Skeptacular! Skeptacular! Part II

Much as they did last night, the lights come up from the darkness and the screaming begins, and it is still very, very exciting. I mean, I know it already happened, and I was certainly not fooled this time around, but since the entire travesty is two hours of nothing wrapped around a half-hour of something, you've got to take your thrills where you can get them. And there are thrills to be had.

We begin the first segment with the Antepenultimate Ten, and they are dressed like idiots, and they singing a Beach Boys medley. I came to the Beach Boys late in life. For a long time I just thought it was more of that oldies music that all sounds the same, and it's about stupid crap anyway, surfers and huarache sandals and all that, and, like, I didn't know there was a qualitative difference between the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean, who irritate me no end, and whoever else. The surfer guy groups. Hate them. And then somebody made me listen to Pet Sounds on headphones, like forced me to. This was freshman year of college, if you know what I mean. Like everybody thought they were socialists, these little Klostermans and Zinns just waiting to be discovered. But it turned out that I was pretty much totally predisposed to love Brian Wilson, like we were connected in some kind of new age Vonnegut fashion, and that was how I figured out why. The Idols do not so much pay what I'd call homage, however, so we'll run through this quickly.

It's been a while, so let's run down the names. Mikalah and Jessica, the Banger Sisters of this little tableau, are up in front, dressed insanely. Jessica's wearing a tight little sausage dress over white jeans, and it is a sickly chartreuse color not unlike that of one Mr. Spongebob Squarepants, and it has a halter top, like, that ties at the nape, and it is backless, and she's wearing a bright turquoise brassiere that you can clearly see through the back of the shirt-dress, because the back of it is not there. It gathers horizontally in a way that makes up for a lot of the flaws going on, but regrettably, completely hides her chest. It's pretty much a disaster. Queen of disaster, of course, is Mikalah, wearing a vagina-baring skirt and a midriff jacket with the collar popped, and she considers this "clothed." Both of the things she's wearing are white denim. She looks like she bought a prostitute costume at the Miami Vice yard sale, and is wearing big pink plastic hoops. Her hair looks like those dogs that have dreads. Am I painting you a picture?

They all look ridiculous. It's not even thematic, it's just apparently Look Like Asses Day, onstage. Constantine's wearing a striped Good Humor jacket, they're mostly wearing white jeans -- white jeans -- Nikko's got not one but like five polos with the collars popped, okay, in the flattering hues of Rabid Melon and Aching Lime, under a white sport jacket, which jacket A-Fed is also wearing, with Institutional Blue scrub pants that are aggressively crotchy. They Lift and Separate. Anwar persists with the Bj�rk hair and Kravitz shades, but is now complementing them with a fitted Biological Pink shirt and egregious cameltoe. Lindsey doesn't look too bad, she's wearing white jeans and an orange tank, with a clashing red sash. Scott's wearing a sport jacket in a lovely shade of Elementary School Cafeteria Orange and still looks better than most everyone. Vonzell's wearing a yellow sheath dress and is pretty presentable, except for a huge clot of turquoise at her neck, and Nadia's man-chest is exposed to the world in a sassy Roman Senator number held together by gold chains, hotpants, and a weird plastic belt, and has accessorized with some strange white fan-brush earrings that look like scallops. It's normally a chore to note the clothes, because I don't often notice that stuff and I make an effort to tell you about it each week, but not this week, buddy. This week the clothes are screaming right out the gate.

Nobody sounds like they're singing with the group, so it's kind of harsh-sounding, but we've been over, through, and around this a billion times. They weren't selected for their choiring ability, they were selected for their ability to yell in their own way. Constantine puts himself a foot closer to the camera than anybody else at all times, Scott takes the falsetto part of "Barbara Ann" and it sounds cruddy, and then there's a lot of facing this way and that, but nobody is looking at Scott even though this is his solo.

Mikalah and Lindsay come down to sing "In My Room," and they both sound hellish. Lindsey makes a horrible honking sound, the worst noise of the night, and Mikalah, you need like ten minutes to even understand where she's coming from anyway, so that was doomed to failure. How the hell are these two supposed to sing together? They put them together towards the end too, and it never makes any sense. Jessica comes in to save them, and sounds gorgeous and screwed as usual. On the other side of the stage, Vonzell sings the verse, with Nadia doing backup so low you can barely hear her at all, and then Nadia and Jessica both get an "in my room" line to do with what they will. And they sound nice, but this is all so shambolic it's like getting in a car accident and being happy you went right through the windshield, instead of just hitting it like a bug.

Then Anthony sings -- wait for it -- "Surfer Girl," sitting on the steps, his little self all perfect for this song and whatnot, and then Constantine and Anwar feel some drama. Nikko sings the verse really unevenly, but he actually somehow looks totally awesome. Then comes the part you knew was coming, where Constantine sings "I Get Around" in that unintelligible and terrible way that he sings things, like he's got a mouthful of pudding. Although to be fair, given all the range of that song, high to low and back again, he accomplishes showing that he has more range than we knew. He has a good range and a good voice, he just does evil with them, and I cannot respect that. Then, of course, he makes that effing face and then kisses the screen. Like I was asking for that shit. (To be fair, the narrow minds of the AI team probably made him do this whole cheesy bullshit thing, meaning that he gives his all and that's great, but he was the asshole who gave them the idea in the first place.) Then everyone gets back to being cute singing "Good Vibrations," and that's the best part, not least because it's the end. This, I did not like, altogether.

Ryan Seacrest comes out of the FANT ASIA screen, and we "give it up for the finalists [who lost] one more time." He's wearing a black tie and black jacket, and they are differing amounts of shiny, and it looks amazing. He names all the people the Idols will be singing with, and people cheer or not depending on if anybody knows who the hell they are. George Huff loses it in the crowd at this point and his little fists go crazy in the air, shaking and wigging out. I could buy that George Huff is a huge fan of Rascal Flatts, because I have no idea what gets George Huff excited, besides, like, life, but I think it's more likely that he's just overwhelmed by everything going on around him. Sights and sounds. Hall and Oates still look fucking embalmed.

Seacrestiana about how they couldn't very well "do the Kodak" without "rolling out the red carpet": "To host, we wanted somebody with experience, somebody with class" (Right then I screamed, "Mikalah Gordon!" And Anna was like, "Good call, little buddy.") "Somebody with the innate charm you need to introduce celebrities. We couldn't find anybodyso we went with Mikalah Gordon." The joke would have been just as funny without that little jab, because it goes without saying, and belies the other reason, which is that she's outrageous and speaks extemporaneously with the grace and forethought of a young, strung-out Janice Dickinson.

This part, I did not like either. Each segment has such promise and then goes straight to hell. For two hours! Out on the carpet, the camera she adores so much crowding up on her, she asks who will win. They all scream "Bo!" and she goes, "Stop with all the 'Mikalah,' seriously." Isn't that funny? They were saying "Bo" and she pretended they were saying "Mikalah." It's in character and kind of cute. I really enjoyed that, didn't you? Hey, let's make that joke eleven more times, shall we? Should be wacky. She's standing there with Kirstie Alley, of all people, so Mikalahdoes the exact same joke. The funny thing is that Kirstie is trying to give this whole PR-sounding thing about how "they're both stars, which is the good news," and Mikalah just talks the hell over her to get to her joke. And Kirstie Alley just keeps trying earnestly to give her speech, because she doesn't seem to know what a joke is. And I've seen Fat Actress, so I know that's true. And hey, Kirstie? You better fucking thank your lucky stars you got Rachael Harris in on that bullshit, or else you'd have one less viewer than you do. Anyway, if you're going to do shit like this, do it to Kirstie Alley, because she's nuts. I can remember a time when I thought Kirstie Alley was cool. But hell, I can remember when I thought Whoopi Goldberg was cool, so who am I?

Mikalah stands with Paula and Simon, who look amazing, and she tells Paula she looks really amazing, and Simon grins, because Mikalah ignoring him is funny. She holds out the mic and asks, "Simon? You wanna say anything?" and immediately jerks it back away from him all, "Thank you and it's been really amazing." Paula doesn't even know what just happened, and Simon just makes the face you make about Mikalah. Oh, Mikalah. You're just little too annoying to make up for it. Then, of all the stars and music luminaries that you'd expect to find here, we get to talk toMarg Helgenberger. Who is rooting for Bo. Mikalah's like, yeah, "Bo's a rock star." This is funny because she's using the word the same way Paris Hilton and I do, which is to signify coolness that has nothing to do with music, but also, um, Bo's a rock star. Then she and Constantine make that horrible fucking Constantine face toward the camera, like it's funny. It's not funny, it's gross. It should not be celebrated, it should be banned. Carrie and Bo hug Mikalah and smile and completely ignore whatever inanity she's spewing, and then it's finally over.

Then there's a Video Journey for our own personal selves, and I'll tell you a bit about that: Lots of cheering people, Nikko yelling, Leroy yelling, that same footage of the people in costumes they showed us six times at the beginning of the season, the girl dressed as a cow, that Goth guy I loved so much, a crying gay cowboy. There were like four of those this year, actually. Mary Roach telling us, and those that dwell within her, about her plan to not totally freak out. Lindsey singing beautifully in her audition. Regina being a jerk, Marlea Stroman going home. Forty-four people went to the scary chair, including the girl who got lost on the elevator, and Mikalah, David Brown, and Lindsey. We voted on the "guys" and then the "girls," and "when there were six of each we put it all together." God, that was eight lifetimes ago. Remember Joe Murena? Remember Travis? Remember -- I don't even remember that guy. Huh. Look! Judd! Remember Amanda Avila? This is hilarious, this part. I can't believe I'll have Amanda Avila's name and measurements in my head for the rest of my life.

Then there were a Final 12, "and the drama really began." Bo wore shiny pants, Randy was incomprehensible, the numbers got screwed up, Mikalah got prettied up, Anwar was "technically the best singer," although not enjoyable to listen to, and A-Fed was called "hideous," and Constantine was called "the one to beat," and neither of those things were true so then Constantine went home. Vonzell finally got cool, Bo started getting hot, Carrie became more and more acceptable to some but not all of us, and then Vonzell went home. That was last week, remember? Do you? I barely do.

I don't even know what they get. It just occurred to me that I have no idea what they're even competing for. Did I know at one time and just misplace the information? On America's Top Model it's annoying because Tyra says it every week verbatim, but at least you always know. "Photo shoot with world-renowned photographer" blah blah blah. What does the American Idol actually get? Have they even told us this year? A contract with BMG, right, and they "get to" record "Inside Your Heaven," which is very fucking not exciting. Is that all? Oh, they get a car. No, they both get a car. This is sad. I don't even remember why they're trying to win this competition.

Ryan goes to see Bo Bice in his dressing room, and it is very, very fake how Bo is just sitting there reading something backstage in sunglasses and flip-flops, without a care in the world. Well, to be honest there's about five years to go before the results, so maybe it's best to ignore that anything's happening at all. Ryan marvels about how relaxed he is, but thankfully we're spared more quasi-hippie crap about how "waiting is" and he's just happy to be here, chilling out and spending time with whoever and how things happen at their own pace or whatever. "Millions love Bo Bice," Ryan informs us, and then to prove it, we do a hometown check-in. I get a little double-vicariously angry with the people in Alabama, because I'm so sure every single one of them has been rooting for Bo the whole time. I'm not irritated on my own behalf, but I imagine there are some pretty steamed people in that huge crowd who feel like there are about a billion Johnny-come-latelies all around them. I feel their pain, as they say.

And then I feel my own, because every single damn person in Alabama seems to be wearing sunglasses, and I know it's not because of me, it's because of Simon, but it still pisses me off. Don't encourage him! You wear your insecurity like a badge! LaToya London is dressed like a foot and she is drunk. Nobody can see what's going on here and avoid mentioning both of those facts. She's wearing a huge plastic crown and a pink feather boa. She calls Ryan Bo, and then calls Bo "Bo Brice," and then confuses me about who we're talking to. It's a lady connected to the gubernatorial office in some capacity, I think, come to tell us that it's "Bo Bice Day" and that, after Bo wins, it's possible that every day will be Bo Bice Day. That's just a little bit less hot than the Calendario Romano. I support a Bo Bice-centered calendar. LaToya screams insanely some more, and then Ryan confides in her that he owns the same outfit. Oh, Ryan. Yeah.

Bo Bice comes out and sings "Vehicle" one more time, and he's busting a tunic and some chains, and looks like one million crisp new unmarked bills with a pair of stupid sunglasses perched atop it. I don't know what to say about the performance, because it's always the same amount of awesome. Perhaps the subtleties between the eighteen times he's sung this song elude me, but I wouldn't expect it otherwise, because that's how professionals work, and I have actually watched this or some other rendition of "Vehicle" multiple times on my own initiative, so that's not really a problem. He's less with the hair-tossing tonight, which makes me think that was a reaction to feeling unwell, and generally has more energy. Maybe his food poisoning went away. I hope so. His grandma is again doing a fucking duck call in the audience. I wish a duck would come. Show her what for. Bo shouts out to Alabama incomprehensibly.

During the commercials, I think about how my friend Brad told me the other day about when Bono told somebody: "I don't know why, but we always had this belief that there was something sacred about our music, that it was almost holy." I think about that a lot when I've got some downtime, because mulling over this beef I've recently discovered I have with Bono has pretty much completely overshadowed planning my sneak attack on Lou Diamond Phillips. Whence this hate? I'm like two to ten years too late to be on some kind of "fuck Bono" bandwagon, and yet it consumes me. So weird. Also during the break is a commercial for The Inside, which looks pretty awesome, and you should watch it anyway, because Tim Minear is in on it, and he rocks.

Now we'll be visiting Carrie in her dressing room, where all the Dasani water in the world lives. Muskogee cheers for her, and again I'm struck by just how very many people there are, cheering for her. I would freak out. How is she dealing with any of this? Carrie laughs at a "Marry Me Carrie" sign in the crowd on the screen, and then Matt Rogers appears, wearing a suit with such a generous weft and wide collar that he makes it look more like a track suit, like something they'd wear on The Sopranos, with chains, and he's screaming, as usual, like a gay wrestler. His watch is huge, it looks like one of those things in the movie Stargate. The Stargate itself, I mean. And maybe Spader. And an old VW. On your wrist. He's got a huge ugly ring too. Is he just actually in the Mob now? I wonder if it's from the Rose Bowl. Matt talks about how the Okies are crazy, and then introduces the First Lady of Oklahoma by saying, "I'm standing here with someone a bit more -- LESS -- crazy," and he tells her he's honored, and somehow we all blow past the fact that he just misspoke to the tune of calling the First Lady of Oklahoma a bigger nutbar than an entire crowd of Carrie Underwood fans.