Compared To What?

Monday

Seacrest looks fit, with some shirt I can't read that looks like the opening credits of At Home With The Braithwaites. "King of the Scene"? Oh, Ryan. Then there's a whole deal with how we're live for some reason, and how they all "felt it" up there when they kicked out the people, whom we see in stills of varying flattery. Anyway, with some not very interesting body language, the ladies are just "watchin' and hangin'," off to the side.

The crowd goes wild when Federov waves sweetly into the camera like a sweet little baby. I guess you work with what you've got. Then the crowd goes wild for the judges too, and dude, like, they just loooove the judges. I wonder if any of that has really all that much to do with what's actually happening. The cheering, I mean. I trust nothing. I'm so the truth is out there after last week. You can't be sure Ryan Seacrest really exists until the day you shake his hand. His tiny, tiny hand.

Randy tells Ryan that he expects "no nerves tonight," and that the men must "bring it on." Ryan calls Paula on how she adds nothing of worth to the competition, asking her if she'll be harping on song choice to the exclusion of anything else, or just gabble on randomly, or pick a new thing to go on about, or what. Her reply? "Well it's down to let's see showmanship you know I wanna see how they perform and see a individual unique performance." So what she'll be looking for this week is whether or not they, um, sing. She's a harsh taskmistress, but fair. I'll give her that.

Then: gay. "Cowell, at this stage" Simon cuts him off: "It's Simon, actually." Then he buys Ryan a drink. "Whatever," Ryan says, in this pretty cute way that reminds me of ADAM PRATT. "You should be happy I'm giving you more camera time right now." Then the whole thing kind of breaks down and Ryan puts one hand on his little hip and they wink and giggle and blow kisses and pass notes that say Ryan I like you do you like me? Circle one Yes/No and You're funny and I like you but I don't like you like you but do you like me? and Paula is a stupidhead and Constantine smells like a dog's butt. And then Ryan climbs on the desk and there is tongue and they simply can't stop laughing. "Have you picked out the person you think will win this year?" Of course he has. Ryan wants to know if it's a guy or a girl that Simon likes, but Simon's not telling, because that would be the end of their relationship, and plus Simon doesn't like to draw those kinds of lines, because we just like who we like and there's no explaining it. Welcome to my entire stupid college experience.

Continuing on this "clearing up misconceptions" thing, Mario interviews to draw a strong line in the sand: he is not in fact bald and he hopes to show the top of his head at some point this season. What the fuck? Why would theywhat is the point ofwhat internet site was so crazy about the fucking hat thing thatwell, by tomorrow night we'll see what he keeps up there, andplease find some new hats instead of taking them off altogether. Then he sings some song I don't care about, same kind of thing like last week, all sing-talking and yelling and finally singing some parts, and those parts are good, of course. The backup track is so intense, like, acid reflux intense and loud, and that'll be true all tonight and all tomorrow night, but I'll keep bringing it up. He's working the camera in that oh-so-credible way of his, and dancing all crazy, and he seems generally more laid back. His jeans are not that flattering. Frankly, they make him look a little fat, which is weird, because he's totally miniscule in every direction. This song's all about how he loves music -- any old kind of music, and the point of it is to show Mario's range, which is too bad, because there's not really a lot. There are all these creepy girl voices in the back going "la la la la," and it's spooky, and they're way too loud. Then Mario begins to sing just awfully, and all the low notes are out of his range and all his high notes are out of his range and his hat looks like the liner on a dude's swimming suit.

After, Randy says something cryptic about how he "knows where [Mario] got those shoes, man." Off a dead guy? The hell? I bet Randy knows a bunch of industry people with their own fashion lines. Maybe that's the deal. Paula "admits" the she lied before, about something, and that he picked a good song. They agree that even though he sucked tonight, they want to keep seeing him on the show. Just fucking openly like that. How come they always do this with Mario? "Oh, what the hell. You should suck, it's fine." Even Simon is like, "You sounded like shit but looked nice. And professional." Which is true. But you know? Why not bring your A game? Why not just do that instead? Then, there's more "we've discovered the internets" bullshit about Ryan asking Mario to pronounce his last name (vass-KWEZ), so we'll stop making fun of him for saying it "wrong" and start making fun of Mario, I guess, for pronouncing his name the way it's pronounced.

One thing I did not know for sure until this week is that Paris Hilton is awesome. Thanks for screwing up my TiFaux so I had to watch that Simple Life show on Wednesday, FOX. Your lack of gumption once again renders unto me most delicious and auspicious results.

After the break, Ryan and Mario are just clowning. Then Joe's up and he and Ryan play another game of "Let's Clarify Things For The Internets We Just Heard About," all, how come Joe was grabbing all over Ryan during the results last week, and was he going to fall down or offer to go home or what, and Joe says some unconsidered crap about how he was at that point "getting ready" to do his sing-out because "I thought it was over and then you told me to sit down and it was like I didn't want to sit down," meaning his body wasn't feeling that because he was dreadfully nervous, and then he admits regarding his knees that "they buckled a little bit," and then Joe grabs on Ryan some more and thanks him for being there for him, and in fact for all contestants in all contests in the world -- See? He wasn't being mean to those kids, you remembered it wrong, America! -- and then Ryan says, "I'm here for you, man. All 142 pounds of me." And oh, how Joe laughs.

Anwar interviews that he wants his students to "remember him as Mr. Robinson first, instead of American Idol Anwar," because then they'll be able to "see access" for themselves, as in, points of access for themselves to realize their own dreams, which is nice because sometimes little kids shouldn't know better. That's fairly awesome; I like the train of thought that got him there, a lot. Then he sings nasally in a strange camouflage hunting jacket, and what he is singing is "What's Going On," and what that is? Is stupid. He's wearing a Desert Storm jacket and singing an anti-war protest song, okay, but he's bouncing on his heels and grinning and being gold old Anwar the entire time, so it's incredibly, insultingly half-baked, like a stab at a statement, and even worse than that, his tone is very thin and weird. He just sounds like a guy singing. Any old guy. Also, he has admitted to fudging the lyrics by accident, which ironically undercuts the jacket thing even more, because he rhymes "crying" with "crying" and in the war he's singing about, ain't nobody "dying." I will say, though, that he has some very nice moves, is generally quite appealing and very good at going like this: "Woo!" Which he does many times. Then there is an unending, tinny, terrible-sounding note at the end. Another lovely, professional, semi-memorable performance, with a side of self-righteous liberal half-assery.

Randy says it was "really, really good," and points out Anwar's "great" control, which is totally true. He also calls the performance "hot," which is totally not true. It was nice. Just like Anwar. Nice and pretty and right there in your face. Paula repeats everything Randy just said and adds that he's technically "the best vocalist." True, he's a technician, but I haven't heard a whole lot of interest or passion so far, just the sound of him asking eloquently, "Like me? Please?" Plus which, tonight? Didn't sound that great. Which is not completely his fault, because of the weird mics and sound mix, but is mostly his fault, because welcome to performing. Simon didn't like last week's performance when he "watched it back" (I learned this phrase recently from the posters, and not from Simon, because I couldn't understand what he was saying), and that he thought tonight was a risk (How? Why? Because the song is played, and has no rage left behind it forty years later?) but that on TV he thinks it will sound good. Thirtieth shot already of Carrie clapping.

Here's the thing, and Simon himself will kind of explain at some point, but the deal is that the whole "watching it back" ongoing thing this week in particular is because not only is the band too loud, and the mics all weird, and the voices barely understandable, but also the monitors are knackered, I think, so that the judges have sound coming at them all wrong and way loud from every direction, and basically have no way of knowing how this is going to sound to us, or in fact how it sounds, period. Which increases their pointlessness by a million, but that's not the point, because the point is that every time Simon points out the difference between the live performance and his impressions upon "watching it back," there's a teeny-tiny passive aggressive "fuck you" point to be made to the production team, and a request to have the sound guys fired and replaced with people who understand acoustics. For which I cannot blame him, but it seems oddly subtle or sneaky for a guy like him.

"up, if he can stand up: it's Joe Murena." Joe interviews his really deep thoughts about how this is like singing into your bathroom mirror, only there's no mirror, and instead of being in the bathroom, you're surrounded by a bajillion people, and you're on TV, and you might get sent home, and people on websites get paid to make fun of you. So just like that, only totally different. The orange is back, y'all. He looks good, in his wide-collared suit and the whole thing he's got going on, but if you knew him you'd laugh, I think, because it's kind of Night at the Roxbury. He goes the crazy all-too-refreshing route, singing "Let's Stay Together." I mean, he sounds really great, but it's Al Green, you know? Like the stuff Paula will say to the girls both nights, regarding Alicia Keys: Change it up. You are never going to sound like Al Green, and even if you sound better than Al Green, we will still hate you for not sounding like Al Green, because that's what we want: Al Green. Singing this song. And many others. He's just one of those guys. Kind of like Otis Redding. About whom I still know absolutely nothing, and I'm loving it, but thanks for the very polite and gracious emails calling me a fucktard. But we'll get to that.

Joe Mureno should play Jesus in Jesus Christ Superstar. What a strange thing to say. I don't know. I really love his voice, and he can do the register-change thing that the leads in that show have to do to make it listenable. The movie soundtracks to this and Xanadu were all I listened to when I was little, and I don't like musicals and I really don't like Andrew Lloyd Webber, but I loved those songs, man. ["It was one of my family's go-to cassettes on car tripsand my introduction to the concept that the villain is usually cooler and gets better songs than the hero. See also: Band, Charlie Daniels." -- Sars] Plus, that movie was my first ever introduction to Jesus and all the stuff that happened to Jesus, actually, and I was quite fascinated by Jesus for a long time, but I didn't really know that there was more to it. I just thought he was this cool, nice guy that got to have a movie about his interesting experiences, like Tommy, or Charlie Bucket. True story.

Anyway, you can see and actually hear Mikalah screaming for him, which is nice. His voice is so, so strong, and while it's not quirky or unusual, that's still something. He knows how to use it. Ditto on the pants, which are verystretchy. I don't know. All the pants are stretchy and tight and you can see everybody's details. Ryan especially. I don't want to look, but there it is, all in your grill. Joe Mureno is doing a really good job singing, but still just like this guy you know. You know? Some nice guy you went to high school with that can sing well. Amanda Avila, I think, has started this bullshit in the Girl Pound where they snap their fingers like beatniks, which is dumb, because the mics can't hear it, so it doesn't exactly create the pounding applause that might, say, move a person to pick up the phone. That's foreshadowing, I read about how people do that sometimes.

Randy wasn't blown away, and Paula liked the song choice (drink twice, because she totally said like five minutes ago that the "song choice" era had ended), and loved the tone (drink!) and pitch of his voice: He was in command. All true, and why I liked him best tonight. Cut to Carrie clapping. Seriously. Simon agrees with Randy, and then says that Joe sounded okay but that we could have been in a Portuguese night club in 1974, andwhat? I don't see the relevance to the competition. Wow. I mean, I get it, but it's the song really, and with a voice that strong and control like that he could really do anything with it, I think. Not just take part in a Portuguese sing-along or whatever the hell. Simon hasn't heard an actual man singing in so long that he thinks it sounds dated and old-school, I guess. Of course Paula freaks out on him, even though she doesn't really know what he means. It really undercuts the few times I agree with her, when she does this. Calm down! I now look stupid for agreeing with you! Hate that. Then cut to Constantine who's up after the commercial, and he makes a stupid ugly face, of course.

Back live, Seacrestiana: "You do the voting, we get the blame." Huh. The Chris Carter on my left shoulder is like, "Not that the two are connected." Man. This is the best I think Ryan Seacrest has ever looked in his entire life. He jokes that Simon is now banned from every Portuguese nightclub in L.A., which whatever, and then David interviewing about this monstrous and ridiculous piece of bling hanging from his neck that is shaped like a giant microphone which weighs six pounds and reminds him of "where he comes from, what he does, and who he is. Which is a singer." And not, I hasten to add, an actor, because dude, that was the most horrible line reading I've ever seen in a person over the age of six. His face goes all crazy and tic-ed up and he's like Ashlee Simpson when she was on 7th Heaven. I think I just fell out of love with David Brown, you guys. It's so false and makes him look so dumb, like he's actually reading it off the card, like he's a tiny child selling grape juice, and even though I know they made him say it, it's still ridiculous. At least I'm fairly certain he's going to sing the most boring song he can.

"All is fair in love," he sings, really unevenly. "Love's a crazy game," he sings, with more of these strange child-actor faces. "Two people vow to stay in love as one, they say." God forbid I talk shit about a single song I've ever heard, but dude: I couldn't sing this with a straight face, but more importantly, he can't sing it with anything like a normal face. It just makes him seem like he doesn't know what the fuck he's saying. I hope he goes home. This is absurd. I didn't watch last year, but this is kind of what I remember people talking about when they talked aboutwas it Jasmine? Like cute faces and pretty feet and the Voice of Huckabees. It gets really good for a second, then really bad again, then more faces. Faces faces faces. Like it's actually happening to him right now, but he's singing about it instead of saying it. Like we're in a musical performed by a high school for aspiring thespians under the age of puberty. Then, Carrie clapping.

Randy's all, "Listen, it was better than last week." Just like last week, they explain that he's never, ever been as good as in his audition, which from what I've seen is true. And, of course, drink, because it was "pitchy in spots," but at least this time that's obviously true instead of whatever. "Please stop singing Stevie Wonder songs, it's too hard," they say, and I'm paraphrasing, but not by much. Paula just knows "the best is yet to come," and that at least he was marginally better this week. Simon agrees with the other two, not to mention me and I'm guessing David himself, saying that he has "left whatever sparkle you had behind," and hasn't "brought it to this part of the competition." Simon and Randy single out in particular the beginning, which was utterly rough, and they warn him that there are guys who are vastly better than him in the competition, and he can't coast forever, and honestly I think that was the final nail right there. Randy mentions that it's a competition (I love when he does that, because it always seems like a total PSA), and Ryan hopes he'll be able to come back week. Now that David's not "acting," I like him again. You can tell it hurt, though. Nice boy.

Ryan says, "He quit his band to do the show," and there's the fear. Right there, because I know what's about to happen. Cut to effing Constantine, looking drugged out and smarming into the camera about how he "likes to live life a little dangerously and this [American Idol, you mean? Really? Snapping your head back and forth all sassy and ill-mannered like that? Really?], this is as dangerous as it comes, you know, people might not think so, but trust me�" and even though there was obviously more to that sentence, even the editor has had enough, and we cut to the performance.

Well, not exactly. Because I have a few things to say about a certain show I like to call Elimidate. Yeah, I'm going there. Because I can only do the whole Cider House Rules thing with Constantine, all, "I hurt because I love, and because it makes you tough," for a certain amount of time before I just admit that I hate his ass and enjoy this part of my job more than any other. Not that I was fooling anybody but myself.

In the hierarchy of reality TV, there are some truisms, number one being that The Amazing Race is good and everybody should watch it. I like The Amazing Race and Big Brother because I would be good at them, so that means to me personally that they are for awesome people. Then there's Survivor, at which I would totally suck, which means to me personally that it is for losers. But that's where it stops being all YMMV and starts getting real: Fear Factor is for people who want to be on TV so bad that they will eat a bug. The Real World is for people so pointless that they cannot even bring themselves to compete for anything in particular: the bug that they eat is their own dignity, but because they are all emotionally and sexually prepubescent, it's only the dignity equivalent of a lower-back tribal butterfly tattoo. Regrettable, but nobody's really going to blame you for it, because you clearly were living in the Now, back when you got it. Many years ago.

Then there's Elimidate. And this is a show where you go on a date with four men, apparently, who hiss and spit at each other like total bitches and insult each other right to their faces, and pretty much ignore you altogether. And I would say there's a hint of musk in the air, but none of them are men in that way. For example, you might find yourself with a real estate salesman (commercial, I should point out, so he's not like an apartment hunter or anything), some kind of nerd in a turtleneck, a self-described (!) "boy in a man's body," which body is tubercular and weird-looking, not to mention a huge fucking red flag, and oh, let's say there is also a creepy bug-eyed brownie hound who says all smarmily that he goes to the "Boston Conservatory," which he says like it's fucking Julliard, which to him it is, and then one of them gives you a key ring with two rubber people fucking. And you agree to go along with this instead of walking away from the whole stupid mess when you meet these tools, because you're getting scale, and more importantly because you're on TV. And now everybody knows you're desperate.

And then the creepy one bonds awkward/painfully with you over how you're both Greek, and then you go ice skating, and the creepy one won't blink or stop staring or use some kind of cooling cream on his disgusting eye bags, but looks one million times cuter than he will one day not far from now when he's on another reality show singing like two cats fucking in a garbage disposal. Which is turned on. And all the boys bitch and moan about each other like they're fighting over the plumber that just moved onto your street. And if you're the kind of person who digs the shtick of the "I'm five" guy, not only the whole adult baby thing but also the pornographic keychain, you deserve all of this, and all you will be getting yourself into soon. Then you go ice skating and they try to impress you with their masculine ice skating skills, and it's so ugly. Then the other guys break off and flirt with each other a whole lot, and it's nice because the Greek guy falls on his face (and interviews how awesome he was and how he was the best one when he was the worst one, which is just like on this one show I recap for you each week), but one of the guys starts flirting with other girls while on a date with you and three other guys. Like this isn't confusing enough already.

Then all the guys vote? On who should be "elimidated," which is here a made-up word meaning "gets paid without having to awkwardly kiss the cross-eyed girl that none of them are interested in anyway because sexually they're a little bit lost and they really just wanted to be on TV and maybe get a blowjob, but from whom not one of us can say." But I don't understand that part because she seems to be the one who picks, so the voting was just more bitchiness. Then the Greek one talks some shit and is "hip."

Then you go to a "hot spot" bar and you are described as "mint," physically speaking, and then you add alcohol, which is what separates the mere reality TV from the really good reality TV, and then the men, emboldened by liquor, keep bitching openly at each other, like that's going to make them look better. And then the Greek one talks about his vintage leather pants, and the other ones talk about how gay he is, like they aren't, but more importantly, like that's the worst thing you can say about somebody. The drunker they get, the gayer they act, but that's not surprising. Then one guy answers a question, and the Greek one -- you know what, let's call him "Constantine" -- can't handle that somebody is getting any attention at all, so he pretends to snore loudly, and then brings up the damn Greek thing again, and gets called on it, and then he sings to you, and it's startling and barfy and loud and in public, and the other guys are mortified, but "Constantine" just thinks it's because they are haters. Then the real estate guy kisses you and "Constantine" is totally grossed out because he's not there yet in the workbook. Then the boy-man does gross stomach tricks, and it's just awful, and then the boys talk about how horrible it is to be in the same room, city, or state as Constantine, who "flirts" a bunch more with the camera because that's why he's here. And then you drunkenly "elimidate" the real estate guy -- who's actually the best one of the four -- because he kissed you when you asked him to, about which kissing "Constantine" is still horrified. Kissing! Real estate guy points out to us that you are now on a date with a five-year-old and a gay man. Ouch.

Then you ask a stupid made-up question about how if they had one minute to romance you, and "Constantine" licks your arm and the other guy stares at his crotch, and then the boy child does a gross dance while "Constantine" stares at his crotch. Then everybody dances in a big stupid threesome of dancing and it's the most disturbing thing in the world, and then the child-man takes off his shirt because he thinks this is a strip club. "Constantine" gives a "talk to the hand" and says about the dancing, "I didn't love it." Then he takes off his shirt, and then they just stare at and investigate each other's bodies, like sweaty beasts, and the pants come off and even you, yourself, the girl on the date, are amazed at what an orgy your life has become, and how it "happened so quick," and how much the two boys seemed to be "getting off on it." But you kind of like when the pants come off. Then "Constantine" hops up on a table in his leather pants and no shirt and does a very minimalist and "I'm drunk so I think this is quite sensual" dance and doesn't look at you once, although the other guy on the date just stares and stares and finally puts his pants back on because there's a finite amount of embarrassment in this world.

How can this show not be gay like this? I've got to watch more and see how they get away with it. I know Elyse from America's Top Model Cycle One (New season started this week! The recaps are awesome!) likes this show, so I trust that it's awesome, but this is, likeawesome. It's like going on a date with Queer As Folk crossed with, like, Family Feud. Which is actually a fair description of also-awesome The O.C., come to think of it.

Then you totally screw me by "elimidating" the boy-child-man, meaning I can't erase this shit off my TV without seeing the whole damn thing like I thought I was going to when you got rid of "Constantine" . Although Little Kid Man also notes that "Constantine" is gay, and wishes you joy in your upcoming misery, and then "Constantine" scats at her, and grooves out to your name. But then they don't show your date with "Constantine," so I guess it's fine, but how weird that they don't show the actual date, but just the creepy homoerotic dates leading up to the point of the actual date.

Anyway, that's what that show is like. Back to our show, which is comparatively better in many ways. "Let's rock this thing!" screams Constantine. Oh Christ. Now more of that indecipherable non-enunciation, and of my least favorite song in the whole entire world, no less. It's "Hard to Handle," which was written by Otis Redding, who has nothing to do with any of this, because he's not singing that version, he's singing the Black Crowes version, obviously, which is the one I hate, and plus I'm psychic so I already know that you know that the song was originally written by Otis Redding, whom I also already know you totally love, so don't even bother emailing me, because I'm totally respecting you from right here where I am sitting, psychically, and also by the way please tell Todd Louiso and John Cusack hello for me at your work tomorrow, but it's funny, because nobody knows the words to that song anyhow, and they're sure as hell not going to learn them by watching this show, because it's Constantine, who sings everything like Jack McFarland singing a Cher song only not ironically. So it's the unknown and unknowing confronting the unknowable, and what that equals is incompetence and a horrible marriage of -- in a nod to Constantine's heritage -- deimos and phobos. Why not just fucking sing Barenaked Ladies and get it over with? There are sixteen gross smarmy smiles, two flat notes per bar, ongoing nasty porn mouth stuff and Axl-Rosing drawn-out vowels, and eight occasions of nasty looking me in the eye like he knows both that I want it and how I want it, which is: dirty.

Then: a horrible, awful sound. Like the evil hobbit guys that keep almost finding the hobbits and stabbing them or whatever. In the black cloaks, that made Elijah Wood always look like he was about to vomit. Skrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeaaaaaagh. It seems really unrehearsed and spontaneous, but not in a good way. He waggles his finger at me and calls me "Mama." I'm not your mama, boy. He pulls his jacket open on one side like he always does and goes on about how he's so very hard to handle. And then a little stuttering and thenthe sound again. I'm looking pretty Frodo right now. Oh, the sound. It's Very Fucking Dire, like Lemony Snicket tragic, and hypnotically, like, bad news, only not funny, and it won't stop. Three times the sound! I start getting all "the ringing of the bells" so like now when I kill the lights and I'm lying in my bed, Constantine and his horrible voice and sounds, like, fill my head, and I only see him and his minions. Ring ring ring, and now I'm a chicken in my own home.