. Nobody's going to exfoliate for you. I can't stress this enough.

Now it's Monday morning, seven o'clock. Idon't recognize more than 20 percent of these people. I know I keep saying that, but it continues to freak me out. What is the point of this show? Like, period. I've completely forgotten. So did they. Not to fucking mention that Faux Farm Boi is still wearing those goddamned overalls. Man, I'm pissy. It's because I have the advantage of knowing that Wednesday's episode is going to rock, and I resent Tuesday for being between us and it. There are two buses, and the first bus is going to audition first. Pretty girls are stressed out about this. They have a list of 12 songs that they can choose from. Nothing from the Ryan Cabrera oeuvre, although there are a couple of Wesley Willis songs on there, which surprised me. Some selections from Ethyl Meatplow, a little St. Etienne, Postal Service, and the first Tanya Donnelly solo album round out what promises to be an eclecticyou know I'm lying, right? It's exactly what you think it is: "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," "Unforgettable," whatever whatever. You could write this list from your own head and you'd be completely right.

What's even more damaging, considering the long term, is how they've had a week to practice these songs. The lyrics of all of which (with the exception of this one Barry Manilow song nobody's ever heard of) you and I and everyone else already know, because they're all clichs that have been completely drilled into our heads by every television commercial, sitcom, radio station, movie, and cover band ever. Dear reader, I want you to sing "Unforgettable" to me, right now, by putting one hand to your heart and the other one on the monitor. See how that works? You didn't think you knew every single word, did you? You're magic!

Anyway, a week. A whole week to learn the words to a song you already know the words to. Seacrest points out that that's how long they'll have when they are in the Top 12 -- still singing songs so old and rusty they're inches from public domain, that they already know the lyrics to. Our inaugural shot of them gathered around the piano while the scary vocal coach lady I like so much watches them deciding what key they'll be singing in.

Meanwhile, the "kids" on the other bus aren't auditioning until tomorrow, so they get to tour Hollywood -- they see the Hollywood sign and Mann's theatre, the usual crap -- and Matthew ("thank you my brothers" guy from last week, whom we'll meet in a bit) talks about how he's always looked forward to this. His whole life. For real.

Blonde farm-girl ringer Carrie Underwood (21, Checotah OK) is having such an eyes-wide wonderful time here in Hollywood, taking pictures of things, you know, touristing it up. She and Seacrest pants around about how she's been taking pictures ofthe trees? Fucking A. And he asks if she's taken pictures of any stars and she says no, because it's been cloudy, and then he explains he meant celebrities and they giggle andPEOPLE OF AMERICA! YOU ARE BEING SOLD SOMETHING!

The first Checotah breeze wafting off of Carrie Underwood is so fricking ridiculous: "Once I left the sunny fields of Underwood Farm to make my fortune, with my beautiful face and voice like an angel, I was confronted with so many things I'd never seen before! Sights and sounds, and smells, and strange futuristic technology! A box with pictures on the front that move around while sounds come out of it! A horseless carriage! I took pictures of the only things I recognized in this brave new world, the humble trees of California, so that I show them to my family back home, to prove that even in the future, they still have trees."

So she sings that song from Romeo + Juliet, "Young Hearts Run Free," and she doesn't exactly remember all the words, but she sounds good, and she's adorable. It's nice, because she's good enough that the kids in the audience watch her sing, instead of studying their own lyrics and all that. I'm confused because this is edited and chopped all to hell for no reason -- this is an audition from the second day, and it's needlessly confusing, but whatever. We see some girls, including Mikalah, but they're not doing anything cool. After Tamesha freaks out, we'll find out that she gets a unanimous yes for Wednesday's group sessions.

Runner-up blonde ringer Jaclyn Crum (16, Gahanna OH) sings "Ain't No Mountain" in that particularly American "sexy" voice that's all the rage. And she's kind of like Jessica Simpson in another way: when she's singing, her brain turns on and she seems to understand the words she's saying, and then when the song is over, she checks out again. And it's just as disturbing here, but a little less so, because Jaclyn is no Jessica Simpson. She's also been hitting the low-lights a little harder than necessary. She looks a little like what's-her-face, from that show. Majandra Delfino. She's like the Haylie to Majandra Delfino's Hilary. And that's sadder and sadder the more you think about it. However, please note that we're now several minutes in, and she still hasn't cried. Weird. Then she gets through, and wigs. Whew.

up, that girl I keep confusing with Lindsay Cardinale. Sarah Mather (22, Wilmington NC) sings "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me," and both the rendition and the girl are pretty, if unmemorable. The kids in the audience clap when she's done, because we have to like her, or else Simon Fuller will take his ball and go home. Man, everybody's good. It's boring. She's a belter, kinda, but once the music cuts out she sounds really clean. She's wearing a boring pink tank top and denim skirt with high brown boots. Boring, see? She looks a bit like Lana Lang -- have I said that before? Maybe about somebody else. Everybody looks the same! -- with really heavy-lidded eyes like a picture of old British royalty. You know how they used to do portraits, back in the Olden Days? Like Rembrandt. With the bugging-out eyes? Like all the pictures of bugout Queen Elizabeth. I always thought that was like an artistic affectation, like how Avril Lavigne makes that same face at the end of every video, like it'll be so very fucking dire if you don't buy her a puppy right this minute. But no, people really looked like that, and they have descendents, and one of them is Sarah Mather. Who gets through to the round.

Tamesha Foote (call me "Mesha," St. Louis MO) starts in immediately talking about her identical twin baby girls, and like it's not bad enough that you're the kind of person whose personality and value as a human being come from having a child, you happen to have had twins, which I guess makes you twice as special, huh? Mention it a few more times, please. She will not disappoint them, she tells us. Since they care about how their mom does on American Idol, and just want her home less, I guess. Serious side ponytail happening and some very eighties gold earrings that look like a sculptural reinterpretation of the Nike symbol, they're very horrible and swoopy-looking as she sings "Ain't No Mountain." I think I know why -- it's easy but has some parts where you can yell, if that is your wont. And of course, it is, in this case.

I really don't like her voice -- it's warbly and pitchy and she's clearly nervous and it's messing her up. I can see liking it more if she weren't so freaked out, but at this stage in the competitionno. Paula actually stops her, and I think this is the only time tonight that this happens. Outside, she blames the pianist for starting in the wrong key, because that fucked her up. Was the key really so very wrong that you couldn't display some adaptability and suck it up? Has anything ever been your fault? You know, reading back over this, it might seem like I am having an irrational response to Mesha Foote. But honestly, I'm not. It's in the body language, the part where she bitches about the pianist and about how Carrie Underwood forgot the lyrics (true) and she didn't (true), and how she sang better than Carrie (false) and how that meanssomething. That she should have her own holiday or something. Nothing is her fault and it's pissing her off that things keep happening to her that make her life harder. She and Regina Brooks should totally go on a crime spree together, actually. That'll show "them," whoever the hell "they" are that keep screwing things up for Tamesha and Regina. Honestly, wrong key or not, the judges aren't complete idiots, and they know what they're looking for. Get yourself together. Don't disappoint those identical twin baby girls of yours.

This is the dark side of the judging in this round: it's "sudden death," per Seacrest, so they don't explain the why and wherefore of their decisions: it's just in or out. Which is fine, because we're supposedly at a level of performance where the coddling and explaining and torture shouldn't really matter any more. But it's also bad, because it lends a blank slate for people who don't get it to write entire little stories on, about how they're so downtrodden and wonderful and heroes and martyrs and how it's racism or homophobia or some other kind of fault in the majority of everybody else that causes their amazing talent to go unrecognized. And chances are, if that's you write on this particular whiteboard, you've been writing that same story for a while, and it's not going to get better for you, but we still have to see it, and it's ugly and unworthy of you, and the talent you've already proven you possess.

Did I mention I've never seen the majority of these people? So there's a young lady named Deanna, I believe, who's wearing quasi-mod plastic dots for her earrings and necklace, and has thoughtfully matched her makeup to these accessories in pinks and fuschias. Unanimous no. Unanimous no also on her performance. Therese Brown is also a no. We don't see their names or hometowns, so I'm guessing at spellings here, which makes me feel bad, but not, like, that bad.

Anthony Federov (19, Trevose PA) talks like Tony Micelli and has never doubted himself. Seacrest has basically been reduced to just saying the word "tracheotomy" over and over any time Anthony appears. This time, singing, Anthony sounds a bit more like Clay, or Justin -- this breathy thing at the end of the lines he hits, like he's been socked ever so gently in the stomach. He's doing nothing for me, and he's singing a song that is boring that I've never heard, "When You Tell Me That You Love Me." The only thing here of note, for me, is his strange outfit: it's like this heavy sweater he's wearing, but over a shiny, shiny shirt which is unbuttoned to his sternum. Like a stripper with really low blood pressure, or something. One of the posters pointed out an almost-equally icky possibility, that the reason he keeps unbuttoning his shirts all crazy like this has less to do with kiddie porn stuff, and more to do with his tracheotomy scar. Whoa. This paragraph is full of bad things.

Michael Luizza (22, New Orleans) steps downstage -- he's the one with the parents who worked in bars, that sings like a scary lady. He comes out in a shirt that's a size or two too tight to look all that great on him. It's distractingly unflattering. Then he sings like a scary lady again. Dude, he's so out, which bums me out because I like him, but in another way distinctly does not bum me out, because he does not belong here. Then Seacrest mentions Anthony's name again, because it's been over three minutes already, and Anthony is in, and Luizza is out, and then my neighbors have to revive me because I've lost consciousness due to my extreme shock about all this. Pointlessness, thy name is "Hollywood." I'm making this certain hand gesture right now at the TV screen, because it's all so shocking, but it's hard to describe. Just rest assured I'm doing it as hard as I can.

Meanwhile, the other bus group. Some guy does more flips. It would be awesome if it were Ozzie Smith Jr. but I can't remember, it was too long ago. I bet it is, though. That's like secret code so we'll think more highly of him. And now we meet Shunta Warthen, who is a drag queen who got on the wrong bus and was supposed to be auditioning ("and I end up going shopping!"), but she's just so silly and helpless because she's just a dizzy old drag queen. Ugh. Your absolute determination to get nothing at all done will win you exactly zero points out of infinity with me. It starts annoying several other people and they try explaining to her that this is a bad thing? Like it's a problem that she's gallivanting around Hollywood while she should be auditioning in "Hollywood"? And she's so not convinced, and finally they're basically yelling at her to get her ass to the auditions. So she wanders out into the world, and this is dumb for two reasons: A) Like she's going to find her way there! She couldn't even find her bus! And B) We're only provisionally saying that the auditions are, in fact, taking place in Hollywood -- where she is. Depending on where they're really stashing them, she could be a day or more on foot from where she needs to be. Then a time-wasting montage of Shunta being lost, and Shunta wandering through the streets of Los Angeles, and Shunta bothering all manner of people.

Out to commercial: In their own words, Regina Brooks still may die, and Rich Molfetta still may be the American Idol. Both equally likely, I think. Both would upset me the exact same amount at this point.

Rashida Johnson (28, South Ozone Park NY) has lost her voice. Who? Don't know. That awesome scary voice coach lady is like, "I don't really have time for thisjust work around it." She's really freaked out, but is clearly being pretty much a total trouper about it. She comes onstage, kind of scared, and talks for a second to the judges about her circumstance, and sounds like shit. It's rough, y'all. And then she sings "Baby Come To Me," and it's awesome and fun, and you can hear her compensating for what's lacking and using what's suddenly there (what they call the Sexy Phlegm) to her advantage, and she's clearly a very smart girl who's thought this out. It's cool that she spoke first, because the comparison makes her voice sound even better, and points out the technical difficulty of what she's doing, and yeah, she does some tricksy shit, but some of it is necessitated by the problems and some of it is to distract from the huge fake-out that she's doing, and it's really great. This is strength under adversity, which is my favorite quality in the world. I've heard huge stars fake it, and she's doing at least as good a job as someone who's been around forever, in my opinion. They send her through, unanimously, and she literally does not believe them, just stares at them like they're being cruel, and then the audience goes buck wild for her, which is nice.

Meanwhile, Shunta is still shunting around.

It's a montage of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," and I like this idea, even though it screws up the chronology: showing a bunch of people who sang the same song and have nothing else to do with each other, and then telling us if they got through. Well, in this case they are all early favorites, highly attractive, and successful in this round, but you know what I mean. It's a cool way to shuffle it all around and keep it interesting instead of just audition, crying, audition, clapping, audition, crying, Shunta's lost and Regina might die. Which is what it would be if they didn't make clever little themed sequences like this. Amanda Avila (21), the Vegas showgirl we just can't seem to get away from, and then Travis Tucker (21, Manassas VA), and they're both even hotter than they were the first time around. Lindsay Cardinale (19, Ponchatoula LA) sings way more interestingly this time around, and it's nice -- she sounds a little hoarse this time, but not in a bad way. They all get through and then the girls hug each other for what I'm sure is the first of what will be many, many times this season.

They have a stupid thing where the contestants have to explain why they think they are the American Idol. Did they have this on other seasons? I don't remember. I hate it. This is dumb. "Harsher penalties for parole violators."

First that pixie Cyndi Lauper girl Emily, who jumps around all the time, T.E.V.I.N. the chipmunk of unsettled gender, this young lady who looks like Sherman Helmsley's daughter on Amen, this guy doing flips. Flashback to Fantasia's talent being bigger than her lips. Which I found contrived the first time around, even though I think Fantasia Barrino is adorable. Anyway, the point of this is basically that they all say the exact same thing, that they want to "inspire" people and be a "role model" and various permutations of these concepts. Then Jeffery Johnson (the hot "clean living" Dallas guy who leads all the prayer circles) says he's going to be "the best role model the world has ever seen." Then Jeffery Johnson (the hot lump of charcoal in the middle of the stage) is struck by lightning.

"Others were more creative," Seacrest tells us, and then proceeds to show ussomething almost illustrating that point. Almost. One girl admits, "It'll give me a better chance of meeting Johnny Depp." Another fellow: "I'm worth idolizing." "Bald is beautiful," says that first guy, Sean McNeill (the other youth group church guy). "I am FFT: Fat, Fashionable and of course Talented." God. This awesome prickly girl enunciates: "I enunciate." A cute girl with slicked-over bangs: "I clean up well." This Asian Ed Grimley: "I don't look like I sound." Um, yeah you do. Constantine: "I'm a nice Greek boy." He flips the R in Greek like a veddy, veddy British person. It's dumb. This Andrew WK type (plus about 60 extra pounds): "My job sucks?" It is cute. Big black guy: "I'm Simon's little brother." Simon grins impishly. This is ridiculous. No room on the FOX schedule for any show anybody actually likes, but two to three hours of this crap each week. Thanks, guys.

Oh, crap. Richard Molfetta. Again. Seacrestiana all up out the joint telling us again about that whole damn thing. Forever, but just as a little check-in. And then back to the Beavis-looking crooner, Ross Williams (26, Portland OR). And the brown hat mystery is solved, because has an impossibly square, gigantic head. He looks like a Dick Tracy villain. I wish he'd put that hat back on, even though I hated it. He sings "Crazy Little Thing Called Love," of course. I bet they put that in there just for his sorry ass. Why set this dude up like this? He's just going to fuck up and go home when it stops being about doing impersonations anyway. For now, though, he's safe. Then Sean McNeill (27, Plymouth MA) -- the chubby cute youth pastor who was like the first person voted through. "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life," he sings. Little bluebirds land on his shoulders and twitter along musically. During Sean's song, Richard Molfetta affixes his contestant number as close to his prominent crotch as possible. Then he licks his lips and stares sexily into space. The pleasant niceness of Sean McNeill is impervious even to the power of Richard Molfetta -- Simon seems to really, really like him, and he just smiles at him for awhile silently before giving him his yes.

When Richard walks out, Randy groans and Ryan giggles in voice-over, and then Randy starts laughing. "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart," he asks in song. I'm unsure about the answer, but the song itself is pretty; I like his voice just fine, like usual, but whatever. Do we honestly think he's getting through? Of course not. He continues to lick and stares sexily past the camera at the interviewer as he bites his lip and admits he choked. Bye, Rich. Don't go changing.

ITEM! Regina Brooks will probably die.

ITEM! Shunta still shunting around Hollywood. It's like Memento, this. Finally she makes it back. Nation could not care less.

Another song montage, this time for the lovely and nice song we call "You Are The Sunshine Of My Life." First up is Nadia Turner (27, Miami) with all the hair, and the incredibly tiny, very tall body, who sings beautifully and with great poise and gets a unanimous yes after pulling off the almost unthinkable "I'm waiting?" tease when Simon doesn't immediately spit it out. That's a difficult maneuver even if the judges love you, which they do here, but should not be attempted by any but the most obviously loved and pimped. Then David Brown (19, New Orleans), with whom we have been to church. He looks really nice here, in a black jacket that's made of many textures. It looks soft. He gets a "unanimous yes yes yes." Then Scott Savol (28, Shaker Heights OH), who sounds amazing, of course, and gets through unanimously, of course, and Anwar Robinson (26, Newark NJ), who comes off a bit showy this time, but still rocks, and gives a sexy deep-throated "thank you" when he is invited back. Finally, there's Jeffery Johnson (27, Irving TX), still hot as hell, fresh off insulting Jesus and paying for it, vocally, and he utterly cannot believe it when he doesn't get through. It's kind of sad. David calls home to update about his latest success, and Ryan giggles some more.

Then she tells us that the problem is that she tried too hard, which is true, but she doesn't mean vocally, she means in, like, life. Trying to "do good things" and "be nice" always "shuts down on" her, and maybe it's time she becomes "a crappy person" and stops expecting anything good from anybody. Which is about the worst possible way to go out, and bums me out also because it's from the heart, and doesn't really make sense. How could acting like an asshole have advanced her in the competition? It couldn't. This is not a revision of her strategy, it's just a rebellious "Fuck You" to the universe: "I'm not getting on the show? Fine then. I'm going to be rude to bank tellers. Suck on that!" And it makes me sad, really sad, because in some ways, that's about the lowest you can go, because you're admitting that being a nice person is not necessarily a built-in feature, for you, and instead is something I guess you were doing so you'd get rewarded. And that's wrong on so many levels, and shows such a lack of respect for yourself and everybody else, and basically it bums me out utterly. But I still wish Regina Brooks the best, even after all that.

Aaaand 54 other people are going home that we may or may not have seen. What the hell? Abrupt much? So even the point of this episode, we've skipped over. Awesome. Anyway, now more of the same: Day Two of auditions, and we will see decided the fates of: Mario Vasquez, Mikalah, Constantine, and Rainbow Brightman. The people that didn't go home last night are now touring Hollywood. That sucks so bad for the losers from Day One. Their itineraries for leaving were described as "jammed" under their hotel room doors the night they lost, in this one article.

Seacrestiana fills us in on some groovy dramatic parallels like: Farm Boi and Mario Vasquez (27, NYC) share the same confidence -- and the same sexual orientation. Patrick Norman (18, "A farm," OH) sings "When You Tell Me You Love Me," or whatever, that song I've never heard. He's terrible, and the shirt does nothing for his eyes, which are his best feature, and his skin is still bad but he's not orange anymore, and he's not wearing overalls during the actual audition, but he rubs his scary tummy in a very creepy way that is vastly worse than anything else he could have done. It's wildly unsettling, and he's going home, but he takes it really well. He's a nice boy. Then Mario tears it right up on the same song and gets the expected unanimous yes. My, he's diminutive.

Francisco Torres (26, Brooklyn), who weeps at the beach and has a crazy gap in his teeth that is totally cool-looking, sings "Baby Come To Me," which is the wrong, wrong song for him, and which he sings poorly. I don't know how to explain it, but, like, his voice somehow clashes with the backup singers. It's dissonant and painful. The crappy sound of it all might actually be disguising further vocal flaws. He's very friendly and has an open expression. I like him, a lot. When Paula addresses him as "Jose" and tells him, "Honey it's a no," he just laughs about it and says that thing about how he's just grateful for the experience. For once, I believe this.

Marlea Stroman (21, Syracuse NY) sings some song perfectly and beautifully which is about needing someone to bless her whenever she sneezes, and also there are birds involved. I don't even care to Google that song because it's clearly not my thing. My notes say, "Boring song, boring rendition. She's so going home." And then under that it says, "Both wrong and right, Kreskin." So she gets a unanimous yes. And yet, I have this feeling. She's very well-spoken and likeable and very happy about it, even though she's clearly freaky stressed. More stressed than almost anyone I've ever seen.

Meanwhile, THOSE BITCHES GOT TO GO TO THE O.C. SET! I HATE THESE PEOPLE! Ahem. I should explain. What makes these kids cry and freak out and dream at night and examine their qualities both positive and less so, is a show called American Idol. And I'm not going to judge them for that. But I would appreciate the same latitude when I explain that The O.C. is my own private American Idol. It takes all kinds, people. Trust me, I'm hating myself enough right now, considering that the only person who reacts to being on The O.C. set the same way I would is the egregiously unstable Jaclyn Crum, a 16-year-old spaced-out blonde chick without a damn thought in her head, who cries at the drop of a hat. And, like, that's punishment enough, don't you think? Me and Crum against the world.

Then her mom completely and utterly loses her shit about the whole thing and the visit to Harbor High and the trip to Los Angeles and the very fact of American Idol and the fact that Jaclyn is completely talented and whatnot, and then we see directly where Jaclyn's emotional freedom came from as Mommy Crum also starts crying. Like, really crying. Like the ugly realistic crying of Angela Chase that you hardly ever see on the TV. And so the dreams coming true and the amazing love between a mother and a daughter and it's that whole karaoke thing where I can't look but I can't look away and I'm kind of freaking out. Crying mommies. You know? Mortifying to you, to me, to everybody in the world, and, like, it's sweet but moms can be just so painful to see doing this, especially if they cry because words aren't equal to the task of making you understand how special their kid is. Oh, it's a bloodbath.

Anyhow. Some people get sent home, including: A girl in a choker. A guy in a bad outfit. A man with crossed eyes and a little hat. A girl. Whatever. Marlea's still freaking out and missing her son. She's the Regina of the second half hour. Constantine "broods," quoth Seacrest, and we see the fake fan-blown hair "video" again. Argh. Meet two more, um, "rockers," Aaron Kelly (24, St. Louis, the Andrew WK guy who does a great impression of Andrew WK but shouldn't be here) and Harold "Bo" Bice (28, Helena AL), who looks like if James Taylor lived in the woods and cut out lots of paper dolls. Hmm, these are Constantine's competition for the "rocker" title. Which I love, because, what, like this is 1982 and there are "rockers" and "punkers" and "New Wavers" and Spike has to raise an imaginary egg baby for class. Every time they say "rocker" I can smell Electric Youth and Aquanet. Seacrest and cred, you guys. Seacrest and cred. Constantine Maroulis (28, NYC) goes all Broadway, predictably. He's very nasally up in his nasal, to coin a phrase. Dear heavens, I hope he goes home tonight. I know he won't. So then I really like Aaron Kelly. He's neat-o and cute and nice to hear singing. But then, I'm quite partial to Andrew WK. He is a good man. So anyway, all three of them get through. That's awesome, even the Bo Bice part. The crowd of kids loves Constantine and cheers for him and he brattily jumps off the stage like Bon Jovi. Jesus, dude. Dial it back.

Briana Davis (18, Thornville OH) still looks like a space clown. She makes her own clothes, I think. All of the fabrics she uses are one-color or striped and blocky. I think that's AWESOME. I love her even more. Keep on sewing, tiny dancer. She's wearing silver space boots with the ensemble tonight. She sings, and I was afraid of this -- it's terrible. She's nervous and it makes her sound like she's standing on a chair with a mouse taunting her. Remember, it's not about whether we like her, it's about if she can sing, and in this case, she can't. Too nervous. I like her, though, and she's cool. She'll be all right.

Back to Marlea, who complains that the girls are mean to her, and she can't deal with it. She's really grasping at straws, here. I refuse to believe that a woman this beautiful, intelligent, and talented hasn't been treated to bitchery at least a few times in her delicate life. People being people, and all.

Well, most of the time. Look who it is! Mikalah Gordon (16, Vegas)! And she's dressed like a person instead of what happens to nice girls who take up smoking, which is nice, and she does have a pretty face under there, but she's hitting the Mayim Bialik/C.C. Bloom thing so fucking hard -- the American Idol is not Bette Midler. Bette Midler isn't even the Bette Midler. And neither are you. At least I can't smell her through my TV this time.

So she does this whole commedia dell'arte bullshit routine that I won't dignify before the song, and the judges just stare, and then she sings. And yeah, it's much more awesome, but nothing we haven't seen before, both from her and from others, and so the judges totally start up this conversation about her while she's singing, and it's kind of ambivalently admiring, because it's about how "confident" she is, but it's wishful thinking to believe that that's always a good thing. So she starts getting annoyed, and -- I liked this -- she starts interjecting Simon's name into the song to get his attention, at one point singing, "No, I'm really talking to you, Simon," and it's pretty awesome. I don't so much care for how she consistently gives him the alpha position, because it speaks volumes about her take on gender relations, but also, in this case she's right about it.

Anyway, I'm going to feel horrible about going on and on about what a whore she is, if I end up liking her. Which is admittedly a long shot. The cool/not cool thing about Mikalah, though, is that she'd just laugh and smack me on the back about it, and then drink me under the table, if I started feeling bad about calling her a whore. Maybe she'd steal my wallet, too. She doesn't mind being called a whore, is what I'm saying. Her confidence is this whole thing unto itself, and she's still singing, and she does that thing very well with her eyes that Miss Tyra can do.

She steps up with mic shaking, after she's done, to inform Simon that if he sends her home, he's going to be accompanying her to her prom, since she already missed homecoming for American Idol. So he says, "No, I'm not going to your prom," and for a second, you can see the child she might have been, as her eyes cloud over and she very quietly says, "Oh," because for a second she thinks he's just told her to fuck off, for real. And it hurts her, and she can't process it for a second, and for that second she looks like a 16-year-old girl instead of a Warrant video. And then they tell her she's through, and it's nice, and I'm almost kind of happy for her. Mostly, I would like to sit her down for a good talking to.

: Daycare worker lady, Jamie Paul Koehler, pixie Cyndi Lauper girl Emily Neves, and the Ombudsman of New Jersey, John Zisa: who stays and who goes? All of them but Cyndi Lauper go, and she stays. That's my prediction. Which it turns out is 100-percent incorrect. Go me. Also, Marlea is going to freak the hell out and the producers are going to have to deal with her. Never good.

Marlea has decided to go home. So then why are we wasting time on this? I liked her voice, I remember liking it a lot in her first audition, and she's very cool, but this is, like, not ending. At all. Get there, Ryan. By boat or by train, don't care how. Windsurf to the point, if you have to. Okay, so she's the first person ever to voluntarily leave. Finally! God, Seacrest.

Janay Castine (17, Lawrenceville GA) sings "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me" in a cute yellow dress; her phrasing is boring and irritating but she's through. Daycare Jennifer Todd gets through. Everybody I said wasn't getting through, is. The girl who cleans up nice is not going and asks, "Why?" in this little-girl voice. Taye Diggs thinks the judges are assholes. Some blonde is a no. Emily Neves is a surprising no. There are now 97 total hopefuls left going into Wednesday, which is the group performances night, which is like Halloween for this show -- totally the coolest night of the year!

Wednesday, finally:

Jamie Paul "JP" Koehler interviews as to how they are all going to get shuffled together for the competition group sings. Nadia is on a team with two scary girls who fight over who'll be doing the choreography for their group -- the first one is immediately all "I might be the choreographer" and Nadia kind of rolls her eyes and then the scarier girl gets all, "If I let her!" Oh, this'll be ugly. Well, if we ever check back in with this group. Some other girls talk about how they're friends and have bonded during the rounds, but are not close with the other girl in their group, and we don't see them again either.

That awful "thank you my brothers" guy, Matthew Meyers (28, Jonesboro, GA) is on a team with a nice guy named Danny Steward (25, Sylmar CA), and Scott Savol, about whom he says, "I can't use the words I'd probably like to use." So I think I hate him. This whole episode is kind of confusing because they don't tell us anybody's name until the performances, but I would like to be more helpful than that, so I'm telling you now. Anyway, it is my hypothesis that I will grow to hate this Matthew Meyers more than anything in the world, and continue to love Scott Savol more and more, seeing past his brutish halfwit exterior to the tender genius within. We shall see if that is the case.

So the teams get to pick one of five songs to perform, and then they pick for performance order. We bop around from team to team: Angel Kay LeTourneau and some small girls. People I don't know. Lots of them. On teams with each other. Elizabeth Pha with the girl who will one day destroy her. Josh Zisa and JP Koehler with this guy who looks like Zisa, only vastly hotter. David Brown with some people we can't see because they don't matter because they're not David Brown.

Fucking Jaclyn Crum in a Renaissance boob dress is about to have a problem, surprisingly. She's being called away due tooh crap. I'm a jerk. Her mom totally has multiple sclerosis and relies on Jaclyn a great deal, and her mom has collapsed and can't breathe and is going to the hospital, and Mom's very sorry about all of this, andshe looks very pretty. And I will say that Jaclyn Crum holds up incredibly well when it matters, as she tells us straight up about the MS and how this not breathing and falling down is a first for her mom's MS, and how she's looking forward to finding out what the hell is going on. Now the whole thing with her mom being so blown away by her daughter's awesomeness makes a lot more sense, and I love how we've got the backstory but it's been sneaked up on us by the mom having a medical emergency, rather than by Seacrest bringing it up every chance he gets.

Matthew Meyers, Danny Stewart, and Scott Savol are going to be singing "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch." Scott iscreepy and not interested in all of this. Matt explicates that he hates him so completely. And yeah, Scott's kind of acting pretty much like a total jackass here. Matt's upset about how Scott is super-weird, and Sling Blade-y, and silent, and how he is from the "Planet of the Ape." Matt and Danny are totally into this performance and getting it together, and practicing and so on. Matthew is ready to, quote, "pimp-slap" Scott, because he's being so rude and uninterested. Me too, kind of. What a surprising turn of events.

Then a whole bunch of lesbians get off the bus. I don't know. And Scott just kind ofwanders away, and disappears, and Matt and Danny are horrified about this. Scott explains to us about his belief that Matt and Danny suck terribly and will cause him to be eliminated immediately, instead of in April. Which is unbelievably shitty, even if he does have the best voice I've heard this year. And he's acting super-creepy again. Too bad you're an asshole sometimes, Scott. It's not like you were going to win anyway, but this takes out some of the sting.

Other teams, you know, actually practice instead of getting up to a bunch of bullshit. We are proud of them. A tiny Latino guy and an enormous black man do a funny dance. Aaron Kelly practices with his team and they have good harmonies and not a chance in hell. Angel is a train wreck and dances around with a slice of pizza, imagining illegal sex with the teenagers that surround her. Natalie, Gina, and Janay rehearse in their pajamas. Everybody in this whole stupid show looks the same. I refuse to get attached. The finale of The Amazing Race was last night? And even in the very last episode, I still kept asking, "Now, who's that guy?" whenever Kris and Jon were onscreen. I'm bad with faces sometimes. You need to make allowances for people like me, TV.

Janay Castine, Gina McFadden (20, Overland Park KS), and Natalie Weiss (19, Manalapan NJ) practicing in their PJs some more. A mom is helpfully writing the lyrics down for them. Janay is irritated that Natalie just wants to dance around: "One girl, orthe other girl in there," she tells us privately, keeps jumping from thing to thing and wanting to choreograph and being all ADD. So now I don't feel too bad, since Janay can't even keep them straight and she's, like, right there in the same room with them. They do their little dances and Janay sings -- greatly, actually -- in the front.

Seacrest looks dead again. Nothing gold can stay. Matt and Danny have lost Scott, and Danny feels stood up, and Matt is pissed as hell andI like him now. I'm fickle like that, but without seeing what Scott was up to, I thought Matthew's responses to his behavior were a bit outr. They are not. He is being pretty nice about it, considering how it's turning out that Scott's being a completely ridiculous assclown.

Flashback to Anwar teaching children, and then using his music teaching skills to get his team's singing rhythm down, shaking something and making them speak in their rhythm before trying to sing together. It's awesome to watch him do this. He's so cool.

Damn, Elizabeth Pha. Okay, her two teammates are doing really well dancing and singing "baby baby" behind her, while she forgets all the words. Flashback to yesterday, when she forgot all the words to her chosen audition song. Paula flinched like she'd been stabbed with a knitting needle. Why the hell is this awful girl here? I mean, seriously. She starts complaining to her teammates about how it's "Such a pressure, I mean, hello!" God, she's awful. They look at her like they're about to feed her to the yak. And then they just keep dancing and singing like they have an actual lead singer while she tucks her hair behind her ears and stares at her feet and diddles around in front of them just like anyone would, provided that person had opted out of living their own life, and were not 24 years old, which Elizabeth is. But that's only like nine in Disgusting Years.

Now Janay's mom (April) and Gina's dad (Lonnie) are there, and he's being a total stage mom lecturing them about things that are wastes of time as Janay and her mom stare at him because he is, in fact, wasting so much time. Everyone is bored.

Seacrestiana that begins, "Remember Constantine, the guy who left his 'hard rock' band in Brooklyn to audition for BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP." Or at least, that's what I heard, because yes, Ryan, I do. Thanks for the refresher. Cut to Constantine -- a theatre performer, okay, who was in Rent, and who played fucking HEDWIG, for Christ's sake -- being "all mixed up" by the choreography of his boyband-esque teammates.

"I'm not really a dancer," he protests, "this isn't really my thing." Except for when I take the starring role in musicals, of course. The falsity of all this kind of makes my tummy hurt, because again -- there's no point. Some exec decided that they needed this certain "type" and then instead of finding someone to fit that type, they took a guy with an established career and then just heaped fucking deception and lies on him until whatever was once real about him is stubbed out and hideous.

So compared to his teammates, he says, he's in the worse position, and they agree. The teammates in question are Dezmond of the Crazy Feet and new kid William Blake (22, Plano TX), and Constantine makes doubly sure we know the score by lending his voice a certain lisping sibilant gay edge. Good eye, Constantine. You noticed something visible from space. Dick.

So he's making fun of how Dezmond was, you know, on task and trying to practice: "Okay, y'all, five six seven eight!" And then he bitches about Dezmond correcting him in front of people in the hotel hallway -- why? They might think he's a bad dancer! Which he just admitted! It's some kind of weird hate crime being perpetrated here and I don't get it, because Constantine's very sweet and kind with William, when it comes down to it, and the actual issue is how he wanted to be the choreographer, and get credit for that, and Dezmond kept being all overbearing about it. So gay voice or not, what was really going on here wasn't a gay vs. straight thing so much as a Big Gay-Off, which changes a lot. Maybe he didn't even realize he was doing the gay voice, and was just doing the Dezmond voice. Because they are similar, these two voices. So William practices dancing with Constantine, and laughs silently while all of this is going on. I wish there were lots and lots more William Blake. I will say that right now. But there's not. I will tell you that, too.

"And then I went to bed! I told them, like, 'Yo, this is going to be a train wreck. This is a train wreck, just so you know.'" And so they were like -- in this totally gay voice, coincidentally -- "Whatever, it's not going to be a train wreck! Just sleep on it!" So now he's just hoping he's the last man standing. And I hate this fucking show so much, because I bet he's right and he will be. But I also kind of love it, because I will bet you one hundred dollars they sent his arrogant ass to bed and continued practicing. And I love them for that.

Then some good teams practicing, sometimes the front side of them, sometimes just the asses of them. And then, back to Elizabeth Pha's two teammates, who are confessing out in the hallway that they "haven't a chance in hell" with her on the team. "It's like singing with an elephant," says the girl in glasses. Which is funny, because elephants never forget, and Elizabeth cannot remember. The other one giggles. Up front, I will say that I can't exactly comment on any of this without bias. I mean, I hate Elizabeth Pha, and I especially hate that she just can't seem to remember the words to the song. I hate that. You have one task before you! Could you like possibly prevail and conquer it? No? Just can't put forth the effort, huh? Too much pressure? Go back to the Bunny Ranch. God, she pisses me off. There is literally nothing else she needs to do right now. Just one thing. Remember the words of a song which has something like 17 words total. Your whole life comes down to a single task: What are you going to do?

The cameras follow the girls back into the room, and the formerly passive-aggressive and lazy Elizabeth suddenly wants to have some kind of dramatic confrontation, wherein the girls on her team will be exposed for the sabotaging, malicious bitches they are. She keeps looking at the camera so that we can agree with her how deeply unfair all of this is. So, pushed to actually discussing it, Glasses says, "If you can't learn a pop song in two hours, what are you doing here?" That's my question exactly. Well, the last five words serve just as well independently of any reasoning behind it. And so Elizabeth darts some Can you believe this bitch, Daddy? at the camera, and asks, "What do you mean?" and fucking giggles and says, "Hello, I have talent? I can sing?" She stares a while at the cameraman and Glasses says basically, sure, whatever, but points out that there's a bit more to it than that, or else there would be a lot more people left over after the first two days of cuts. Elizabeth keeps grinning stupidly: "What are you trying to say?"

Meanwhile, Dad Lonnie's still fucking talking. Natalie politely and cannily asks "the parents" to leave for awhile -- meaning Lonnie, of course -- and April laughs and follows him out. They go back to practicing, and actually sound pretty good.

In some hallway somewhere, Scott wanders up to his team. Danny mentions that he's creepy and antisocial, and Scott doesn't get it and thinks it's this whole other conversation that is not happening about how they have to practice and get it together and be awesome and rock out suddenly, and Matthew proves again that he's pretty okay by just laughing about it, and they tell the cameras to get out, and the cameras are happy to do so, because Matthew's gigantic and very San-Francisco-leather-looking, and he's wearing not so much in the clothing way, and you can see all of his tattoos, even the ones on places.

There's a "Goodnight, we're going to bed" montage. This totally nasty girl in Lindsay's group stares at the cameraman and like fucking touches herself and pouts at the camera the entire time. It's so gross. It's very Idols Gone Wild. All the teams are going to sleep now -- some of them, adorably, sing songs about how tired they are.

Jaclyn is still at the hospital, relieved to tell us that her mom has food poisoning and not an MS attack. She sings in the car back to the hotel, in the best approximation of practice she can muster. Back at the hotel, one of her group members has already gone to bed. That sucks. I spend like hours trying to figure out how they could've gotten her team to the hospital to practice with her without it seeming weird or tacky or heartless, and I can't, but I am positive there was a way.

Seacrest wanders through the halls talking about how it used to be full of practicing and talking but is now silent "Except for in here!" and he points to some door that may or may not just be the room that Elizabeth's team may or may not be fighting or practicing in. Might not be in the same hotel. Might not be on the same planet. Doesn't really matter, does it? It's as though the fight has been going on this entire time when we were checking in with all the other teams, and who am I to say it hasn't been? I believe it. She is in fact that awful. Glasses tries again to explain to Elizabeth that she's not interested in allowing Elizabeth to jeopardize her own chances, and that she's sure that the other girl in the group (at whom she kind of flaps her hands, which is funny because still nobody knows anybody else's name) feels the same way. The other girl good-cops about how it's 2 AM, and they're all like really tired. Like some rest is going to give Elizabeth Pha some self-respect or any initiative. Glasses is like, "No actually, I could go all night right now." And she could, too. "I'm not letting anybody do this to me." I think I love Glasses. This is so not how I saw this going. With Matt, too. Those clever editors. I totally like the people I thought I would hate, and dislike the people Ialready kind of disliked.