Here's the entire tribe grouped around the same TV. That can only mean one thing. IT'S IDOL TIME! We're Idol fanatics, serious phone-voting Idolers. We'll admit to it proudly.
I'm pretty sure even Cujo loves it. (For the record, Mac's red-eye removal doesn't work on animals. And she really isn't as fierce as she looks. She thinks she's a six lb lap-sitting toy poodle instead of a 68lb flaming-eyed dawg.)
This year, I'm watching with great skepticism. How can they ever top last year? We luuuuv David Cook in our house. In fact, we scheduled our lives last year around beautiful Brooke, beautiful Jason, sweet, virginal Archie, amazing pipes Syesha, and the ever so talented, David, "With scruff on my face, I am a yummy dude," Cook.
Every year I fret that we'll have a bummer Idol season.
Because we have.
Think Jordin, "I'm sweeter than sugar now, but give me a few Britney years and I'm TMZ gold!" And Blake, "I'm a Beat-Boxer, that's all I can do!"
What a snooze-fest.
And don't even get me started on Fantasia, "Let me screech for ya'" Barrino. (Did you see her guest spot last year?! I was as dumbfounded as Simon.) And her runner-up, Diana, "I can't sing, but everyone else has been eliminated, so YAAAY for me," Degarmo. We didn't even get off our keesters and cheer that year when Screech was announced the winner. We just kept shoving popcorn in our pieholes and wistfully sighing that next year would come quickly.
But, for those off seasons, we still have the good. There was Rueben, "I look like I'll give you the beatdown of your life, but I sing like an angel" and his note-for-note bout with Clay, "I'm not gay...for now."
We had Carrie, "I'm not only ridiculously beautiful, I'm destined to be Idol's cash cow when every note I sing turns to solid country gold. Yee-Haw!" (What did I know, I voted for Bo.)
And even though the rest of the world has, we shouldn't forget Taylor, "This is my 15 minutes." (I'll admit, at the time, I loved him. Listening to his first release, not so much.) And his runner up, Katherine with her stinkin' "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" that made me bawl like a baby. That was also the year of Daughtry, "The Laugh's on You, Suckas."
Mix all that, with the insanity of Paula, "My Coca-cola glass is really a tumbler of vodka that helps me wash down my splendid mix of Vicodins and Prozacs" and you've got one heapin', glorified, fantastic batch of reality TV.
Last year, I was so caught up in the talent I turned to my Hubbie and said, "Let's go to the concert!"
And he shot me a look that read, "Uh-oh, is this that Change of Life Crazy, I've been warned about from other Dude victims of hormonal fluctuations?"
But, what he really said quite incredulously was, "Are you serious?"
And he meant it. Because, you see, I am very serious abut my music.
My ears burn and I come close to seizing up when I hear the likes of Kenny G., Celine Dion, The Pussycat Dolls, Nickelback, Lil' Wayne or that Hannah Montana chick. I apologize if your fave group is in here. But, it is what it is and I just cannot tolerate bad music. It's a gene passed down in my DNA. I'm just sayin'.
I've been known to threaten my kids with punishments for veering towards questionably bad music. Although, my baby girl is really into the Jonas Brothers and because she's sweet and has curly hair, I ask her to just please shut her door when she's jammin'.
My Hubby tries to tell me that music is selective and people have rights to their own taste.
But, not in my house, Brother.
I love music, all kinds of music. From Maria Callas to Johnny Cash, to Sia to U2 to The Killers to Billie Holiday, to Outkast to Itzak Perlman. I could go on and on, filling up the page with my adoration for every genre of brilliant music.
I also hate, kick-in-the-shins hate, music that is formulaic, pop-tarty, plain stupid, or just crude for no other reason but its shock value.
Except for Jimmy Buffett's "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw." But, that's not shock. That's just Jimmy being Jimmy.
In fact, I'm pretty sure that's just about every guy on the planet's motto.
So, as my Hubby waited for my response, I thought about all those screeching prepubescents, crying for David, "Oh Gosh, my dad's gonna wup me for not winning this thing" Archuletta. I thought about the risk I was taking in case there was even the slightest chance Kristy Lee, "I was this year's Sanjaya" Cook might be singing her blasphemous, tortuous take of the Beatles' "Eight Days a Week." (Her excuse was, she'd never really heard any Beatles music before. That fact alone, should have been INSTANT elimination!)
I thought about my ears turning to ash from certain spontaneous combustion.
I like my ears. They're great earring holders. I also have excellent dog-like hearing. It makes up for my blindness, I guess.
I looked at him and said, "You're right. What was I thinking?"
I'll keep you updated on Idol with my very opinionated opinions. Stay tuned.
Today's Forced Download: I have to get back some of my street cred after fessing up to my Idol Love. Two words: Rufus Wainwright. This man is the most underrated musical song man of our time. I love me some Rufus and you will too when you download him like you're told. He has this lazy way of lolling over his songs. Usually, he's accompanied by a lush blend of pianos, violins, guitars and with his soaring tenor voice, it's beauty indeed. "Poses" is my favorite. But, for something just as good, he does a haunting version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah". Try out some Rufus. You won't know what you did all these years without him.