Don't Cry Out Loud

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The big news is that Paula seems to have pulled herself together for Memphis and is in fine form, giant gold heart choker notwithstanding.

Fat Elvis: Frank "And Beans" Byers brought his entire cheerleading squad along for support. His generic Motown doesn't cut it, and his exuberant squad, outside pantsing around with sprightly Ryan Seacrest, make enough noise that Grandpa Simon has to tell them all to knock it off, hurting Ryan's feelings deeply. Timika Sims has the bug-eye (just the one) and is the resident "her lack of personality means she's hilarious" audition. Chris Rivira is an amalgam of, like, surfer, stoner, and Bucky Covington, all wrapped up in the strangest country singing voice you ever did hear. He's awful, but I could listen to his sped-up warblings all day. Wandera Hitchye is resounding labeled "not special," and so she goes on a rampage out in the hallway and generally acts like the cameras are responsible for the hideous mullet on top of her head. Travis McKinney promises tears and high emotion, but can only deliver scary jujitsu "dance" moves. Topher McCain makes me want to cry, what with his cheating ex-wife and deep levels of delusion about how he's going to use Idol to shove it back in her face and then date Paula Abdul. He's rejected, of course, and Simon is terribly mean for a grand total of 1.8 seconds. Then again, Topher is 28 years old and brought all of his business to the table of his own free will tonight, so it's tough to feel that he's being violated by anyone else tonight. Janita "Very Sexy" Burks needs a vocal coach and a brassiere, stat. Robert Lee Holmes is...touched. He "writes stories about the music of Robert," okay? We on the same page? Not as egregious as the Seattle auditions, but the same spirit. It's sad. Or else he's an actor, in which case it's sadder.

Skinny Elvis: Jason "Sundance" Head (27, Porter TX) and Sean Michel (27, Bryant AR) are both unconventionally attractive with dynamite voices, which is usually the secret formula for a Clay or a Taylor or an Elliott, but I really like them both, so maybe not. Sundance sings a blues song and knocks the sarcasm right out of Simon Cowell, for one. Sean looks like Castro (marking the first time a contestant looks like Castro rather than The Castro), and he sings like he just might be Jesus reincarnated as a soul-singing white boy. And I'm in enough hot water with that guy as it is, so I'd best hush up about it. Danielle McCulloch (18, Collierville TN) looks like Tara Reid's country cousin, but she can actually sing. Melinda Doolittle (28, Brentwood TN) is a background singer working her way through a lifetime's worth of stage fright. She kills some Stevie Wonder (in the good way) and Simon says she's in the "top 2% of auditions" this year. Finally, Phil Stacy (28, Jacksonville FL) is adorkable and can't stop smiling because somewhere that's not here, his wife just had their second child. The fact that he can sing (after a scary first few bars, it should be noted) makes this a story we can all feel good about. We even get to see the happy family from the hospital. Aw!

up: Nuuuuuuu Yawk in tha house!

Okay, first off, did Carol Bayer Sager always look exactly like Joan Collins? Anyway, Carol is so utterly useless as a guest judge that she makes Simon go away in between day 1 and day 2 and there is, predictably, anarchy while he's gone.

Pretend New York: Sarah Burgess makes like the storybooks and sneaks off to New York to get away from her parents, and then she makes it all the way to Hollywood on pluck and can-do spirit. Amanda Coluccio and Antonella Barba are trying to Paris-and-Nicole their way onto the show and want to win as a pair, but Simon hates that idea. Amanda gets through on collective indifference toward rejecting her, while Antonella gets much more enthusiastic props. Kia Thornton is a dynamite singer and says she agrees with Simon at all times, so I think she's Jacob's dream girl. Jenry Bejarano is the world's best young man. Like, a Friday Night Lights-worthy awesome kid. Paula manages not to jump his 16-year-old bones long enough to let his Bolivian family celebrate with him. Jory Steinberg is from Ottawa by way of Santa Monica, and she apparently knows foreign heads of state for some reason. She's almost too composed in front of the judges, but her voice is a powerhouse. Porcelana Petino represents Queens. No, she represents for Queens, and she's gone through an extended training montage to get into shape enough to dress like Dirrty Xtina. Shockingly enough, she's a good singer, enough to elicit a group hug from the non-Simon judges. Chris Richardson is dressed like House of Pain on a job interview, sings Donny Hathaway, and is compared to the almighty Timberlake. Nicholas Pedro "bowed out honorably" in Hollywood last season and I do not remember him one bit. He sings Sinatra in a refreshingly un-Sinatra way and the judges love him and he's coming back.

Actual East Rutherford: Ian Benardo is about 98 pounds of awful and takes his So You Think You Dance reject world tour to Idol. He kicks off the show so as to represent all the scary aspects of New York (gay, Jewish, gay, Jewish, and gay) that freak out the heartland. Ashanti Johnson was rejected in Hollywood the past two seasons, and the judges say enough is enough. She proceeds to go all Effie White "And I am telling you, I'm not going" about it, and the show makes fun of her for being melodramatic. Clifton Biddle is an "average Joe" who is maybe not all there. And I blame Bo Bice for him thinking he can make it on this show singing ZZ Top and Taylor for him thinking the harmonica was his claim to fame. Nakia Claiborne is the black April Walsh and nearly explodes enthusiasm all over the judges. She's crazy fun on "Dancing in the Streets" but can't handle a slow song and is tearfully bounced. Sarah Goldberg can't sing but demands to be the American Idol anyway, and I can’t decide whether that was a political statement, therapy session, attention grab, or what, but it was irritating regardless. Christopher Henry supposedly "looks like" Simon and also George Michael, none of which is true. He sings like a tubercular Broadway lady. Simon revisits his "go be a drag queen" macro, and then cue the fight with Paula and she comes the closest she ever has to holding her own. Finally, Isadora is a "clairvoyant" and doesn't seem exactly like crazy person, but she's got weird nerves that manifest, ultimately, in strange and orgasmic sounds coming out of her mouth in the guise of "Lady Marmelade."

week: Jacob visits Birmingham and tries to duck Taylor Hicks. Want more? The full recap starts right below!

Tuesday

Memphis, Tennessee is: scenic, fish-eye vistas, Graceland, ballparks, grain elevators, NASCAR, B.B. King, Elvis, the mighty Mississip, Elvis impersonators, other people walking, and then, eerily: empty, deserted streets. Was there an apocalypse? Perhaps the Memphis version of Tom Cruise is having his own personal Vanilla Sky experience? No, no. It's just that the Idol auditions have actually drawn every citizen of Memphis away from their normal lives and into a baseball stadium or basketball arena or whatever so they can hopefully embarrass themselves on national television. As usual.

The judges arrive -- Paula's in giant hangover sunglasses, though we'll see this is a little misleading -- and Ryan makes a voice-over joke about Randy ordering donuts, because he's a big fat fatty whose left ham hock weighs more than all of Seacrest even after he's been recalibrated for the extra hair-product weight. Since the show is only an hour tonight, we get right to the auditions rather than waste time with a dumb montage of crazy people, which is near the top of a very, very long list of reasons why this show should never be allowed to expand to two hours. Frank Byers is first up, and it looks like he brought an entire marching band and cheerleading squad with him. He's a cheerleader -- and also cheerleading coach -- at Southern Arkansas University, and he gets his perky squad to scream "Be nice, Simon!" in unison. As cheerleaders often do. It's funny, because we see Frank at the registration table, getting his contestant number, and they're chanting "Register! Register! Register!" and now I can't stop imagining Frank going through the rest of his day like that. At the deli ("Mayo, no tomato! Mayo, no tomato!"), driving home ("It's called a turn signal, jackass! It's called a turn signal, jackass!"), doing his laundry ("All-temper Cheer! All-temper Cheer!"). That's a fun game to play.

Inside, Frank tells Simon that his nickname is "Franks and Beans," which is just so sad. They don't call me "Cuppa" Joe R for a reason, you guys. Frank sings "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," and it's on the shallow side of "average," but he's very animated and tries to get the judges engaged; alas, Randy and Simon are pretty clearly not having it. Simon "hated it," and calls it "cabaret" and also "hotelly," which I think means a prostitute's TV set in British. Instead of taking the criticism gracefully, Frank immediately jumps into another song, "Unchain My Heart," which is always my signal to check out of a given audition. That's like getting down on one knee, proposing to your girlfriend, and then when she rejects you, switching knees and asking again. Simon desperately tries to get Frank to shut up, and he finally calls for a vote: Randy and Paula also say no, so it's back to the squad for Franks and Beans.

Back in the hallway, Ryan's standing with the cheerleaders and the band, and when Frank emerges sans golden ticket, someone from the brass section plays a "wah wah wah" sound that's pretty funny even if it was set up. Also set up is the cheer Frank and the squad break into, that I really need to transcribe: "Give! Me! A! Big ol' Frank, big ol' Frank! [what?] Big ol' Beans, big ol' Beans! Frank-Frank-Frank-Frank-Franks & Beans! Frank-Frank-Frank-Frank-Franks & Beans!" It's so bizarrely likeable. Back inside, Paula snarks, "Cheerleaders, man...they're always there for ya," which is doubly hilarious when you consider that the Laker Girls may have been many things, but they were not real cheerleaders, so you know there's an ocean of buried tensions going on inside her temporarily unhazy mind. Back outside, wee little Ryan has been hoisted up by two stout men (wouldn't be the first time -- hey-o!) and he's still not touching the ceiling. He's all, "We've...got...spirit?" and generally acting like he doesn't have the entirety of Bring It On memorized and at the ready at all times, but you can tell this is already his favorite day ever. Back inside, the judges are grumbling at all the noise the cheerleaders and the band are making, until finally, Grandpa Simon gets up off his rocking chair, sticks his head out the door, and Brits, "Not being rude, but can you shut up?" Ryan, who's just had his fun ruined and been caught gaying it up in front of Simon (who's his gay guilty conscience), must respond in kind. So he sticks his head back inside the door and says, "Some-one's a bit of a bitch today!" Simon protests that they're trying to hold auditions here, and Randy's all, "Excuse us, Ryan," in his best "I am not getting in the middle of another lovers' spat" voice. Back outside, Ryan kicks it to commercial and starts clapping along with the chastened cheerleaders, but it's just not the same. You can see it in his eyes. Like someone took his favorite toy away.

After the commercial, Ryan tells us that "over 16,000 people" showed up to audition in Memphis, and to stand out from the crowd, he says, "a contestant must have enthusiasm, energy, and personality." Oh. So this one's gonna be a boring lump, then. Great. There's one of these in every episode, and Lord knows I turn on my TV so I can watch really boring people, but I wonder how many other people do as well. So our deadpan diva this week is Timika Sims, who is generally uninteresting except for her bug-eye and the fact that she just kind of stares incessantly into the camera. One of the members of my viewing party actually screamed, "Blink, dammit!" Timika also doesn't really open her mouth when she talks, so when she tells Simon, "I think I'm pretty good, I could be a Mya," he (and I) have no idea what she's saying. First of all, she says it like "myer," so Simon's like, "A model?" No, a "Myer." "A mayor?" This goes on for a bit until Randy intervenes and reminds us that "Mya is a singer." Well. "Singer." Half a verse of "Lady Marmalade" and her love being like "wo" don't entirely qualify her, but whatever. Timika sings some Ashanti song and it's whiny and unintelligible, and Simon has to go to the "can't understand a word" place, but it's true. There's no enunciation. She begs to sing another song, and they tell her no, not that it stops her from breaking into "Secret Lovers." Finally, Simon's forced to tell her that she cannot sing. Maybe she really should be a mayor. Though her flipping the bird like she just did won't exactly appeal to the older voters.

up, Ryan tells us, is Chris Rivira, who looks very country/surfer: mop of floppy blonde hair, puka and bead necklaces, plaid earth-tone button-down with the open collar, blue jeans with this bizarre fringe stripe roping around them like a snake. If the Mississippi had waves, he'd be riding them. He's eighteen, and even his speaking voice is weird and squeaky, so you know we're in for something strange. He sings "Superstition" in the Bucky Covington manner, but his voice...his voice: okay, remember tape recorders? And how when the batteries would start to get low, they would play the tapes at an inconsistent speed, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, so they sounded all high-pitched and warbly? That's Chris Rivira's voice. I have no idea how he does it. It's not of this earth, I fear. Once again, Simon can't decipher the speech patterns of the Memphis community, and we don't even have to see the judges say it to know it's a "no." "Did not make it," Chris says, outside. "Pretty depressing." And then he goes back to his alien-made helium chamber to prepare for his audition.

Alexis Partee is , and...look, I don't even want to do this. She seems like an awesome girl, perfectly nice. She can't sing, but according to the show thus far, no one in Memphis can. The thing with Alexis is that she needs dental work. A lot of it. She's getting some -- the braces are already on -- but there's some Extreme Makeover stuff that has to happen to her mouth. Horse teeth, where the whole palate is pushed forward...it's rough. I hate even having to describe it, because this is not her fault. But it affects her talking, so of course it's going to affect her singing -- which is a Teena Marie song of some sort -- and the judges are nice enough not to mention it, but that's the only reason she even made it onto tonight's show, which is gross on the show's part. ?

Oh cool, is Sundance! Sundance is a large dude with four very distinctive physical features having little to do with his weight: 1) the very, very gelled spiky hair; 2) the overgrown goatee beard like what's-his-face from Anthrax; 3) the sweatiness, which complements his hair quite nicely, and 4) the wide-collared shirt which reveals a Steve-Carell-getting-waxed amount of chest hair. I'm just painting a picture here, folks, so in case you didn't see the show, you'll know who this guy is when he ends up making finals. Because, you guys? He's making finals. If there's anything I've learned about this show, it's that dudes with unconventional good looks, who aren't too girly, and who have the pipes to back it up, get an incredible amount of voter support on this show. See: Aiken, Clay; Bice, Bo; Hicks, Taylor; Yamin, Elliott. The second I saw Taylor Hicks, I said he'd be Top 5 at least, so there's a decent chance I'm not entirely full of shit right now. Anyway, enough about my theories. What about Jason "Sundance" Head? His name comes from his hippie parents (no kidding), and his dad is Roy Head, a blue-eyed soulster whose hit song "Treat Her Right" would be familiar to you if the show would let it get to the "hey! hey! hey!" part, and which, if you're a white Irish Catholic boy, you first heard in the movie The Commitments. Sundance tells us his dad's song was knocked off the charts by "a little song called 'Yesterday' by the Beatles...so, uh, needless to say, he don't like the Beatles." Ha! Theme night throwdown! Ryan tries to get some Oedipal action going on and gets Sundance to admit he's a better singer than his dad, but dad's a "dancin' fool and I got no moves." Sundance is awesome, trying to dance in his little interview room and talking about how he probably should have studied more in high school instead of expecting to be famous by seventeen. He expects to blow the judges away, then adds, "Watch 'em kick me out and you'll air this on TV later: 'Look what a smartass he was!'" Oh, man. Does it count as stacking the deck when he's just an actual cool person?

Inside, Simon has to stifle his instincts to make a dirty pun out of the name "Sundance Head," and instead asks why Sundance is having such an amazing year. Well, he got married and had a kid -- both of which Simon brushes off as "not great" because he is the consummate bitch-titted bachelor about town and can't be tied down by a woman and child -- and now he's on American Idol. He's chosen to sing "Stormy Monday," and he brings the blues to bear on it. Just a huge voice. Paula's impressed, and Randy more so, what with Sundance being a white boy singing the blues so well. Simon calls it "one of the best audition voices we've heard," and says he'd be amazed if he doesn't make the finals. Dude, what did I just say? He's making the finals. Sundance exits and celebrates with his loved ones, while back inside, Simon asides that "He just blew Taylor out of the park." I love Simon Cowell sometimes.

We meet Wandera Hitcheye, a pretty enough girl who nonetheless has the distinction of being the first black girl I've ever seen don a mullet. And it's dyed red, to boot. It's...a bold stylistic choice, to be sure. Instead of a preface, we just hear her sing "A Change Is Gonna Come," and it's pretty average, but not awful. Simon starts off by saying that there are a thousand other singers at her skill level in this competition, and there's nothing that makes Wandera stand out from the crowd. From home, I say, "Besides the ruby-red femullet," but nobody hears me. Paula and Randy agree, and it's not like I'm prepared to go to the mat for this girl, but she was a decent singer. Good enough for Hollywood at least. Though Simon's right, on the merits, I'd have passed her through. Like many of her fellow Memphisians ("Memphisites"? "Memphisticuffs"?), Wanda resorts to begging, which is sad. Then, like many of her fellow Idol auditioneers period, she starts pitching a fit once she's in the hallway, cursing and crying and threatening a cameraman.

Wandera's ouster leads to another Montage O' Suck, which tells us that a good number of the Memphis rejectees took it hard, while another, more encouraging portion took it with good-natured humility and attractiveness. Then, in a weird segue, Ryan transitions us into a Mini-Montage O' Love and Tinkly Piano, all of which lead up to Travis McKinney. Travis can't seem to shut up about this song he's going to sing -- how it represents his and his girlfriend's rocky relationship, and how it's super-emotional. He honestly says "emotion" about fifteen times in the lead-up, all, "When I do that song, there's gonna be so much emotion in that room. I almost hate singing it, that's how emotional it is. You're gonna second that emotion. Caution: falling emotion! Seriously, y'all, bring a poncho, because the first three rows will get emotion all over them." Ryan tells us to prepare ourselves to feel the love...and then Travis kicks off his audition by flailing his limbs about in a bizarre Michael Jackson jujitsu, nearly knocking Randy and Paula out of their chairs, due to an excess of the emotion we call "fear." Oh, and he can't sing. Did I need to mention that? Honestly, beyond the ninja kicks and Paula and Randy almost falling down, there's not much else to say. Travis is yet another Memphis auditioneer who asks to sing a second song. Were they all given a different set of instructions? Ones that said "begging and pleading will certainly help your case, should your freakshow of an initial audition prove unsuccessful"?

up, "local girl" Danielle McCulloch, 18, who looks like what would happen if Kristen Bell started hanging out with Paris Hilton. Dude, Kristen Bell, please don't ever hang out with Paris Hilton. Not because of Danielle, just because. Danielle actually could be pretty cool, if we (and she) could get past her outer Tara Reid. She sings an Aretha song and sounds like one of those soulful country singers. I could see her as cannon fodder in the semifinals, to be honest. Randy wasn't "blown out," but Simon liked the "blues" in her voice. Randy votes "no" and says she'll be out "first day, first minute" in Hollywood. Paula deems this "harsh" and votes yes. Simon says he agrees with...Paula. Danielle's in. Randy gets all, "Prove me wrong, children. Prove me wrong," about it. And thus ends Day One, though Ryan refuses to tell us how many made it to Hollywood. He's so withholding sometimes.

The judges arrive for Day Two with their usual sense of dread. Notable: Paula Abdul seems to have fashioned a giant brass heart, put it on a chain, and is now wearing it as a choker. Did she make that in her metalworking class at rehab? Then, lots of old men start hugging Paula for no particular reason except that, as Tennessee Williams taught us, the South has a soft spot in their hearts for boozy, mentally ill women. These copious amounts of Paula love lead us up to the night's most unfortunate auditioneer, Topher McCain. Topher's a big dude, which is part of it, but he's also an oversharer and kind of wallowing in his own patheticness right now. The following is what he reveals to a national television audience, of his own free will: he's 28; he finds Paula Abdul to be "hot"; his wife left him, after she cheated on him; he decided to take her back, but she kind of didn't want to give up the umpteen other guys she was fucking on the side, so they're split up; and he wants to audition for Idol so his wife will want to come crawling back to him and he can shove it back in her face, and also so that he can Paula Abdul can start dating. Nobody hypnotized him to extract that information -- that's all Topher. It kind of fucks with your desire to feel bad for him when the time comes.

Inside, Paula commandeers the pre-song discussion, so we can all witness the blinding sexual tension, until Simon interjects, "So Topher, it says here your wife left you." Paula and Randy clutch their pearls (or giant brass heart chokers, as the case may be) and are shocked that Simon would be so rude, except that's the only reason Topher's here so whatever. Topher calls his ex a "bitch," which was hopefully cathartic for him. "There's a lot of women out there," says Randy. "There's one right there," creeps Topher, pointing at Paula. "I'd stay single," says Simon, into his call sheet, which earns him a purple nurple from Paula. That was cute. Anyway, Topher attempts to sing "Footloose" and it's a travesty, of course. Once it's done, Simon says he's "tempted to ask whether you sang that the night before your wife left." Watching the show Tuesday night, the viewing party here was aghast at that line, and it is pretty harsh, but again: he drove all the way from Georgia to call his ex-wife a bitch. The comment was not exactly out of bounds. Simon compares it to the warblings of a drunk at a wedding. Of course, by Simon's standards, that means Topher could win this whole thing. "Bad karaoke," says Randy. Topher looks crestfallen, and Simon asks if he's upset. "It's all good," says Topher. "I still love the show..." "And you got to call your ex-wife a bitch on national TV," says Simon, getting right to the heart of it. Randy and Paula "ooh" and "ahh," but Topher never contradicts this as his motive. Simon assures him that that was most definitely a compliment, and I believe that.

Back outside, Topher sad-sacks it up like it's never been sad-sacked before. Like he didn't think he was going to be rejected? It really starts to seem like this was the plan all along -- go on TV, call the ex a bitch, get harshed upon by the judges (even though that part went kind of awry when they were more or less cool to him) and then play that sympathy card for all it's worth in the aftermath. To wit: "Paula, you were great...looking. But that's it, I'm sorry. Just great-looking." Which is, like, straight out of that scene in Beautiful Girls where Lauren Holly gets told off by the fat kid at the reunion. What did Paula ever do to Topher? Nothing, is what. I kind of want to cheat on him, at this point. Grow up, Topher.

Ryan then introduces us to a "Memphis belle," Janita Burks. Janita is sporting a black halter dress that is basically a bikini top attached to a skirt with hooks and wires and this big brass ring. Lady needs a bra so bad. She tells us her style is very important to her, it "works in with my confidentiality." Hee. And [sic]. She believes in "dressing sexy but not too over the top," and thinks the judges will find her to be "innocent, well put together, conservative [!!], and very sexy. Very sexy." She's almost exactly like this woman who was on the Tyra Banks Show several weeks ago, for this episode about how women are bitches and will assume the worst about you based on how you dress. Essentially. And then Tyra got to tell everyone how to be better people and not judge other women but also got to tell the women on the stage to stop dressing like a bunch of hooches at work. Fuckin' Tyra. But anyway, this one woman dressed like a stripper but was really an EMT (seriously, that whole show was nothing but EMTs and librarians who dressed like strippers), and she described herself as an "EMT, a mother, and a full-time sexy dresser." Janita? Is a full-time sexy dresser.

Inside, the judges are all snickering at the excessive breastage, and when she tells them she's singing "Disco Inferno," that's apparently their cue to bust out a little more. There's a lot of floppy movement on Janita's part, which has Paula very nervous on her behalf, to the point where she's pulling her own blouse closed around her chin, in the vain hope that Janita might catch on. Unfortunately, Janita's got no material to work with, so to speak. So she's just bouncing around, free as you please. Simon eventually stops her and says, "You are a handful," and then pauses so the entire viewing audience can add, "or two." He then tells "Janice" (heh) that it was an "odd audition," and the judges begin the rejection process when again we get a request for a second song. What the hell, Memphis? Show some self-respect. Janita screeches out the first note of Song #2 and stops herself, because even she can tell that's bad. She false-starts a few more times, "Sweet Jesus"-ing to herself and being rather likeable. But then it's back to the same old, and the judges have to cut her off. Janita exits, hopefully to find some support, in every sense of the word.

up, we see what looks to be the lost member of the Black Crowes who defected to Cuba several years ago. He's got very long Bo Bice hair, a Tom-Hanks-in-Cast Away beard, and is dressed up in fatigues a la El Comandante. When we hear him speak, it's not the crazy person we expect to hear. Instead, soft-spoken Sean Michel tells us he's from Bryant, Arkansas, and that people often tell him he looks like "Osama Bin Laden, or Jesus, or Castro...or just a homeless bum." He seems so nice, I'm even going to let him get away with his "in a way, I think we're all homeless" spiel. That's a lot of slack, people. He very humbly presents himself to the judges and then breaks into a Johnny Cash song called "God's Gonna Cut You Down," and the performance is straight outta the church. And it's weird, because the song says "Jesus" and the face says "Castro," but the voice sounds very current and almost...can I compare a hippie to Justin Timberlake without getting spit at? He doesn't sound like Justin so much as he sounds like he could be a contemporary -- I could see him winning this show and releasing a pop record without the cognitive dissonance being too extreme. Paula says Sean was "soulful" and not what the judges expected. "...We expected a song about a revolution," Simon fills in. Heh. They all have a good laugh at that. Simon says yes. Paula does this flippy thing with her hand and brightly says "yes!" She's very with-it, today, and much as I love drunk, woozy Paula, it's good to see her pull it together every once in a while. Randy screams at Sean about how it doesn't matter what he looks like, because he's going to Hollywood. Sean is just as polite and happy as can be and he takes his golden ticket and, in his interview, holds it aloft with a Molly Shannon "Superstar!" So at least we know he owns a TV.

Melinda Doolittle, 28, is a backup singer looking to make it on her own. She's got a hat and everything. She is crazy nervous and tells us that she's had to sit on her hands to keep them from shaking. She's got her shoulders in a perma-hunch, like she's trying to shrink away from sight. She tells the judges that she's a background singer, and Simon asks if she hates every singer who she's had to back up. Melinda demurs, because she's a nice young lady, but you know Simon's all about some All About Eve in this place. "Did someone say All About Eve?" Quiet, Seacrest! "Oh goodness no," Melinda says, which I loved. Then she says what she liked best about singing backup was that it allowed her to stay in her comfort zone, but she knows she needs to get over the fear of being front and center by herself. And why not in front of the largest audience on television? She sings "For Once In My Life" by the underutilized-on-this-show Stevie Wonder, and honestly, what a beautiful voice. When she's done, she looks to the judges for validation, and Paula's like, "You're good! You're really good. Why do you need us to tell you this?" Randy notes that she looks "scared to death" and then expresses his belief that backup singers are rarely able to make the transition to solo star because they don't possess "the Simon Cowell thing" wherein they are a giant egotist. Simon, you'll note, does not disagree. He does, however, think Melinda was fan-freaking-tastic. He says even without the bravado and confidence of 99% of the auditioneers we've seen, she is a "brilliant" singer. Top 2%, says Simon, as he kind of goes on and on about it. He really likes her, which is great, because I do too. I hope she can develop a personality should she make it to semi-finals.

Well, it's taken us almost the whole hour, but we finally arrive at an Elvis-singin' fool. And he comes in the form of Robert Lee Holmes, who is blacker than Elvis, to be sure, but he's also more learning disabled as well. And he's got a chipped front tooth, like he's Lloyd Christmas. He says there's only one rock song he can sing, which is "Hunk O' Burning Love." You're officially a dick if you encouraged Robert to go on this show. Ryan literally asks him to dance, as they stand outside the audition room. Robert stutters that he's not going to dance so much as "do little movements." Ryan just stares at the weirdo without saying anything, because while part of his job lets him goof around with marching bands, the other part of his job is to make fun of people like Robert. Robert tries to use his big words to say that his "outstanding voice and outstanding vocal" will allow him to be the American Idol. Inside, he says, "I sing, dance, act, and I write stories." What kinds of stories? "I write stories about the music of Robert." "How does the current part end?" Simon asks. "With a period," Robert answers. Good Lord. Whatever, on with it. Robert's touched, and he cannot sing, and Simon's beyond over it and is harsh as a result, and three "no" votes means he's done. !

Montage O' Suck on the Elvis tip tonight, with some other folks who can't sing "Hunk O' Burning Love" any better than Robert can. Janita and her boobs, for one. There's this guy who looks like a skinnier Biz Markie and he's wearing a...baby bonnet? And they've been showing him all day, so I guess this is the payoff. Two off-key lines from an Elvis song. We see Franks N. Beans from earlier, several scruffy-looking runaways, some fat people, a cheerleader, Timika's bug-eye, and this girl with wildly-colored hair who whines that she can't remember the words and reminds me so much of Real World Svetlana before she became kind of awesome on The Duel. Chris Rivira's there too, rewinding his vocal tape recorder. Baby Bonnet Biz Markie pulls a towel out of his fly. Oooookay.

A lyrical Ryan Seacrest welcomes us back from commercial to "the land where rock and roll was born. For Phil Stacy, it would be a birth of a different sort." Oy. See, it's because Phil's wife just had a baby. Phil looks like if you crossed last season's Patrick Hall with Chris Daughtry and then darkened the eyebrows. He's lovely. He smiles and tells us that he was woken up at 4:30 in the morning to find out that his wife just delivered their second baby girl. That does not sound like it was part of the plan, and I assume the baby was born several days early. He tells the camera that today he's going to sing Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On," because he is "absolutely positive" that's the last thing his wife wants to hear out of him today. He starts cracking up, as do a whole bunch of other people waiting to audition. He turns to some of them and screams, "WOO!" Because he just had a baby, y'all! All that joy and no place to put it.

Inside, the pre-briefed judges clap, and Paula (who's been into her cola) slurs, "Congratulations." Still, you guys, she lasted a long damn time. Randy asks for a cigar, and Phil says he was not planning on the baby being born today. See? Simon has to make sure no one would mistake him for cooing over a newborn baby, so he quickly asks Phil what's more important, the audition or the baby. "Sorry man, the baby," Phil says, and Simon proclaims that "weird" and then polishes his confirmed bachelor cred. Phil says he's changed his mind and instead of Marvin Gaye, he'll be singing "My Girl" to his three girls. He starts off so, so, so bad, but after the first few notes he's able to right his ship, and by the end it's perfectly nice. Randy is doubtful that he's got any "star persona," but with his eyes closed, he likes the voice. Paula's actually very accurate in saying he ended up singing well but "the beginning was weird." She asks for another song, and Phil obliges with "Let's Get It On," and that sounds better. Simon jumps in and says Phil can't start his songs well. Paula says (and I agree -- yikes) that this wasn't as bad a beginning as "My Girl," but Simon thinks it was. Randy and Simon have a friendly bicker session about this point, and while they do, Paula tells Phil that's he's going to Hollywood, because she's suddenly very intuitive with her finger on the pulse of what's going on. It's deeply unnerving to see Paula in control like this, but Phil will take it.

Outside, the cameras follow Phil as he takes off running. Running to Jacksonville! Better pace yourself, dude. Ryan tells us that 22 people from Memphis got golden tickets, including Perla Meneses's doppelganger, a girl dressed up like Dusty Springfield, and -- though I cannot be 100% sure -- Gina Glocksen, who got cut in the Hollywood round last year and who I loved. Post-montage, we hit the Stacy family hospital room, where Phil hauls his wife and kids in front of the cameras. Everyone is happy and beautiful, so it's nice. And he calls his wife "the most forgiving woman in the world," which I think still ain't getting him out of diaper duty for a long while.

Wednesday

Seacrest gets his misdirection on as he stands in the middle of Times Square and pretends like the Idol auditions aren't being held at the Meadowlands in New Jersey. He reminds us that the show hasn't been to New York since Season 3, and they've never found a winner from "this area," though he fails to place the blame for this on the Christian God, as I do. Seriously, though, you and I both know that this show only chooses contestants from Dixie or California, so what's the deal? We're supposed to feel let down that Kevin Covais and Anwar Whatshisname and Constantine couldn't bring it home to the Northeast? I try to come up with a reason to care as Ryan kicks it to credits on the giant NewsCorp video screen.

New York, New York is: pedestrians, taxicabs, cop cars, rampant commercialism, pigeons, bridges, buildings, Lady Liberty, and then a hundred billion freaks of nature looking for five seconds on television, accompanied by a dozen or so actual aspiring singers. An adorably young girl dressed up like a Gay Pride float -- well, the rainbows and beads portions, anyway -- who we will soon find out is Rachel Zevita, who I totally forgot to include in the recaplet, which is a shame, because she's excellent. Anyway, she tells us the American Idol will be from New York this year. Local pride runs strong in this one, as we'll see again. Ryan Adams's "New York" (you know, that song of his that isn't as awesome as "Come Pick Me Up") plays in the background as various people try to guess the amount of needy, delusional people showed up today. I suck at abstract numbers or measurements, so I can't exactly mock them. Some girl in a tank top tells us that "Everybody and their mother is gonna be here. Especially the crazy ones." (Cue shot of body-painted drag queens.) "And no," she assures us, "I'm not one of them!"

The judges arrive: Paula is dressed for Sunday School, for some reason, but looks clear-headed again. Well, that's just not fun. One day of sobriety is admirable, Paula, but think of the recaps! We need fodder! Randy speaks and says nothing, again. Simon makes a fake phone call while he walks, to further the impression that he's far too busy and important for the universe. And finally, tonight's guest judge is...okay, see my first thought was "Elizabeth Taylor's White Diamonds," but that very quickly settled into "Carole Bayer Sager should really not look exactly like Joan Collins." It's like a sci-fi movie where Carole has to infiltrate Joan's underworld cartel by getting surgery to look exactly like her, to the point where Joan just plays her for the rest of the movie. Lady better watch out, too. Mrs. Garrett's liable to mistake Carole for the real thing, and that could get real ugly, real quick. Carole and Randy sing a little "Arthur's Theme" for us, and Ryan takes up on a video journey of Carole's career, the only salient points contained therein being that she was married to Burt Bacharach and she wrote "A Groovy Kind of Love," which is the prettiest song ever to prominently feature such a silly word. She also wrote "Nobody Does It Better," which isn't mentioned, but it's much cooler than "That's What Friends Are For," which is. Time for auditions!

Starting us off, Ryan tells us, is "the ultimate New Yorker," so you already know this is going to be insulting. And boy, is it ever, because here's Ian Benardo. Here's a funny story: some time last summer, my wonderful and awesome cousin Katie emailed me with a YouTube link to a clip from So You Think You Can Dance (a show I did not watch), saying she went to college with the asshole lunatic pitching a drama queen fit worthy of...well, this show. So the second Ian starts strutting around with his awful fur stole and headband, I pause the DVR, call up my cousin, and ask if this is the same guy. It is. "Is he for real?" "Oh yeah. Frighteningly so." This is one of those things where being on TV is all that's feeding Ian, so we're all ultimately giving him exactly what he wants, and even though we may make fun of him and rightly hate his obnoxious guts...that's what he's shooting for. Which makes me depressed. Ryan asks him about the dancing show, and since we're all a part of the FOX family tonight, we can see it. He's...pitching a fit and yelling to the camera about how the "British judge" is a dick. How novel! Back in the now, he's got a t-shirt with his name on it, and he's shown trolling the streets of New York, begging people to pay attention to him, scoffing at "illegals" for some strange reason, and essentially daring everyone to not hate him. I never do anything on a dare, so...hate! "When America sees this," he false-bravados, "they're gonna be like, 'Taylor who? Carrie Under0where? Fantasia when?'" But he says we'll all remember his name. You know, Ian something. With the weird puffy lips and repellant personality and no friends.

He divas into the audition room, like the gay Jewish boogeyman called "New York" that this show has chosen him to be. The sweatband around his brush-cut head makes him look like a cancer patient or an off-hours drag queen; I'll let you all guess which seems more likely. He gives Simon attitude from the beginning, not like he ever had a chance to begin with. Ian says "American Idol" would go well with the rest of his "resumé," which includes "superstar, dancer, singer..." He also takes great pains to point out that his stole is "chinchilla," which he wears "specifically to show the world how wealthy I could be." Has the chinchilla stole become the gay man's version of a red sports car? Something to ponder. Simon attempts to bring reality into the situation, reminding Ian that he's "not a superstar." He doesn't even amend that with "yet," God bless him. Ian invites Simon to verify his superstar status with his family, friend (singular, no "s"), or therapists (plural). Oh, New York City. With your Jewy neuroticism and flamboyant obnoxiousness. No wonder America will never vote for you to win. Simon's had enough: sing, motherfucker. Ian sings "Gloria," pronounced "Glawwwria" like Linda Richman, and...as a performance-art piece about old Jewish ladies singing pop songs, it's almost funny. Like Ellen DeGeneres speak-singing "Shoop" on that one comedy special. But Ian demands we take him seriously, and so when the judges laugh at him, he's insulted. Randy asks if he's for real, and neither I, nor you, nor my awesome cousin, nor Ian, really, can answer that question. The layers of fake on this kid are astounding. Simon aims for the heart: "This was a bad, hammy audition for something you aspire to be, which obviously isn't a singer. It's not funny. You're not good at anything..." Ian interrupts to decry a Brit supposing he knows what makes an "American" Idol, and I'm exhausted. "Rubbish," says Simon. Which is Brit-speak for garbage, says Ian, who then tries to Lou Dobbs his way into some anti-immigrant controversy, which he hopes gets people interested again, but Simon maintains he's bored, and so am I. !

Ryan then lays out a scenario for us: all the pressure of an Idol audition, compounded by the teenage drama of running away from home because your parents forbid you to try out for the show. Sarah Burgess is nineteen years old, which makes the "running away from home" bit sound a lot less dramatic than she and the show would probably like you to. College-aged kids may be living at home with domineering parents, but it's not like she's got a truant officer hunting her down. But Sarah's parents don't know how much this means to her, as her eyes mist over and she sits with her big blue hoop earrings, looking like Lana Lang took a time machine to the '80s. Which is probably where Sarah was when she heard "Parents Just Don't Understand" and started this whole mess. Inside, she starts crying even before she begins, and maybe Matt Sato can teach her some things about waiting to cry about your unsupportive parents until after you've taken care of business. Oh, okay: Sarah's dad said if she went to audition, he'd cut off her college funding. And I guess I could get all "it's called student loans, honey" about it, but that's a severe card for a parent to play when your kid just wants to take a flier on an audition in the summertime. "Prove the parents wrong," commands Randy, and Sarah sings "Call Me," which is apparently the show-sponsored token cool song of '07 that will be ruined for the rest of us by week. Simon says she's "not the best singer" they've seen -- I thought she did pretty well, myself -- but she's a "try-er," which essentially means he thinks she's got a good hook with her "Daddy never cared" thing. Randy says a lot of words that mean nothing and says he likes her. Carole wants to see the look on Daddy's face when Sarah gets on TV and makes it to Hollywood. Because she did!

As expected, Sarah is a quivering mess of tears outside the audition room. She can barely talk. Then we cut to someone's office somewhere, where Ryan has Sarah make her call to Dad away from the crazy audition people, which is one of those nice touches that make you like Ryan, however temporarily. He asks her all these leading questions like, "Don't you think your dad will be happy? Or maybe mad?" and Sarah's like, "I don't know, I'd just like to be able to talk without hyperventilating." That proves unsuccessful, as she makes a call that would scare the shit out of any parents of a 19-year-old: "Please don't be mad at me, Dad..." Yikes. Dad goes, "Who is this?" which is hilarious. Oh, it's just Sarah, your super-dramatic daughter who made it to Hollywood on Idol and hopes the fact that she's famous offsets her sneaking off across state lines, and just in case she doesn't win, would you mind not cutting her off financially just yet? Then Ryan gives her a hug and is very sweet and genuine, and probably the only person on earth I'd trust to be in an isolated room with my emotionally vulnerable 19-year-old daughter and a video camera, to be honest.

Big dumb Constantine flashbacks serve as an introduction to Fania Maria Tsakalakos. She says she's twenty-six, but since she looks like a not-all-that-much-younger combination of Lorraine Bracco and Mercedes Ruehl, I'm dubious. Fania's whole gimmick is this My Big Fat Greek Idol Audition, with the frock and mandolins in the background and the silly dancing. She tells us that she danced background on the Greek Idol tour (...okay) and everyone there told her she totally would have won that show, so here she is on American Idol. Carole's like, "Let's hear it," and Fania thinks she means her sales pitch, so she starts saying something about "ethnic melodic pop rock," but Carole meant the song, so now Simon has to be rude and tell he to get on with it. Fania will be singing..."Africa," by Toto. Awesome. She even claps out the backbeat. When she opens her mouth, you kind of wish she'd kept clapping. Terrible. Shame on you, Greek Idol roadies who told her she was good. "Actually appalling," says Simon, and the dancing sucked too. Hearing the word "dance," Paula must swoop in and defend its sacred honor for a second, and the Fania is given the boot. She kind of gets the "...other door" treatment, too. And the Curse of the Constantino strikes again.

Ashanti Johnson is , she of the beautiful curly hair and off-kilter Kangol. She's been to Hollywood twice and been rejected as many times. She says if she were telling people (say...the American viewing public) the story of her Idol experience thus far, she'd say, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it's the times [sic] of my life." Oh, we've got a drama mama here. She's writing her own story in her head. Ryan asks her why a two-time loser would want to come back. She says she's better now and stronger now... "And gosh darn it, people like you?" Ryan provides. "And gosh darn it, people like me!" Ashanti enthuses, laughing way too hard, begging someone to find her utterly delightful and captivating.

Inside, Ashanti says she's been singing, working out, "I've been eating...more than I've ever eaten, six times a day, lots of protein, lots of veggies..." Um...what?? What the hell is she talking about? Outwardly, she's not a crazy person, but in her eyes? Violent, scary need. She sings "Loving You" in a very irritating way. She's not a bad singer, but she's very fussy with the song, and the sheer amount of effort on her face is not appealing. She hits the song's signature ear-piercing high note and that wakes Randy up, but no one looks all that impressed. Simon calls it "cabaret" and "affected." Word on that last one. And here comes the neediness: "Did you want to see more energy?" she asks. "Did I engage you?" Simon calls for an up-or-down vote, and Paula and Randy pass. Carole bright-sides that Ashanti should go audition for some Broadway shows, not as a slight against Broadway, but because that's where she's best suited. Then Ashanti starts getting her drama on in earnest: She has fought! So hard! You don't understand. "How was my intonation? How was my timing? How was my pitch? Was anything wrong? What do you need to hear from me?" Ryan interrupts us for a second to tell us that "These are the Days of Our Idols..." And then the soap opera music kicks in and underscores the rest of Ashanti's whining. I'm not going to transcribe it, though I will say that Carole was right -- get this girl on a stage, begging and pleading to the back row. Her main point is that she's paid her dues and now all that's left is to see if the American public will respond to her. It's not an unreasonable request, but it's an unrealistic one when you've already been rejected. Alternate channels, Ashanti. And stop begging, it makes you look pathetic. "If America saw me, they would love me!" she pleads. Simon points out that Randy, Paula, and Carole -- Americans, all -- didn't like her, so... And then she starts singing a different song, unprompted, and I've said how much that annoys me. The tinkly piano returns as she says her goodbyes and begs once more for another chance. "Get over it" is Simon's final word, and I'll leave it at that.

An incredibly stupid montage of people falling asleep while they wait for a billion hours is somehow supposed to logically lead us to Amanda Coluccio and Antonella Barba, shown in gauzy, soft light, frolicking on the beach. They're best friends from New Jersey, and they won't even tell Ryan who the better singer is. BFF4EVR! They're being packaged -- and are packaging themselves -- as Idol's answer to Paris and Nicole, not like that's a ridiculously outdated notion or anything. Paris has used up and utterly ruined the lives of at least three starlets since Nicole. In reality, Antonella and Amanda are just not nearly trashy enough to qualify. They like to go to the beach and shop, and one of them says "that's hot," but there isn't really one "I'll suck your dick for some press coverage" moment in there. "Do you know what we think, can we tell you what we think?" says Amanda, and for a minute, I think we're going to get this really funny Laguna moment where the girls go all Lauren and Lo and say something really dumb and then invite Ryan to Cabo with them. But instead they just say that they want the Idol winner to be two people this year. Aw, boo! Be interesting, aside from the show!

Ryan wishes luck to "Best Friend #1" (hee) as Amanda enters the chamber of horrors. She mentions how Antonella is in the hallway, and Paula says to bring her in. "God, I bet you're popular," says Simon, the dirty old man. Randy asks Paula who's better, and Antonella says they haven't heard them sing yet. So Randy's like, "Okay, Miss Earth Logic, why don't you tell us who's better?" Antonella says "honestly" that Amanda is the one who's trained, but Amanda says they both have "different strengths." She also mentions that they sing duets, and Paula asks them to try that. They start singing...something, and it sounds awful, and Simon thankfully cuts them off quick, saying it was "a bit of a mess." He suggests they go separately. Amanda's "Crazy" (Patsy Cline, not Seal) is so borderline as to leave Simon without an opinion at all. Carole's like, "Sure, why not?" They should have had Antonella go first. Then this "join your friend in Hollywood" thing could have seemed spontaneous. Amanda exits with her golden ticket to a throng of family and Chipster dudes, and a father type in a suit, who stopped by on his lunch hour, it looks like. Meanwhile, Antonella is quite good, and compares quite favorably to her friend, in the judges' eyes. Paula tells her she should never have to downplay herself with "I'm not trained" again, because she's good. Antonella tries to convey that this wasn't Amanda at her very best, and Simon cuts her off. "Let me give you one lesson in show business: when someone's down, kick them." The judges all freak at this ghastly display of ambition, and Antonella smiles as she leaves: "Not my best friend." Simon, off-camera but clearly smiling: "Always. Always." Outside, Amanda asks if the judges said something about how they both compared, and Antonella is diplomatic, relaying Paula's comment about training without making it seem like it was slamming Amanda. Ryan tries to tell us this was "awkward," but I'm not buying it.

Clifton Biddle is playing his harmonica on a pier somewhere, and then he's...in a restaurant? I have no idea where any of this is. Clifton is from "Newcastle, Delaware" and tells us he's just an "average Joe." The first time I saw this, it took me a while to realize that Clifton's kind of slow, but on second viewing, it's pretty apparent. He actually seems like he's on the aggressive ADD side of things, which I cleverly surmised after watching him make loud beep-boop sounds and say he always wants to be the center of attention. How do I do it? He says other people in his life kept telling him to audition (ass-holes), so here he is. Inside, his Adderall seems to have kicked in, because he's not beep-booping to the judges. He tells them about how he works at a bank, and the people there are so funny that he feels like he's already on a reality show. The judges, Simon especially, for some reason laugh their asses off at this. I mean, it's funny, but...weird. He's just clearly off-kilter. He sings "Tush" by ZZ Top, which is one of those songs that reminds me of Dazed and Confused even if I'm not 100% sure it was in Dazed and Confused. ["It was, and me too." -- Sars] Clifton sings it as "touch" rather than "tush," which is funny. There, I laughed at your joke audition, Idol. Happy? He plays the harmonica and the judges are either patronizing (Randy) or dismissive (Simon), and Clifton is dismissed. He takes it like a gentleman, though, saying he got "shot down like an F-150."

Montage O' Single-Gendered Failure. It's "Guys" this time who are collectively sucky. One of them's a guy in a space suit, which elicits an "Oh, come on" from Carole, who maybe should have watched the show before agreeing to be on it. There's a guy with hair colored along the blue-green spectrum whose voice cracks, and also a Timothy Spall-looking guy who sings Selena's "Dreaming" in perma-falsetto. Simon and Randy crack up, while Paula and Carole call them assholes.

Kia Thornton is the "last" audition of day one, and take as many grains of salt as you need to with that statement. Kia's very excited to be there and greets all the judges by name, including "Carole...right?" Hee hee. Her song is "Ain't No Way" by Aretha Franklin, and she leaves Simon at what, for him, passes for a loss for words. "Wow," he says, "this girl can sing." Her hands fly up to her face and she starts to cry. "You didn't need me to tell you that," he smiles. "I agree with everything you say on the show, all the time," she says. "No, seriously!" Love her. Simon wasn't entirely wild about the song, but "songs are simple, voices are not." Kia starts to cry and then she breathlessly squeaks, "Paula, Randy, Carole??" Carole cautions against oversinging, Paula does the same and busts out the first "that's your magic" of the season, and Randy of course defends the Altar of Aretha against all challengers with a "make it your own," but all three eagerly vote "yes." Outside, Ryan gets attacked by a screaming and crying Kia, who drops to her knees and hugs the tiny emcee, who calls her the best of the day. "One problem," says Simon from inside the room. "No emotion."

Day Two begins with more crowds of people, including some girl singing "Since U Been Gone" in line who gets dismissed by Ryan's bitchy voice-over. The judges arrive, with Randy in a rather loud salmon shirt, Paula with her boobs a-jigglin', and Carole still looking like she just stepped off the Carrington estate. But where's Simon? Ryan explains that Day One "took a toll" on our pal Simon, and he woke up with a "singing hangover." So he went on a bender? If so, that was one shitty euphemism, Seacrest. So they're going sans Cowell for the moment, which should be very interesting, in a power vacuum sort of way.

First up is Jenry (pronounced "Henry") Bejerano. And before anyone goes too far in describing how unbelievably handsome he is, know that the boy is sixteen years old. Jenry was adopted by his Bolivian parents at age 1, and he's very close with his mother, who was the one who encouraged him to be on the show in the first place. They're both lovely people, and like any good boy with a good mama, Jenry is polite and on his best behavior. He and the judges have some friendly banter, and he sings a song called "I'd Give Anything To Fall In Love." He's wonderful, thank God, and when he's done, Paula gets a highly inappropriate look on her face. She manages to compliment his voice before telling him he's "easy on the eyes." Carole finds him "charismatic," and Randy agrees with "the girls." "The girls"? Carole Bayer Sager hasn't been a "girl" since Burt Bacharach was in college. Which is to say, the Roaring Twenties at least. Randy weirdly emphasizes that Jenry "stay humble," and then all the judges say "yes," and Jenry's on to Jollywood. He almost walks out the door with his golden ticket, and Randy's like, "You need your ticket!" like it's his boarding pass or something. Like it wasn't just run off at Kinko's that morning.

Nakia Claiborne is very excited to be here. You should know that up front. She bounces around whenever there's a camera on her, and probably whenever there isn't a camera on her too. She says people call her "Little Shirley" because she sounds like "the legendary Shirley Caesar." I...don't know who that is. Should I? Do I get my license to recap fake music shows revoked by saying that? She's kind of squatty, our Nakia, but her enthusiasm is infectious, or would be if I weren't turning the corner onto hour three of the recap. She comes bounding into the audition room, and she can't keep the laughter out of her voice as she tells Carole it's been a "blast" today. She can't wait! "Well," says Carole, "what can't you wait for?" I've noticed a couple times that Carole asks these leading questions that she hopes the auditioneer will choose to answer with the title of the song they're singing. Like if she asked you, "How do you get to Carnegie Hall," she wouldn't want to hear, "Practice, practice, practice." She'd want to hear, "By singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.'" But Nakia says she can't wait to go to Hollywood, though she allows that she may be putting the cart before the horse. So the judges are like, "No, what are you singing? And get on with it, kind of." She sings "Dancing in the Streets," and on a second viewing, you can tell that she's running on the fumes of enthusiasm, but she gets all three judges dancing in their chairs. Nakia is proclaimed "fun" and "infectious," but Paula asks to hear a song where she can take it down a notch or four. Nakia opts for Selena's "Dreaming," which was obviously on the show's list of approved songs or whatever, because it's all over the place tonight. The song exposes every one of the flaws in Nakia's game, and all at once you realize she's toast, and it's sad. Paula tells her she needs "a lot of work," and that's true. Carole gets to the point, that the first song was so upbeat and fun that the judges "didn't care that there were flaws," but she got exposed badly on that second song. All three judges vote "no," and Nakia starts slowly walking out. As she hits the door, she turns back and says she's got a lot of people counting on her to make it. "I can't let 'em down." The judges are bereft, and here's where Simon Cowell is essential, because he would be able to say that one thing that would get Nakia out of there before she really started begging, like she is now. Yeah, Simon was there for Ashanti's beg-fest, but I bet you there would be many, many more of those if he weren't around to cut people down where they stand. And that's my justification for Simon being mean. He embarrasses you so you'll stop doing it to yourself. It's a public service, really. Outside, Nakia's mom is really great and says it's okay, they'll just go back to Virginia and keep trying.

Also trying to comfort Nakia is one Sarah Goldberg, who has decided to accent her own personality with a little pink cowboy hat. Oh, and also with a whole lot of bullshit, but that's in a minute or so. She seems disturbingly familiar to me, like I know or knew someone who looks or speaks a lot like her. Hell, maybe I used to know her, though I kind of hope not. Sarah also chooses the Selena song, and sings it like she's never even heard anyone sing a song before. Randy starts shaking his head "no" about 0.0003 seconds in. Sarah looks like she might already be starting to cry, which just adds to my general sense of not knowing what this girl's up to, at all. Carole, like a scientist studying the species known as "Delusional Idol Wannabe," asks if Sarah honestly thinks she's a good singer. Of course, Sarah's not one to go by, because she readily admits she knows she's not a good singer. "So why are you here?" asks Randy. Glad you asked, Randy!

[Deep breath.]

First, Sarah starts taking Randy to task for shaking his head through her audition, and she slams Paula for turning to Randy and laughing while she was still singing. So I figure Sarah watched the seasons of the show, didn't like the behavior of the judges, and thought she'd audition, bait them, and then wag a finger of shame in their direction. Unfortunately for her, Simon took a powder -- actually, that was unfortunate for us too, because Simon would have shut her down so damn fast. Once again tasked with explaining why she's even there, she again says, "I'm not a singer." "No," says Carole, "we got that." You know, I seriously undervalued Carole Bayer Sager Carrington Colby in the recaplet. She got some good lines in from the periphery on Day One, and now she's sick enough of the bullshit that she's gotten an attitude. Well done. Sarah says she really loves to sing, but all her friends make fun of her because she's tone-deaf. Randy's like, "No kidding," but Sarah freaks and tells him to shut up and says she knows this about herself. Randy gives her the golf clap on that one, because he is beyond sick of her. Then Sarah loses me completely, saying she believes a person who cannot sing can win American Idol, because it'd be a good story, that the show taught her to sing and she'd be inspirational and crap. So now it's not shaming, she's just another delusional nutcase? Great. She makes the argument that Paris Hilton cannot sing, and Randy immediately says, "Paris Hilton is not an American Idol." Sarah freaks again and says she's not stupid, she knows Paris Hilton was never an American Idol. Of course, that's not what Randy's saying. He's saying Paris Hilton is not the caliber of an American Idol. This is like arguing with a drug addict at 3 AM. Randy directs Sarah to look at the Ruben/Kelly/Carrie/Taylor/Fantasia backdrop and acknowledge that every last one of them could, at the very least, sing one note before they auditioned. Sarah actually does turn around -- striking a goddamned attitude pose in the process -- but she still refuses to get it. "I could be the only American Idol who's never sang before." Paula has to put her head down on the table, for reasons entirely different than she's used to. Sarah starts screaming about how she's unique, but Carole says it's time to move on. Randy says at least she got some fame out of this whole ordeal, and Sarah shrieks, "THAT'S NOT WHAT I WANTED!" And then, in the clearest act of karma ever, Sarah gets the "...Other door" treatment. Thank God for small favors. Moving on.

Of course, we're just moving on to the waiting area, so Sarah can continue to freak out even more. She yells at some blonde girl who only wanted to comfort her with empty platitudes. Then she starts yelling at the home audience. "We are people, too!" she screams, utilizing an argument that always works so well. "Just because we don't have a million dollars and don't have singing deals, doesn't mean that we don't have lives and doesn't mean that we don't have important things in our lives!" I hope that when you were watching this on Wednesday, you were paying attention to the first row of auditioneers behind Sarah, who are straight-up laughing at her. Sarah says she's become friends with these people, with "Ray and Jen and BILL THE SECURITY GUARD!" Bill, it seems, was nice enough to film a pickup shot so it looks like he emerged from a doorway all, "Crazy girl said what?" Sarah continues that she was told the judges were "out drinking in New York City until THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING! And that is rude!" That was the goofiest thing...I still have no idea where any of that was coming from, but I'm glad she was able to give everyone else a good laugh just then. Crazy ass.

All of this foolishness may not have been entirely necessary had Simon been here all day, but he's here now, still on that goddamn phone call to no one. The judges re-shuffle their positions -- Simon's not sitting to Carole anymore, you'll note -- and welcome the audition...who is a fedora-clad, 47-year-old Rat Packer from Brooklyn who's wasting teacher's valuable time with his rendition of "New Yor, New Yor." Ugh. !

up is Jory Steinberg, who is wearing a shirt with one of those giant Aztec medallions that drive me so crazy on it. Jory is originally from Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, but now she lives in Santa Monica. I originally thought the show was fudging with eligibility requirements again by letting the Canadian menace cross over into our proud reality show, but a little research tells me that other Idol finalists hailed from up north as well, including the ever-hated Carmen Rasmusen. Jory talks about her Ottawa upbringing and says she was able to meet with several Prime Ministers of Canada, other foreign heads of state, and then we see a photo of her just hanging out with the Queen of England. Now, I'm not intimately familiar with all the ins and outs of Canadian life. I've been to Toronto several times, and Buffalo has been derisively referred to as "practically Canada" enough times within my hearing, but I don't know. Is it normal for Canadians to hang out with the Queen? Maybe that's just what you do on the weekends in Ottawa. Bowling with the Queen and then on to Tim Horton's for a coffee. Jory thinks her Queen-hanging-with skills will have been more than enough preparation for "kickin' it" with Simon. Looking at her, she could be Alanis's younger, better-connected-politically-speaking cousin. She sings a song called "Chains" by Australian singer Tina Arena, and she's wonderful. Simon is very impressed. Carole thinks she's going to Hollywood, but Simon tells her to not jump the gun yet. Yeah, Carole. This is a process with defined rules that are quite important, especially when Simon remembers to show up. Anyway, Jory is headed to Hollywood, and outside, her mother (I'll assume) falls onto the floor even before Jory's fully out the door, which is funny.

Ryan prepares the segment by listing the different ways you might prepare for an Idol audition. "Our contestant," he says, "went to boot camp." The Rocky music is kind of out of place in Queens, but that's where we are. Porcelana Petino represents Queens, you see. She's shown jogging around town, constantly, and she tells us she's lost 15-20 pounds. She looks like Emilie de Ravin got cast in a movie about a girl boxer. And then that girl boxer went on to become a backup dancer in Britney's "I'm A Slave 4 U" video: low-rise jeans, tight belly shirt, bracelets all the way up her arms like a gypsy, dirty hair, wild mascara. That's the look as she enters the audition room. Paula goes, "Hotchee-cha-cha," in order to convey just how trampy she thinks Porcelana looks, and then Porcelana looks right at the judges and says, "I worked hard for this," and it shuts them all right up. Goddamn right, girl. Simon says she's got a "chiseled body," and it's not even creepy. She talks of her training regimen some more, until Carole asks if she's been working on her singing as much as on her body. She says she has. She sings a Mary J. Blige song, and...it's weird to say, because she's not a singer, but she sounds like if Ellen Barkin were a wildly successful R&B singer. Maybe that's just the face. She's intense and kind of ghetto, in a good way, and she's got Carole making these weird "sing it, baby" sounds from the table. The judges all seem surprised that this good thing came in such a skanky package, and then all of Porcelana's cool bravado goes away and she's reduced to this "Really? You really like me?" stuff that kind of ruins what we saw earlier. Be a badass, come on! Instead, she gets in on a group hug with the non-Simon judges, though I think Simon likes her just fine. He's just grumpy with the other judges for any number of reasons, or none at all. Outside, Porcelana hugs her just-like-you-pictured-him boyfriend. I really hope he's a holdover from her cherubic days, because that's a happy ending for everyone.

Montage O' Simon Can't Remember Anyone's Name: it's funny, because Simon really can't remember anyone's names, ever. But in this montage, it manifests itself as this thing where Simon can't remember black people's names, or Hispanic people's names, or African people's names, so it's kind of depressingly racist. I hate when good, lighthearted fun becomes depressingly racist. There are clips from all the audition cities, which means we get to see Olivia Newton-John pop up out of nowhere, just in time to witness Simon step way across the line by calling this Asian-American girl "Pong" instead of "Fong," and then actually say, "Ping, Pong, whatever your name is..." Hopefully Olivia went all Xanadu and roller-skated all over his face for that one.

Christopher Henry says people tell him he looks like Simon Cowell (he doesn't) or George Michael (he...doesn't). What the hell, Christopher Henry's friends? The judges have been briefed on this, so as soon as Christopher enters the chamber of horrors, Paula's like, "Oh yeah, I see it." This already sucks for Christopher, because now the audition's not about him, it's about the judges ragging on Simon and Simon returning fire at them and hitting Christopher in the process. It starts off nicely enough, with Simon and Christopher kind of off to the side, each basically acknowledging that while they're both quite good-looking, they don't look alike. Christopher seems cool, but he sings Kelly Clarkson's "Before Your Love," and he sounds like a girl, to be perfectly honest. Simon's ready to jump out of his skin, of course, because boys who sing like girls are his kryptonite, for sure. The judges as a whole are at a loss, and even Christopher allows that it's really not anything like a typical singing voice. You know, for a dude. "The reality is," says Simon, "you should be singing with a dress on, and stilettos." Everyone freaks out, because it's last year all over again. Simon maintains that he's not saying it out of disrespect -- and I agree that there is absolutely a way to tell a boy who sings like a girl that maybe he's got a future in drag that isn't insulting, since actually being a drag performer is not insulting, now, is it? But I'm not sure those are his intentions here. Christopher takes it pretty well, actually, even as Paula's slurring that Simon is being "extremely rude." He asks to sing a different song, causing Randy to join the hit parade by suggesting some Barry White (har har) before looking over to Simon for approval or a high-five or something. Paula, in her own Paula way, tries to make a point about Christopher maybe "building an act" around his particular talent...it's so weird, because Paula and Simon are actually saying the exact same thing. Christopher's voice is meant for the cabaret and not for this competition right here, but Simon's saying it his way (as a rude dismissal) and Paula's trying to say it her way (by letting him down easy), and they each despise the other's method so much that they just yell at each other. Simon keeps saying that Paula's wasting everyone's time by pussyfooting around the issue -- the issue for Simon is that this kid is rejected, end of story -- but actually, they would all have been done five hundred hours ago if he'd have just let Paula say her piece and be done with it. Anyway, four no votes, and Simon's an "asshole." Per usual.

We meet Rachel Zevida, 18, out in the parking lot. She's the one we saw earlier, looking to take the Idol title for New York. She's still dressed like Rainbow Brite's brace-faced, hippie cousin. Anyway, she's going to school to be an opera singer, but they don't know she's here, and they might kick her out, so don't tell anyone! She kind of balks at being pigeon-holed as an opera singer, not that I blame her. Her song is "Eternal Life" by Jeff Buckley, and while it's rough around the edges, she made me want to hear more from her. Randy stops her with an "uh...yeah," like that's all that needs to be said. But then Carole immediately says, "I liked that," and she and Paula both ask for another song. I don't recognize the second song, but it's much more pop/R&B than the Buckley song, and Rachel is good enough to shut Randy up, though Simon is still not convinced. Randy asks for some opera, so Rachel...sings some opera. It's Italian and high-pitched and probably very good, not that I can evaluate opera worth a damn. That's three distinct styles in three songs, so now Simon wants to know just what kind of singer she is, anyway. Rachel bristles at this, and says, "I can sing anything. Every week you guys pick a different theme. I can sing anything." Simon tells her to chill -- he's not criticizing, he's just saying: who do you want to be? "I'd like to be me, and me...I'm a singer, songwriter, and a rock star." This bravado she has is very interesting, because there is a definite chance she can back it up, and I'm really excited to see if she can bring it in Hollywood (four yes votes -- she's in). She says she's a rock star, and she's halfway to making me believe she can be. Back on the pier again, Rachel says, "The South has had a lockdown on the American Idol. This year? It's New York!" Repre-sent, little girl!

We return from commercials to the sight of Ryan Seacrest taking part in some sort of rhythmic dancing ritual, with one of those gourd-shaped maraca thingies...I don't know. My neighborhood's idea of rhythmic dancing rituals involved standing perfectly straight while your legs flailed about as if independent from your body (thanks, Chandler). Man, not to steal Jacob's line or anything, but Ryan's looking good today. He kicks it to this week's Great Montage O' Suck, set to the tune of Lionel Richie's "All Night Long." See, because it's the "City That Never Sleeps." We see all the rejects from earlier tonight -- "New Yor, New Yor" guy, Lorraine Braccopolous, some angry kid dressed up literally like Alvin from Alvin and the Chipmunks, a guy who does a Kermit voice, a boy dressed like Dorothy (of course), fucking Ian, crazy Sarah Goldberg, celebutante Amanda (uh-oh, thrown in with the losers?), spacesuit guy, and then some bespectacled doof who can't remember "All Night Long" and instead opts for some "Dancin' On the Ceiling." Neeeeeext?

Christopher Richardson, 22, is in his best fratty casual: cargo shorts, t-shirt, brush cut, three-day growth. Very cute. He's going to be singing "a Leon Russell song interpretated [sic] by Donny Hathaway, 'A Song For You.'" You may remember that Elliott sang that song at some point last year, which means Chris doesn't know it yet, but he's already pissed off all the wrong people. There's a lot of that vibrato thing that everybody seems to hate, and it's very, very not like Elliott. For one thing, I'm awake. He sounds nervous and hurried, but he also sounds like he can sell a song with the whole package: voice, face, emotions. To wit, Randy makes a few comparisons to Justin Timberlake, who represents a kind of holy grail for the kind of male singer Simon would like this show to produce. Not that I blame him in the slightest for that. Carole, Randy, and Paula all vote yes, as does Simon, who thinks Chris can do better and "surprise us" in the round. Here's hoping. After he exits to his loving mom and loud dad, Paula says, "The girls are gonna love him." Cut to a shot of three girls running up and hugging him, crowding each other out to the point where Chris has to actually move two aside to accommodate the third. Hee. Man, I can actually feel people hating him.

One final Montage O' Suck (theme: Christ, these people suck) leads us to Nicholas Pedro, who went to Hollywood last year, forgot his lyrics, and, per Ryan, quit the show. Nicholas would rather frame it as "bowed out honorably," but come on, they show us the footage: he spectacularly crumbles under the weight of the lyrics to "Build Me Up Buttercup" and then, rather than get cut, he "bows out." Last year, Paula looked shocked, but seriously? Come on. On the other hand, Nicholas looks like it's been bugging the hell out of him for a whole year, so he's back to try this again. He says last year, he was an account executive full-time and a singer on the side. This year, he's a singer, first and foremost. So...he quit his job? Awesome. He really better remember his words this time. His audition song is "Fly Me To The Moon," and he blessedly does not go for the faux-Rat Pack affectation. He's really breathy, and I don't think he's a finalist or anything, but good enough for Hollywood? Again? Hey, why not? The judges pass him on. Somewhere in the world, Ashanti Johnson just collapsed into a puddle of her own glycerin tears. Paula seems to have adopted Nicholas as her personal object of desire. He even drives her to rhyme: "I loved your voice before and I love it even more." Oh, Paula. I love your crazy ass, now go down another glass.

Oh, okay! Sorry, I just figured out the geography of this whole thing. The cattle calls were in East Rutherford, but this sign here tells me the actual auditions in front of the judges were at Chelsea Piers? That makes sense. Not making a whole lot of sense is Isadora, who looks like if Jennifer Connelly really went to pot. She tells Ryan Isadora is her middle name, but she won't tell him her first name. "It starts with a J and I'm not telling," she says, and Ryan plays the guessing game (it's "Julie"). Isadora tells us she's a "clairvoyant for a living" and she reads Ryan's palm, while Ryan makes faces to us that indicate she's full of shit. He keeps calling her "Julie," too, which is funny. We keep seeing random shots of Isadora playing guitar on the busy streets of New York. It all adds up to "crazy person," even if she doesn't entirely seem so when she's talking, but I suppose it shouldn't be too much of a shock to see her sing "Lady Marmalade" in these very inhuman tones. It goes on for-EVER, and there are orgasm noises near the end, before she changes tactics and tries some Janis Joplin. Simon mercifully cuts that off before it begins. Simon asks her what normally happens when she sings in front of people. She rambles about singing with George Clinton, and also about how she sometimes gets arrested, as street people often do. Simon says she was terrible, an assessment she tries to blow off with this "you only like pop artists" stuff, like she could win if only their taste in music didn't suck. Paula brings up "Chris Daughtry" as an example of "rock," which Isadora could easily shoot down in spectacular fashion, if she only knew who Chris Daughtry was. "Versace?" she asks. Okay, Isadora. That's all. "I'm a good singer," she stubbornly assures us, before making with the crazy eyeballs outside with Ryan. Back inside, there's an incredibly fake shot of all four judges, open-mouthed in the horror that was Isadora. That's so lame.

Ryan asks Isadora to sum up Day Two of New York. "Day Two or Three?" she asks. Ryan's like, "We've only been here for two days. How many days have you been here?" "Three," she says. That...seems kind of rational, really. Ryan, however, "think[s] that pretty much sums it up." Whatever, Ryan. You did what you could with the not-as-crazy-as-you-hoped person. He calls her "Julie" once more ("Isadora," she reminds him), and then we're done. Bye, crazy New York people! Way to ruin it for the rest of us!

week: Alabama! God-fearing Christians! We're sure to find an eventual winner there! Jacob will lead you, cautiously, through the land of Taylor Hicks.