Two.
Great things come in two:
Like Siamese Twins.
Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
And Testicles!
And on this night, Idols. NIce shirt Blake. When you're done with that, can I have the Sports section?
I had originally planned to make this a season-spanning retrospective, complete with show-by-show performance rankings, top ten lists of favorite moments, analysis of votes that went awry...when it occurred to me...I don't remember a DAMNED thing about this entire season. Nothing. It's gone. Gone like trigonometry. Gone like my high school locker combo. Gone like the interpretive dance routine we put together set to Matthew Wilder's, "Ain't Nothing Gonna Break My Stride." (That was last week. I have short-term memory issues.)
But, does it really matter??? I mean, here we are! Down to two. The TWO greatest singers in the free world. Or something like that. And in just a few short hours ONE of them will be crowned AMERICAN IDOL, entitling them to a lucrative recording contract, instant stardom and late night Xanax-fueled calls from Paula Abdul letting them know "they're magic" and she's "so frickin' proud of them!" This is the excitement that could ONLY come from true, human drama. The kind of excitement associated with competition in its highest form. The kind of excitement that lives just below Simon Cowell's shirt's neckline.
The show started off with its normal grandeur: montages, Ryan Seacrest using his "important" voice, a flash of the massive crowd in the Kodak...IT'S ON!
We quickly meet our judges. Randy Jackson is wearing a coat that looks like what would happen if Michael Jackson's coat and Liberace's coat had a baby. Paula Abdul apparently broke her nose this week. How did I miss that news? Well. She looks fine. A little swollen. Drunk (as usual) but not like Marsha Brady or anything. Apparently she tripped over her dog in the dark and fell. I believe the term "her dog" is code for "bottle of vodka" and it wasn't so much that she tripped. Just that she drank it all and went to sleep standing up. Cowell has his shirt unbuttoned below his naval. It's a veritable jungle in there.
Our competitors have flipped the coin, as is customary in all sporting events. Blake calls heads and wins the toss. He decides to kick off. So that there is no confusion, Blake has deemed this night ARGYLE NIGHT. Everything he's wearing has some sort of argyle on it. If he had lips, they would be argyle.
His first song, was his big hit from Bon Jovi Week, "You Give Love a Bad Name". And, while some of the novelty of his arrangement had worn off, Blake proved again that he's talented and a great performer...and that his steely gaze into the camera could test the sexual leanings of even the most surly man's man. Resist him, Sea Bass. Resist.
Jordyn is up next...looking SMOKING hot. Have we determined how tall she is yet? She looks like she could pick up Seacrest and toss him against a wall like one of the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. She's like a cross- breed of Destiny's Child and Chewbacca. Her first song is Xtina's "Fighter". It's a pretty good effort. But, it's a tough song to sing and HIGHLY produced...so, it comes off a little flat. Christina is a hard act to cover. Have you seen the video for "Candyman"?
Zoinkies. She's purty!
Where were we? Ah...Blake is up next. Again. This time performing the Maroon 5 hit, "She WIll Be Loved". Starting off the performance, the camera pans to the fingers of the guitarist playing the opening riff of the song. Did you see this? Looked like he had a handful of corn dogs! How was he able to press the notes??? I'm easily distracted. To me, this tune was Blake at his most bland. He's NOT a great singer. He's a GREAT performer and it really showed on this one. He starts off on the stool (to prove he's sensitive) and then just kinda whines for 3 minutes - eyebrows raised, head tilted back, argyle screaming out, lips...well, NO lips...but, either way, I just don't dig it. NEXT!
The night is packed with little interviews and montages. It's really quite sweet seeing where these folks came from (besides Seattle) and puts a more personal face on the final two. Which will eventually have nothing to do with the way America votes...as this season has taught us. Nor will their singing. It's probably more likely to be something like this that determines the votes:
I personally use the Magic 8 Ball to determine a lot of MY daily decisions. Which explains some of my socailly-disruptive behavior (using the women's restroom, wearing undergarments on the OUTSIDE of my clothes, tongue-kissing the Wal-Mart Greeter, etc.)
I digress.
Jordyn sears my eyebrows off with her performance of "Broken Wing". Proving again that she is a BEAST. The judges go nuts. Simon publically apologizes for saying Jordyn wasn't good enough to be in the finals - but stops short of apologizing for the fact that all of America could see his treasure trail because of how far his shirt was unbuttoned. And I'm serious. She LITERALLY singed off my eyebrows through the tv with her singing. Where there used to be two perfectly formed red brows are now two smoking, stinky little nubs of melted hair. It was that good.
Oh goody!!! My favorite part! They get to sing the official "Cheesy, self-cebratory-just-add-water-and-watch-the-hit-grow" American Idol original song! Have you noticed that EVERY one of those songs has sounded the same? Crappy? Luckily, this year, they've put a twist on it...they've gone out to find the best original song in America. Will it be a gritty neo-folk dialog renouncing our foreign policy? A cleverly orchestrated smart-pop tune about the beauty of unconditional love? Nope. It's another crappy Idol song. Oh well. Congrats to the two guys who wrote it. But, I swear to you, from the bottom of my soul, if it becomes an omnipresent radio staple that cannot be escaped from, I will hunt you down and beat you to death with my Sanjaya lunchbox.
SO, both Idols get a crack at "My Now"...that doesn't even make sense "My Now"...Mom...have you seen my now? Yes, honey, it's right next to your when...over there by Dad's how...where you left it. Blake....eh. Definitely not his type of song. Too sappy...no open breaks for mad beatboxing. ALMOST feels like the deck is stacked a bit. Does Mr. Cowell think so too? He decided to only judge Blake on his first two performances...hmmmm....we''re so alike, he and I.
Jordyn, of course, gets up and makes this song her little all-women maximum security prison bitch. It was clearly written for her type of voice...and by the end of the song, we're all crying: SHE'S crying, I'm crying, Dick Cheney's crying, the Indian on the side of the polluted road is crying, the guy born with no tear ducts is crying, Melinda Doolittle is crying (because Blake is actually in the finals)...it's a big weep fest. It's therapeutic. She gets a standing O. The judges agree, she wiped the floor with Blake.
America has four hours to vote, the judges are non-committal (it's in their contract) and we sign off with a special performance by DAUGHTRY featuring CHRIS DAUGHTRY sporting some crazy-ass eye makeup that sent the message, "once you get off this show, you have a license to be HARDASS!"
Sanjaya can't wait.
The AfterBirth
Wow. I'm kinda sad knowing that this is over. Knowing that I can watch sporting events again on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Knowing that I can sleep in on Wednesday mornings. It's bittersweet. Sincerely.
I guess the only real thing I have to predict is who wins.
Easy. Jordyn. The contrast was so sharp last night, a million beat-boxed 80's rock covers couldn't change it. I pray that America won't be confused by all the argyle and beatboxing. Jordyn deserves it. She's the Cinderella of the season. GREAT voice. And she has lips.
So, that's it for me. Thanks for reading. Sorry I became kind of like a deadbeat dad there over the past couple of weeks. Just like a real deadbeat dad, I'll ask you to remember the good times and don't tell your mom where I'm living now. Thanks for your support and feedback. We'll see you again next year!
Seacrest Outed.