The freak show is wearing thin. It's like when you're at a parade: all morning you've been waiting for it to start and that first marching band rolls by and you say "Yay! I love a parade!" But then two hours and thirty other marching bands later you think "OK, enough of this shit, I'm good until next year."
It seems like even the producers of Idol sense that they're running out of audition entertainment, because we really didn't need several minutes of Simon and Ryan catfighting, yet what else were we going to watch? Another goth chick? That girl whose dramatic reconciliation with her father concluded with him saying "That's cool" after she got through to Hollywood? That guy in the gold shirt who we've seen in some form or another every audition over the last seven seasons?
The only unique part of the show was Chris, who was smart enough to come with a backup plan in case his audition failed–he's going to be Omaha's Ryan Seacrest. And you know he's completely going to let the fame go to his head, too. That's show business.
--I wonder if the Counting Crows are miffed that their song "Omaha" didn't get any play this episode. Who doesn't like a nice mandolin?
--"Come to Simey." I certainly will.
--I'm aware of how short these posts have gotten, but you don't want me to waste your time, do you? We'll have more fun come Hollywood hell week, I promise.