I'm coming to you a few hours late because I was just at the most awesome show, Yellowfever opening up for Ponytail. I can't believe I didn't know about the first band before tonight, they are crazy good. Check them out. Anyway, let's do this bitch. It's the finale. I won't see you again, won't see Ryan again or Simon, for a very long time. That makes me almost unbelievably sad. It's like you, then Ryan, then Simon, then Kara by a hair, then people. That song, that stage, the whole predictable thing. Famous people in the audience for no reason. Those people looking at Janice Dickinson and wondering why she's there.
What the eff are we going to do with each other for two hours? I am talking 100 million votes, 624 mill total, but like that matters. I can't imagine what the hell is going to happen in this episode. Randy's wearing a bowtie, that should take approx ten. And it does! I could be writing the Gossip Girl finale recap, which was actually awesome, in between the parts of this where Randy tries not at all to make me love him. Kara's montage is her telling people honestly and realistically that we live in the real world: remember when she was Simon, but a hot chick? And we respected her so much? I still do. But I get it.
Then comes Paula, with a montage of her using words she does not understand, which is mean. Then there's Simon being Kara after a couple of years, like perfect with a little awesome on top. Ryan is like, "Just hold me. Just hold me. Just hold me." And Simon says, "Okay. After that crazy lady stops strangling my ex-girlfriend. And Jacob stops getting all up in our shit yelling 'Utilization Behavior.'"
Neither Kris nor Adam's mic are working, so their hot white-clad selves are just at a loss. Of course Kris gives a nice little speech you can barely hear, but Adam actually understands that we're having a technical issue, so he just makes some scary face and then it's... over to Conway AR where MIKALAH GORDON is holding court. Because when you think Kris Allen, you think Mikalah.
I mean, I wasn't prepared at this moment for how happy I was to see her -- and she looks fucking fly-fly-fly-fly higher-than-high hot, I swear the girl gets more gorgeous every year -- or how she reminds me of what I really am, which is somebody who after five years actually kinda loves this show, but... the FUCK you got Mikalah, the most Fairy Princess of all fairy princess gay-adjacent ladies in the entire universe, like not even Andrew Lloyd Webber is the fruitfly she is, and you put her in Kris Territory? Who's Adam's on-site going to be, Madame the puppet? "Coming to you live, it's Ryan Seacrest's gay brother Wayne Brady." I love you, Mikalah. Every time you're on screen I will find a new way of saying so. But at least we get to see her hotness buried in the recently discovered hotness that is Arkansas, where we recently learned the people are fine.
So who's in San Diego for Adam? Fucking Carly Smithson. And such is my mood that I can't even cry about it because she looks gorgeous. Ryan calls her baby. She looks good. She's surrounded by be-bracesed cheerleaders, which makes her look normal. The boys are so white-wearing! Every fabric you can bleach, they are wearing it. I wish I could come up with something exciting to say about Carly, but what. She looks normal. She's wearing that faux-ffant I usually hate, but she took the crap out of her face and I can't see any tattoos or historical trauma showing. The awful accent is nowhere to be seen, and nor is the awful Australian sidekick. She's wearing a blue gown like Paula might wear. What, she looks nice. Carly looks nice. I remember exactly enough about this show every year to know that my heart says I hate her, but I can't remember any of the reasons. I think she's darling. It's a nice warm tummy feeling. Ryan is going to fuck it up...
And yes. Here's your Top Thirteen doing some crap. The whole time we were at the show tonight Y kept being like, "Are you going to be up all night? What if your mom calls and says who won?" And it's like: I care so, so much. But only because I love you, the person reading it. Because I always blow my wad the night before, and say all the things, and then when the actual finale comes it's like, "I already gave the foot pain speech, I already fessed up to the unicorn thing." So then what? Two hours of a bunch of bullshit.
Celine Dion singing a duet with Natalie Cole's duet with Elvis's ghost singing with Yoko Ono singing with Lady GaGa blowing Adam Levine, which so jealous. So once I step back we can have some fun, and thank goodness for two hours of stupid, but it's hard to get into that gear because I'm so fucking earnest so much of the time. This is why I was so happy they discontinued Idol Gives Back because the first night I'm all, "OMG mosquitoes and birthing and AIDS and cradling Ryan in my arms" and the second night it's like, "WE KNOW BONO YOU ARE THE BEST PERSON JESUS CALLED AND HE SAID LOL YOU WIN PLEASE CALM DOWN."
So. Top Thirteen, all in white. They sing the "So What" song, which I recognize from somewhere, but it's sort of aggro for this show, it's like "Fuck you, I'm a rock star, I don't need your love," which is true in finest sense, but then why be a rock star? Like it matters, this whole bit -- and I hope I see them again, all of them, because caring about this shit is a whole new world -- it's about seeing people and going Awwww. Like remember Alexis? Love her. Remember Danny? So cute, now. Allison? That blind guy? Love the blind guy.
It's like an iPod commercial with this song. Oh, there's that horrible Portuguese guy! Werewolves are the old unicorns, represent! What if Del Toro shows up? Planned or unplanned, I'm dying to see her hot ass/hot mess again. There's a girl that sang this year who fucks up a line whose name I don't remember, and then Allison. Matt Giraud is like a paper doll, like he's always the same no matter what outfit or song you perpetrate. I think if I buy an album year it'll be him. I mean that. Matt Sarver is busting out of his all-white suit, but in a hot way. They want to start a fight, you guys! They sang it! Me too, but not in a singy way. I want to start a fight with P!nk, but of all the men and ladies on earth, the one person I know for sure I can't take down is her. She has boy muscles where girls have girl muscles. I can't fight that.
Commercial, and then David Cook. I'm torn because I want to laugh, but I have learned there's no laughing at David Cook. I just adore him. Maybe I'm the only person who knows his name, that's the Idol curse, but I just think he's awesome. I can say that now because I'm not worried about it. Oh look at his giant head! So cute. Look at the hands waving in the audience? Look at the even more emotional person playing the piano! Look at his adorably chubby ass singing about... Whatever he's singing about? Most people look different after a year, like Pickler and Bo and Carrie all looked a bit different, boobier or barfier or shinier, but not my man Cook. He looks the same. Maybe fatter, but like in a hot way. Sure does sound like every single song he ever sang, though. "Permanent" is exactly what you are, darlin'. I permanently want to make out with you so you'll stop singing boring songs and start singing songs I can handle. What if David Cook sang "Sober"? He's already kind of my boyfriend. But don't tell him. Sagittarius guys eat that shit like candy.
Ryan thanks him for a hug, and then they talk about Adam, and I am not interested in talking about that because David's not so ready to talk about it, so I'm not going to talk about it, because if you don't have a personal connection to cancer research yet, you will, and there's not much more that we need to go over. Because you're not allowed to make it about you, and that's true for me and it's true for David, and it's one of the best things about David and it always has been. So here's the link and we'll call that a wrap. Either it means something or it will. Those are the options.
Segue to funny time! Apparently. Let's get gross with the Golden Idols! Moses may naysay but I say go for it! This is always the grossest part. First trophy goes to the Outstanding Male contenders: Baby-talking "Mad World" singer cutie whose name I didn't catch, Michael Gurr whose creepy wordless passion and hazel eyes I do remember, deep-voiced "do voiceovers for movies that have monsters in them" Elijah Scarlett, upholstered jackass Dean-Anthony Bradford, and Nick/Normund, about whom way too much has been said. Mostly by his aerobically sassy self.
Winner's gotta be Nick, because he's the only actually awesome one. He comes to the stage looking as adorable as you knew he secretly was, and Ryan's not as happy to see him as expected. He talks about how unprepared he is, then does a performance of some song I don't know, but... Is it that same song? Yes, it's the "I'm not going" song. God, this song contains all fucking songs. He could start singing "Wannabe" and I'd be like "Did not know that was part of that song, but I'm not surprised." Then it's over, and I feel like I already got it but I still got it a little more than I did before. I am enchanted by him, as usual, and I want him off my motherfucking screen, just like usual.
Then there's Ryan wearing his glasses and sweatband, which makes me uncomfortable, and here come Lil Rounds and Queen Latifah singing "Queue The Rain"? "Cue The Rain"? "Cue The Reign"? Who knows. It's way too low down in her range and her extensions look idiotic. Then Latifah comes galumphing up onstage and they yell at each other. Am I supposed to know this song? I feel like it should be good, I want to like this, but there's Latifah's um right up in my face and she's singing, which are two things I'm not okay with, and Lil singing way too low, and some homos dancing around in sideways caps, and it's just this glorious mess made up of only things I like. Including the song, from what I can tell, except it's taking place in some kind of roadside screaming circus and I can't identify what's actually happening, and I'm not sure Lil can either...
Yeah, the more I listen, the more I'm sure I adore this song, and the more I feel like they're butchering it, so we're done. I'll figure it out later. Queen Latifah still makes me wish I was the lipstickinest lesbian in all the world, but I can handle that it's not a possibility. It can't rain all the time.
Oh look, it can. Anoop Desai, who has the privilege of having the least classy spam-artist illiterate hatemail fans of all time -- pushing out even Taylor Hicks, previously the winner of the "How The Fuck Did You Even Find The Internet" Fan Ass Sweepstakes -- singing with Alexis, who is awesome... And some douche with bad skin. Who is this guy? Why didn't Ryan explain this business to us? He looks familiar, like one of my exes played Dungeons & Dragons with him. I don't know who that is! I hate him like I know him, but I'm lost as to who he is. He's clearly important, but this show is such a hothouse orchid of weird that he could literally be five or fifty and it wouldn't matter. Who is that guy? Jason Mraz, that's who. Well, that explains it. Sorry Jason. I realize you and Adam Levine and Rob Thomas are the same guy, and only split by the hairsbreadth difference that I wouldn't, but I still feel bad. Because I really, really wouldn't, but I still know the hate wouldn't come out like that if it weren't for sharing the stage with Anoop.
Then comes the video journey of Kris Allen. Which I cannot recap, because I have consistently felt like, until two weeks ago, I was the only person keeping an eye on him, so I cannot recap his journey subjectively. Because it would just be like, "Hey remember when I was like, 'HEY CHECK THIS GUY OUT!' and then two weeks later I was all, 'I REALLY THINK THIS GUY HAS SOMETHING' and the week after that it was 'YES MATT GIRAUD BUT ALSO LOOK AT THIS GUY' and then finally he did 'Heartless' and suddenly America got it?" When obviously I was not this Cowell/Fuller genius that knew and stood against the windy hurricane of disaffection, because look what happened. But I did feel awfully alone during those times, and the sad thing is that I still wish Adam would win even though I've been consistently obsessed with Kris the whole time, and I still am thinking Kris will win. And since it's already decided, he can sing a lovely song with filthy Keith Urban, and it's beautiful, but what a gross song I'm not interested in. If you've ever really, really loved a woman, probably you've sung a song about how bad you want to kiss one. Doesn't matter which one, just kiss one. Maybe tonight! And then get married! It's really romantic, trust me. Nothing a girl likes to hear more than "Thank God you're a girl."
I can't believe we've gotten this far and I'm still not spoiled. Do you know every single year I try to keep it a secret from myself and every year I get spoiled, every single time. I'll do so good and then it'll be some random RSS feed like, "Should So-and-so have been ripped apart by wild dogs?" And sometimes I get the wrong idea from those little hints, like, the only time I was honestly shocked was Cook, because the spoiler was worded so weirdly and made so much sense that he would lose. But I have this inkling that it's not just my intuition that it's Kris, but I guess we'll see. One hundred million years from now, we'll see. Meantime I'm going to find a girl and kiss the shit out of her. And hopefully Keith Urban will be there to give me a gross sweaty Australian high-five. Or whatever they do instead of a high-five, like pee in public.
Or maybe I can kiss Carly Smithson and get it all out of the... O. M. G. If you've really been paying attention to my perfectly pointless meanderings for the last couple years, you know there's one thing that erases all misdoings: group dances, pointy poses, Glee-type (which: yes to the power of one billion, do it now, don't stop don't think, just do it, OMG everything I'm terrified by as usual right there being in front of you and wonderful and scary and all Ryan Murphy auteur) resituations of bullshit into a non-bullshit space. And there is no song due higher honor than the song performed so memorable in the greatest show of all time by the greatest show choir of all time wearing the greatest knee socks of all time and pulling up raw as hell of all time to a Taco Bell in a Mustang.
I am, of course, talking about the Constance Billard School for Young Ladies' rendition of "Glamorous", which not only encapsulates all that is possible and so seldom attained in the show Gossip Girl, but also in life. So to see Megan Corkrey singing this holiest of all possible songs is something of an enigma, because my body reacts like this while my brain reacts like that, but then: this internal discombobulation, thy name is and always will be Fergie. Call it "Clumsy," call it what you will, but we know it by its true name: the Flossy Flossy.
And that is what we get right now. And there's my girl Megan Joy, fucking it up the ass like she was born to do. I can't imagine that at any point in the five thousand years we'll see anything as amazing as Megan Joy in her hot pink short-shorts wandering aimlessly and tunelessly around making horrible honking noises that approximate singing, or Alexis having found the only outfit ever made that make her look like a power-lifter in the hips, or... Wait. All the ladies seem to have some suddenly serious giant-ass issues happening. Except for Lil, whose ass is a spaceship leprechauns want to ride to the end of the rainbow and thus can handle it. But everybody else just looks pregnant with everybody else.
Then Fergie comes out to sing some other dreadful song that's neither "Glamorous" or "Clumsy," looking skinny compared to them. She still looks like on of those plastic surgery ladies with the tiger face and she still sings like Nell, but... No, that's it. She's nasty, she "dances" around by bouncing on her high heels and misses you "like a blanket" or some meth, and looks like the trash that trash took out.
So I don't know what to do about her, and the to add insult to HPV the virus that causes cervical cancer she busts out the Black-Eyed Peas, which are just like the trash music took out. And there's Megan Joy having a sexual spaz attack in the audience, and some Blue Man Groupies doing their Keith Haring best not to die of embarrassment, and at some point a producer gets worried that we're going backwards for America and cuts to an American Idol symbol, but not even that will save us from the negative music that this fake band fakely brings to us.
Yeah. Pretty much everything I hate in the entire universe is happening right now. It's like Sparky Polastri got a billion dollars and even then decided to phone it in. It's the worst! Randy Jackson is out in the audience rocking out like it's the best thing that ever happened to him. Even grosser? It is. Fuck everything. Ryan's like, "Three Grammies, ladies and gentlemen! This is why terrorism."
Golden Idols: Bikini Kill, who doesn't need the publicity so much as a goddamn gun to the head, Tyler Durden style. She's not even pretty, she's just naked. Whore isn't a personality, it's something your uncle did. Then comes this white trash girl I sort of remember who also doesn't need more attention. Then comes a... tranny who talks like she just drank a gallon of milk. Usually Joe would be here and I could be like, "I guess Joe did this one and that's why I don't remember them," and that would be the classy response. I could just pretend I wasn't there when you embarrassed yourself. This is how I was raised. But this year, I haven't got that. So I have to lie.
And when I say I don't remember Bikini Kill in January and I don't remember Bikini Kill now, but she better keep her fucking hands off my Ryan -- who as usual has just enough time to point out how gross her fake new tits are, like every time with Pickler -- we can just turn the conversation to other finer things. Then she sings "Vision Of Love," and she's disgusting... OH SHIT THIS SHIT JUST GOT AWESOME! KARA DIOGUARDI COMES OUT AND OUTSINGS THE BITCH! And she's a totally good sport about it! Everybody wins! I mean, everybody. That is fantastic. It's like they're giving us a narrative but there aren't any yellow-clad bird ladies involved. Then there's a glory note, which Kara does passably well, and then she unbuttons her dress... Revealing a super cute bikini! OMG!
This is the best! Kara doesn't even pretend that this isn't about making Bikini Kill feel retarded, and Bikini Kill is so dumb she's like, "I don't even know how stupid this makes me!" Mostly I just love it, because I was on Kara's side -- "time just show up naked" is precisely when I fell in love with her, if you remember -- but A) how fun for all of them to be in on it, and B) um, how hot was Kara DioGuardi already? I forgot how Riot Grrl obsessed I was with her twenty weeks ago, when everything she said was brilliant and funny, and I relegated her to the smarter version of Randy/Paula, but damn. She's so Third Wave she's like already laying out on the beach wearing a bikini and being all, "Whatever, I got SPF 5K."
It's so nice when your role models actually put the pedal to the metal instead of talking the talk: "Yeah, I called you a whore that lived off your tits. And then guess what, you got new tits. But I can still sing better than you, which we all know is the nominal point, and I'm a gifted writer, and I'm hotter than you. In about sixty ways. So when I said you were living off your body because you're too lazy to live off anything else, I wasn't talking shit: I could take off this dress and make some fucking dime on it. I choose not to, because I am an artist. I've been there, I've made the choice. I'm lucky to have figured out before I was dead that there was a choice."
"When I say you need something better, that's not me being fat or ugly or any other thing where I'm less awesome than you: I'm saying I could take the easy road, and chose not to. And you can't hear it, because you think womanhood is a war you're automatically drafted into. But if you could hear it, what I'm saying is that you have a million different ways of proving yourself, and instead you take the one way that guarantees you'll never get anywhere at all. It's a hell of a lot easier to point the finger if I'm not hotter than you, because you can say I'm being defensive, but guess what: that was never what it was about. It's possible to live outside the economy of women hating women. And I'm telling you: every woman that ever tried to stop you, they weren't being mean, they were trying to save your life."
And she's like the only person with the credentials, and the basic Bikini Kill recipe, and the body, to make that point at this moment: she could easily be Bikini Kill, and that's all she was ever trying to say. Try harder. Be Better. And that's why I loved Kara six months ago, and that's why I love her now. "time just come naked" isn't an insult, it's an option. And there are way better fucking options.
You don't have to be ugly to be smart, and you don't have to be smart to be ugly: life is actually much better than that. You can do everything, and still be in charge of your shit, because you are automatically good at more than one thing. We as people are so stuck on living in the house of our best accomplishment that we're scared to be more complex than that, or go to the scarier places. But that's a system invented by other people to keep us small. Taking it down to just one thing -- pretty, smart, funny, cool -- is selling yourself short, because you're bigger than that: You Are Your Territory. You own what you earn, and you earn what you own.
Last girl standing this year was Allison, who's singing "Time After Time" with Cyndi Lauper. Which at this point has been covered so many ways there's no harmony we haven't been amazed by. Yet, if anybody can make it awesome, Allison can. Cyndi's wearing ruched cigarette pants and playing like a mandolin, and she's singing straight, with really cute hair, not that super Jersey weirdness she affects more and more. And it is absolutely gorgeous, but pretty much normal, because their ranges are so... Oh, that was pretty. Cyndi does the "I will be waiting" thing, and Allison catches up after with a throatier thing, and the whole rest of the song is the call-and-response thing that's incredibly intimate and incredibly beautiful. I think this might be the best thing tonight, technically, because they mesh so weirdly and so perfectly. It's like a Special Guest spot at a Cyndi Lauper song, is how fresh and cool it is. Which is honestly what those things should be like. Plus I gotta say Allison looks so beautiful. So, so far, Allison has been the most amazing thing tonight.
Well, Kris's parents are adorable. His mom is funny and not blah-blah, and his dad is like one of those evangelists that you think is secretly hot and then ten years later it turns out you could have had sex with him in a public restroom. Which sounds not so sweet, but I mean it in like the sweetest way. And then there's Adam's parents, who are tall and awesome. And then there's Danny Gokey fucking it up for everybody.
Didn't we... Did he sing "Hello"? Or did we just guess that he would sing "Hello" at some point? I feel like this was part of the conversation at some point, real or otherwise. I'm done talking about what's icky about this. So I will say that he looks as beautiful as he's ever looked, and sounds fantastic, and once Lionel Ritchie comes out to sing some other song it's less bizarre. It's weird, you know, with artists. The more awesome they are, the less fun they are to just be with, because art. So like, I don't think I have much to talk about with Kris, or God forbid Allison, because they're musicians and I'm not. And I only think Adam would be cool to spend time with because he's obviously got a lot going on that has nothing to do with this. Of all the people associated with this show, I think he's the only one that could give me personally a run for my money as far as having much of a muchness happening otherwise. So then what that means is that of all of them... I really think you would have the most fun with Danny Gokey. He's nice, he's almost as funny as he thinks he is, he's cute as hell, and has really good values.
So, problem: I would like to get a drink with Danny Gokey. Obstacle one: I have said truly atrocious, like, worse-than-Constantine things about him, and gotten all in his shit where I don't belong, while at the same time I now feel really connected to his shit, and Obstacle B) probably no drinking. But people are different from artists, and I think Danny-the-person would be the greatest. And then after a verse of one Lionel song followed by one of "All Night Long" he just throws himself on Lionel Ritchie, overjoyed about this whole thing, and... I don't feel like I've said enough about how much love and care and tenderness Danny Gokey deserves and needs, because that's an angle that goes up and up and up, but I also feel like I've said too much and it doesn't mean anything at this point. Or it means something gross that I don't agree with.
I really shocked myself when Constantine was eliminated because I realized how much I'd been using him as a crutch, and how much I honestly liked him beyond that. Feels like an STD, even now. I check on him, on MySpace and Wikipedia and whatever, because to know your enemy is to love your enemy, and Ender Wiggin says you have to do all three, hate and know and first of all love. But with Danny, it's like I already knew that, the whole time, how much I hated him and needed hating him, and how that meant I loved him, and it was stupid complicated. If you saw my circle of friends it would practically be just that: the broken fields of war where I hated the person so bad I fell in love. So now, seeing Danny on the other side of it, I don't really have a lot of words. Maybe IGB would have been better, like a lightning rod for all these goddamn feelings. I can say I haven't cared about anybody as much as him, in the five years I've been writing about this show. I don't really care about his homelife and I don't particularly have this need for him to succeed, but like as a guy? A guy you went to high school with or something?
We wouldn't have been friends; he would have been somebody my theatre friends knew through theatre, while I was smoking cigarettes at lunch and trying to get expelled. And I would have been so fucking cool that I wouldn't have smiled at him in the hallway, no matter what a dork I objectively was. But I would have loved him so much, he's that guy. I would have secretly loved him more than anybody else. And that's why I was glad when he got cut, and I'm still glad he was, because he doesn't need to be on this train any more than he already is. But don't think it's not personal. It always was. It has to be, if you're going to actually be involved in this show, and what it does. You're allowed to feel things about them. That's like the first thing I should have learned. And it turned out I was already doing a shitty job of hiding it, years and years ago, because this show has become something I wouldn't have smiled at in the hallway, but still gets to me, because it's watching dreams happen, and everybody dreams. So that's Gokey. Fuck it.
Adam journey, we've done that, "Viva La Vida" playing, and Adam explaining that he was only there because he had "ideas" and dreams of what this show could be. And motherfucker took the show in his strong hands and twisted it around what he wanted, and made everybody pay attention. He answered a question Blake asked years ago, and the answer was YES.
As long as I'm being maudlin, it's a season finale, I won't see you for at least six months so it's okay: I can't tell you how much that's meant to me either. It's so razor-edge possible that I would not have recapped this show this year, because I didn't want to do it without Joe. Not because of the workload -- I've got words to spare, obviously -- but because I love Joe and he loves me, and it's something we could do together, like Frisbee but indoors. And I'm so glad I went for it, because I got to see this, this whole year of Blakes, taking the torch that Brooke and Cook handed them, taking music and turning it into something. Nobody could have known that would happen. I was just being lazy and selfish taking it for another year just because I couldn't imagine doing anything else, and I knew I would miss you after the fact. (And Ryan.)
But I'm so happy I did, because I wouldn't have been watching this year. Even if I do think this show is the secret Tarot spread for every year of our American lives, and no matter how many times I tell you how much I love you personally, you and I both know I wouldn't stick around if I weren't paid to do it. But thank God I chickened out, because I want to live in the America where our biggest choice is between unicorns. I want to live in an America where even Allison Iraheta can be counted on to do something interesting or new to a song, every time, and where she can be loved for it.
But I don't want to live in an America where I have to talk about KISS, so bleep-bloop. Sorry your duet medley sucked such righteous ass, Adam. I guess I get it, but I really don't. I realize Jeff Buckley would be a hard get -- paging Elvis! -- but surely we could get closer to your lineage. Leonard Cohen? Zeppelin? Maybe they tried, and KISS was like, "Cherry Dr Pepper!" and AI was like, "$$!" So whatever, then comes Carlos Santana, who firstly why is he here -- to pointlessify Matt Giraud's performance, which is one of the things I was really looking forward to -- and secondly is automatically like if Crazy took a mental holiday. That awful Puerto Rican werewolf and Adam sing along with that terrible "So Cool" song, and Danny, and I can't... I can't enjoy any of his songs because all I can think about is 1) Rob Thomas dances like something I've never seen in life and it makes me feel crazy in a Lambert way, and 2) I'm so glad Santana was not my guidance counselor.
Oh, Camryn Manheim. You gaywad. Oh, Janice Dickinson, you are slightly less horrible than Tyra at this point. The boys sing a whole mashup video clip song of all their pimpmercial songs, to a song I don't know. I'm so horrified by how well I remember the pimpmercials, all of them separately. I assumed it would be like a blur. David Cook has a "surprise," which is a cheesiness "on behalf of the Ford Motor Company," which doubles up both Adam and Kris. So Adam goes, ""Quite the vehicle!" And Kris fakely goes, "Let's go for a ride, dude!" And then... Steve Martin plays the banjo while Matt Sarver and Megan Joy sing a song about fucking each other in a country kind of way.
I did not make that up, but I like the metacommentary about Megan and Matt being both jokes. And I like how awesome they both honestly sounded. The appeal of Megan is so narrow and specific that it's rare it is actually acceptable, so it's nice when it happens. And then there's Matt Sarver, who has the advantage of looking like Matt Sarver, and I'm given to understand that Megan is the same thing of girls, although I secretly don't believe it. Because there's actually awesome happening. Like, did you know Leighton Meester, besides being no-shit probably the best actress of our generation, sings so awesome and not like you think? Because jeez. Utilize your Google immediately.
Only thirty-seven bajillion years to go! Here's Matt Sarver making those faces. He's like the last of the summer wine, he really is. You would think a song about if you want my body and you think I'm sexy would be sexy or about wanting bodies, but no. It's just obnoxious. And speaking of, hi Anoop! So much yelling instead of singing, because this song has no melody at all, just Rod Stewart's stupid hair and even stupider ass, wiggling.
...So then Rod Stewart comes out. I seriously... How many times? How many times until I figure out how this works? So then Rod Stewart comes out and sings one of my absolutely favorite songs, and sounds like the cream in your coffee served by heaven's barista. My parents, separately, have both told me I was CRAZY about this song before I could talk. It was like the only thing they could count on to get me giggling and whispering and doing cute baby stuff. It's just so awesome! It's so pretty! All the vowels are so cellar door and the melody doesn't fuck around and the beginning is all Celtic or whatever. This song feels connected to my elbows and those pully ligaments behind your knees. Look! Addison! And Bo Bice! HOW WEIRD.
I saw a picture of William Gibson today, finally, where I drew the line and was like: Too Old. He looks frangible suddenly. I'm not coordinated enough to do anything without breaking a hip. I drew that line with Rod Stewart like ten years ago, but still. He's awesome. Plus Rachel Whatserface on that swing. I mean damn. Remember that? Remember... I don't even know what this shitty Golden Idol award is for. Fuck it. Some cute blonde alien girl singing like a cat dying. Bad teeth and bad singing. Some ho. WHERE THE FUCK IS TATIANA DEL TORO? That's what I wanna know. I've been wondering this since like 5 o'clock... Oh, here we go. Well, she's going to win whatever asshole award this is. She's like Danny Gokey to me. I hated her so much I broke it and now I love her.
She milks the fuck out of it, and then it turns out there's a... joke? I don't know. Verbal shrug symbol. So she literally leapfrogs all the bouncers like a ninja and totally mountain-goats up over the stage speakers like they are just the landscape, and then grabs a convenient mic, and Ryan's all "Tatiana I actually have to take a break," and Paula and Simon can't handle it and Ruben Studdard is like "What?" And there's some dumb choreography where she evades these two competent bouncers and keeps singing "Saving All My Love," and it's all perfectly annoying and perfectly Tati, and the whole time Ryan's like "No Tatiana, no Tatiana, Tatiana no..."
But then she's singing and they actually do go to commercial but keep the audio going, so like, what's real and what's not real, because she's still singing. It's my job to know when we're being fucked with. This is like the fucking Matrix. Which is usual with her ass. She and Nick Normund should just do a duet of trippy Beatles tunes and look at the screen and be like, "TAKE THE RED PILL LIVE I AM YOU SAYS IT IS NOT DYING I AM DAY OF NINE DOGS YOUR INITATION BEGINS NOW SAYS FIVE HOUR ENERGY SAYS DREAM COCA-COLA" because honestly who knows. They're programming us to let our kids buy Jonas Brothers crap or something I'm not prepared for. Tati's in charge. Maybe Japan. I don't care, give me drugs. Give me some drugs because this has been going on forever and still the best thing as been the animate mannequin of Allison with the animate corpse of Cyndi Lauper and they weren't even singing "She Bop."
OMG Ryan's still all about "either it's this one or that one, but America is still victorious." Literally he says that. And then they both sing a smiley Queen song, which honestly works for both for them: "We Are The Champions." And Queen plays amongst the fifty smoke machines and random chorale singing along, and wonders what's happening. It's all very heartfelt in the places where it doesn't go nuts. You know what I am so done. All the random people have arms up in the air while Adam and Kris hug and smooch and dress like each other and have so very much fun, and Paula and Kara are hugging like that's a fight that actually exists, and all the Idols are like vaguely onstage... And then the song is over, and guess what, commercial. Which is also about how they're both winners.
The more they do this the more obvious it is that Kris won and they both know it. I wish I knew it for sure so I could get this over with, because I really do think they're both awesome and don't care. I feel kind of funny about him winning because as awesome as it is that somebody can come up from behind like that, there's a sneaking sensation of the idea that he's just the less scary option, like it's a vote against. But somebody kept him there the whole time and I think just because I didn't hear about them or from them doesn't mean they aren't real. I prefer to think it was "Heartless" but we'll never know. I feel like at this point I should root for Adam just because he's deserved to win since the beginning, while when Kris wins it will be on his behalf, but plus Matt G and plus Danny. That's three against one. You know?
Adam with a giant broach, Kris tiny. Simon says they're both brilliant, unusually nice people, and deserve to be proud of last night. All true. Ryan is all about it, but still loves Adam more, we can tell. They bring out the weird-faced British guy like every year, and Adam carries Kris around like an adorable little doll like every year. They dim the lights and I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen because this is it, no more Ryan after this. Half the people in the audience are actually passed out. Passed the literal fuck out. And the winner is: KRIS ALLEN. Obviously. Wake up, bitches! It's only 7PM in California! Kris Allen!
Ryan's all about the Dark Horse Underdog thing, which word, and Kris is like, "Buuuuut have you met Adam Lambert?" Ryan says, "Here's some girl with a trophy, congratulations." Kris has no words. Alexis and Megan are awkwardly wrapped in each other's arms. They -- meaning Allison -- push Adam back to center stage, and Simon watches like a hawk.
So what does it mean? I stick with the unicorn thing. more so I stick with the Kris-Is-Hot thing, but blaming that for it is the same thing as saying Bikini Kill has a skill. A Bikini Kill Skill. Kris is a side of Adam that's easier to deal with. Not because of that, but because his voice is effortless. Given two really great choices, we went with the steadier choice. I think Adam would have been better off if he'd given in less, surprised us more, stayed on his course. I don't think he would have outlasted Gokey, but then I'm not commercial. I know cute, and I know that.
So before Kris sings that not-so-crappy but more-crappy-than-a-real-song song, Ryan thanks you for making it so special. I would like to thank you for the same thing. I love you. You have to know that, right? It's not this show, it's you. Five years, from something I was only doing because I had a crush on Sars and so wanted to be a part of Mighty Big I was willing to do any filthy thing to do it. She emailed, "Scripted or unscripted?" and I knew I was in, but in my head I was like, "Angela Chase I have feelings let me express them" and she gave me... This.
I remember the day she called me and offered me the gig; she sounds exactly like Jodie Foster. And I remember I cried a little bit -- which shouldn't surprise you because when do I not -- but in this case it was a smile at the same time, because what I wanted was this: I wanted to talk to you every second I could, and hear you talk back. About a thing where I had less than zero answers; something we could do together, like a coloring book. "This is what we think about Constantine." I got over the consensus thing pretty fast -- and I really suggest you do the same; you're smart and experienced enough that you don't really need agreement from the rest of us to stick by your convictions, even about something this silly -- but that impulse was right, considering how arrogant I am/was: I wanted to be dropped into a world that cared, really cared, and didn't mind talking about it, or telling me how it works.
So thank you so much, for giving me a place to land. Every OMGSFhot windup car alarm bird and every unicorn and FANT ASIA and ham with teeth and Dr. Phil dating special and Nadia. Swamp monsters and little brass engines and tracheotomies. Thank you for that moment of Jordin and Blake, when I realized I could make my life look exactly the way that I wanted it to. And I've done it, since then. But that's not me. I'd happily recap every personal Seacrest flareup, every time I knew Simon was the One, and what it felt like, but the show? That's not me. I barely watch TV, I blame myself for every failed show because guaranteed I've got three eps on TiVo: I certainly don't have the time management skills to give myself these hours every week to spend with this show. Not alone. I make time, I have these moments, only to spend them with you. You're the one I actually like.
Thank you for telling me this show, and what it means: how much it says about our country, every year, and why it's worth fighting for, and yelling for, and crying for. How important it is, how we must keep fighting just to know it, ourselves and our country. How essential is for us to keep trying to find that balance, and trace the differences and the commonalities. Thank you for teaching me the love all of us can have for all of us. That is an unavoidable part of this game show: loving the thing that's different as hard as you can. My friend Karen always says that satire is a plea for compassion for everyone from everyone; I can only hope I've erred on the side of less satire and more compassion.
Thank you so much, for explaining over and over how something innately retarded can show us just how close we are to connecting, and how important it is. How much music, and these random people's dreams, tells us about how important and how easy it is to communicate. To feel the precise places and lines along which we disagree, and how permeable and silly those lines are. And how easy it is to cross them, once you open up your stupid mouth and actually say what you're thinking. Thank you for reminding me that's all that's really required. Only connect. Just say it. The worst thing you're thinking, say it. Tell somebody. It's what fixes us as people, and it's what fixes us as a country.
Think about this: more than the Superbowl, more than any Presidential address, more than anything Neilsen can currently monitor: whenever this show comes on, we watch it together. Singly or in huge parties, this show is the biggest thing that happens, every episode, all week, all year. Queers and queer families, moms with daughters, families of all ridiculous building blocks, daddies with secret singer hearts and quiet tears down the cheek. We gather, here at TWoP or in our homes, live or on DVR or by ahem means, and we do this thing. This pointless, silly, wonderful thing: we do it together.
We avoid spoilers and we debate the (almost) meaningless differences between one shelf-ready product and another shelf-ready product, and by doing so we tell ourselves to ourselves. We tell one of the only contiguous American narratives that is left to us, across technologies and generations, and we do it, this act itself, across all technologies and time zones. I'm not into an argument about how ultimately useless it is, or what it says about Americans as obese losers, because that's not my fight. I know what America is, lovely and dark, shining and shadows: we want to win, to succeed, to be beautiful, to be admired. And if we can't have that, we want somebody just like us. And if we can't have that, we want somebody we can put our dreams and hopes and love on, like mantle or a shield. We want heroes. We want to think we could be heroes. Just for one day. And maybe more so, we want somebody else to give us one. It's not like Americans invented that concept. But thousands of years later, the Olympics remain. And the Olympics don't have a pop princess event. But if they did...
I just know that something brings us here. To the TV, to the hearth, together, in future ways and in normal ways. It wouldn't matter what they were fighting for, because it has to be something we all love equally, and that's music. It's dreams. It's watching somebody just like us become the thing their whole life is pushing them towards, and thinking about what our personal invisible neon arrow is pointing at, and how we can get there. How nice is that? No matter how silly it is, no matter how pointless the subject is: it's more important that we do it, twice a week at least. Only connect.
And thank you for fighting with me, and showing me the areas of my own blindness, which I'm still learning. This show has affected my politics, and more importantly my religion, more than any one thing. I don't want to talk about that, because it's super weird, but you know, I think, what I mean by that. It's more important to reach across the static and pull something back. You are your territory. You've given me so much I didn't even ask for, and I am grateful to you, for sharing your territory. For letting me, and you, make our territory bigger by listening, and talking.
Thank you for telling me it was okay when I thought I'd gone too far, or said too much. God, thank you so much for that. I know I've abused the shit out of it, finding out the limits and reasons and boundaries of what I can tell you about and still seem like a worthwhile, or at least not insane, person. Taking the long way around to show that I was really talking about the show and not my endlessly fascinating self. Thanks for waiting around while I failed that one over and over. I have teabagged that line and you've paid the price. But eh, that's art, or no, whatever I'm doing instead of art. Self-obsessed, autopathology, therapy, gasbagging, sexuality evangelism and orthodoxy, the rest of it: Not untrue. And you've been beyond patient waiting for me (still waiting!) to figure it out. If you're reading this? You're a hero. And not just for singing along.
Thank you for meeting me at a genre meant for reading on your lunch break, and sitting through the longer parts. Thanks for assuming I have a point. This job, like any transformative experience, has been learning in public. You've been beyond patient, beyond kind. Because in a serious way, this was my first actual writing assignment, ever. And it's always been my favorite, but that's all you, too. I really do love you.