Who's Your Idol?

I must admit I never really knew what all that American Idol hubub was about. Sure, I heard in roundabout ways who was bound for stardom, but I never followed the show with any dedication. After all, I had better things to do with my time. Every time I heard Carrie Underwood's 'Jesus Take The Wheel' on the radio, I would cringe and reach for the scan button, although no station was safe. So why exactly would I want to watch an entire show of whiney vocalists singing about people with wierd theological issues? I asked myself. In fact, I had never even seen the show until almost a month ago when its sixth season began. And until that chilly Tuesday evening when my husband coerced me onto the sofa, I had no clue what I'd been missing.

I never knew that I'd been missing all of Simon's snide remarks, the really awful singers who (bless their hearts) stood in the hopeful line for hours only to be humiliated on national television, those who thought it wise to dust off that old banana costume or showcase their juggling talents, the kids with potential who you really hoped would make it, and those who actually did but were wiped clean of any personality in order to make a more sellable product to the American public, and the very questionable remarks made by Ryan Seacrest to Simon about his snugly fitting gray v-neck sweaters. And of course, the very strange intro to the show with graphics reminiscent of video games and an absolutely horrendous theme song. It was because of these things that I told myself I would not fall prey to the clutches of this monster, I would not participate in this silly game. That is, until last night.

I'm still not sure if it was boredom setting in, or if my soul has actually been devoured by the American Idol beast, but I actually decided to call in and vote. I was not stirred to tears, nor was I filled with an overwhelming sense of awe at the performances that unfolded before me. There was no passion, no emotion, as I reached for my cell phone and dialed the Idol number. For a moment, I felt as though the Idol gods were controlling my body, temporarily possessing it and using it for their own sinister purposes. What is happening to me? I wondered.

And as if that weren't enough, I called in tonite to cast my vote. Again.

Before I know it, I'll have the Idol number on speed dial and will be rearranging my schedule so I can make it home in time for the show. Then I'll actually go out and purchase the CD (or CDs) of the Idol winner (and runner-up), and learn all the lyrics by heart. And, heaven forbid, I might actually subject myself to the opinions of Simon, Paula, and Randy and audition for this ridiculous show.

Does anyone know if they're holding auditions in the Metroplex next season?