American Idol
Hollywood

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Jacob Clifton: A | Grade It Now!
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But Isn't She Pretty In Pink?
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Ryan opens my favorite phase of the entire show -- One whole episode this year, out of the fifty damned times a week this show comes on! Thanks! -- with a dubious statement: "To be an American Idol finalist," he asserts, "Is to be a superstar." Kinda; in the same way that to be Ken Jennings is to be a superstar, or more to the point, that crackhead-looking astronaut lady. To be an American Idol is to be possessed of fame equal to or eclipsed by that of Jennifer Wilbanks. Taylor, Kat, and DAUGHTRY are all what we're charitably calling "powerhouses in the music industry," and there are a million stupid pictures of DAUGHTRY and how he went platinum in five seconds because he is marketing to Wal Mart people, because he is one.

A total of 172 people got golden tickets, is the math we're spinning on this -- although I'm sure there were the requisite five scandals, four porn sites, three payola schemes, two nepotisms, and a partridge up Cowell's ass -- and now they're in Hollywood for five days of boot camp. Those 172 include maybe...ten people I recognize? I think that's partly my bad, because I haven't really been paying attention to the auditions, because I keep a bunch of crazy people and retards downstairs to point and laugh at whenever I feel like it, right next to the Starbuck's, so I don't really need the auditions for anything I can't get for myself. People I know include Tom Lowe, Chris Sligh, Blake Lewis, Gina Glocksen, and that pretty girl that everybody hates. And you know what, it's partly NOT my bad, because those are exactly the people this stupid show wants me to recognize, with the exception of Tom Lowe, who was like a Perfect Storm of getting tossed aside by this show, what with his gayness, hotness, oldness, Britishness, prior-contractedness, and previous life as Simon Cowell's pool boy, and we're all supposed to pretend we never saw him, after tonight. I refuse. Never forget!

"It's Hollywood Week," quoth Ryan: "This...is American Idol." And then that music, and I guess sometimes that music is a little exciting, okay, but I still hate this show.

0800 hrs., and I see that boring crying boy who came back, and Tara Reid-looking Baylie. The boys aren't stressing today, Ryan says, because he gave them all friendly backrubs, and also because it's the girls who are singing today. Twice as many girls as boys got invited to Hollywood this year, for some reason, so I guess maybe that explains why I can't tell any of them apart. Well, that and the fact that we've never seen most of them before right now. Gina's sitting with that lonelygirl15 person that has the Fiona Apple Lesbian Voice, on a bus, telling us how terribly hard it's going to be. Like how the other people who are looking at this as a fun and exciting experience are going to be ripped apart by wild dogs, in the end, and it's almost pathetic of them not to be scared out of their wits. "Look to your left, look to your right: one of the three of you is going home," says La Glocksen, and I mean, that's true. Over at the theatre, everybody's stressing about how there's "so much talent" it's lying thick on the ground, which is self-aggrandizing to the same degree that it's self-dramatizing, which is what happens when you hit a certain population density of theater types and vocal types, which is the unavoidable result of American Idol because it's the killing field where these two awful types of people meet and greet and act elite. But no matter how many times you say this to yourself, and trust me I know, nothing will prepare you for Matt Sato. Nothing.

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American Idol

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