I want to start by observing that each time I've been called upon to recap something for TWoP for the past three months, nasty weather has descended upon my area right as the show aired. I watched an episode of Dawson's Creek in the midst of a tornado watch. Flash flood warnings scrolled across the screen during L.A. Law: The Movie. Right as the premiere of American Idol began, deafening thunderstorms blanketed the area, threatening us with power outages and -- even worse -- regular interruptions from meteorologists explaining the obvious, because otherwise we'd all go canoeing in the rain or something. Is God trying to tell me something? Am I too cynical? Am I not cynical enough? Is Rupert Murdoch God? Is Heaven full of police chases and topless women? Should I repent for my beliefs that FOX is run by homophobic, misogynistic, brain-dead mouth-breathers who wouldn't know "quality" if it were the stage name of the pole dancer whose thong down which they shove their ill-gotten gains in exchange for backroom blowjobs? Eh, bring on Hell, then.
And we're off! The premiere opens with our two hosts, Brian Dunkleman and Ryan Seacrest. I think Brian is intended to be the "funny" one -- I bet he changed his name to "Dunkleman" from something boring like "Smith," because it sounds funnier. He looks like the nebbish sidekick from any mediocre sitcom. Ryan is intended to be the "cute" one. His hair is moussed up into an insane, spiky 'do. Angel would look at it and say, "Dude, take it down a notch." I will be referring the two of them collectively as Black and Decker, because just like most reality show hosts, they're a couple of tools.
Black and Decker greet us from the stage of the Kodak Theater, where the Academy Awards take place. The auditorium is dark and empty, much like the futures of many of the people we'll be meeting this evening. They explain that on this stage in three months, "an as-yet-unknown talent will be launched into superstardom." I hope he or she springs for flight insurance, because the crash back to earth two or three months after that will probably sting. They explain that they don't know who this person is yet (duh) and that us lowly couch jockeys will get to decide who that is. We who have put people like Shakira, Creed, Jennifer Lopez, Limp Bizkit, and other morons up to the tops of the charts. I hate us.