Let me just ask you something straight up. Do you really think anyone five years from now will think Kelly Clarksons first album is good music or will it be an incidental footnote of the times much like that “Get a Dell, Dude” guy–a by-product of media consumption that never stops needing to be fed?
American idol is manufactured drama. Nothing could make this more evident than the thirty seven season opening episodes each year that mainly focus on creating humor out of other people’s humiliation. Granted those being humiliated are, more often than not, deliciously unaware of how awful they are. And it should be said that American Idol cross-country audition episodes have done an awful lot to finally promote the idea that red state or blue state, this nation is not lacking for delusional gay males prone to an outburst of nearly restraining-order worthy drama queenery. If there isn’t already a savvy psychotherapist with handful of business cards standing just outside the exit doors of each audition tour city stop, then some mental health care professional is missing out on a freakin’ gold mine.
So, for a show that overtly traffics in publicly humiliation at the expense of the young and more than likely emotionally fragile dingbats of the world, I may add, why is it that we must also toss this pathetic woman onto the pyre of ridicule?
Sure her reaction to one soon-to-be-forgotten musical footnote being chosen over her preferred soon-to-be-forgotten musical footnote is overblown and possibly revelatory of a gaping emotional void no microwave single serving cake or lightly cheesy powder dusted snack food could ever fill. Though I know nothing about this woman and her half-naked male companion laying thankfully mostly under a blanket of some surplus material other than what little I’ve seen in this video, I am almost entirely convinced they would be the perfect demographic for a double-ended shotgun.
But isn’t it obvious this poor woman is completely broken hearted? That she had an emotional investment in the entertainment ponzi scheme known as American Idol?
How meta must we be that we must take someone who probably reveled, as did we all, in the pain of the cluelessly unaware and now revel in her own? Can’t this woman just be kind of pathetic? Must we always be cool 24/7 just In case some dingleberry with a video camera is trying to document the dirty secret that you are slightly weird?
Is this what were teaching kids? Don’t exhibit any individualistic traits that you wouldn’t want the whole world to see because millions of strangers will guffaw at you and not with you?
I am reminded of William Hung, whose tone deaf warbling of Ricky Martin’s now comically ironic “She Bangs” sounded more like something sung in the back of the short bus than a recording-contract-worthy performance. Hung parlayed the fact that he was a joke into a record deal and will probably be remembered long after any of the cannon fodder from that season who just missed the top three.
So what I’m saying, near morbidly obese idol freak fan lady is your fifteen minutes have commenced, the clock is running on the limited time you have to capitalize on this.
Look at that blonde airhead beauty queen from South Carolina. She may have the brains that God gave to a small soap dish but dammit if she or her handlers, the ones who probably have to remind her not to shower looking up at the ceiling or she may drown, figured out she needed to embrace her image as a moron. Subsequently, she’s been cast to compete each week on one of the other massively popular reality competition tv shows in America.
Now what could be more American than that?
If I were Idol Producers, now faced with having to find their Cousin Oliver now that Simon has bailed from this stagnant franchise, I’d pay this woman to point a live camera at her and show the live feed in a small box in the upper right had corner of the screen. That way when the next perfect pitch assassin butchers yet another screechy version of “Ribbon in the Sky”, we can watch her go koo koo for Coco Puffs all over again and wonder to ourselves if someone forgot to take their meds.
Or maybe we can just go that extra mile to dehumanize her and videotape her while she’s on ten toilet. Either way, no matter what corny turd she decides to freak out about next time, we’ll all be able to watch it all go down and feel just a bit more smug about ourselves being somewhat better than all the folks who are wiling to throw away the concept of self respect and restraint when expressing themselves about something they really, really love.
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