Shyzer.com

When American Idol first burst onto the scene four years ago, “thrilled and excited” was not an expression best used to describe my feelings towards it. “Yippee,” I thought to myself, “Another reality based show where teenagers get to sing out of tune! I sure can’t wait for the next version where my local high school drama department is cast for next summer’s alien blockbuster movie!” Sure, I eventually became a fan of Kelly Clarkson, but that wasn’t until about a year ago after she’d graduated from the pony leagues and released some decent stuff. Other than that, the show and I managed to maintain an amicable relationship and all was well.

And then last month, the trap was laid. It started sometime during the trial audition episodes where people sing their hearts and souls out only to be ridiculed, embarrassed, and flee from the building with only a trail of crushed dreams following them. Oh, and the FOX cameramen are there too, because talk about good television! But then this rocker dude sporting some cool facial hair and a wicked cowboy hat walked into the room and caught my attention. And then the little girl named London or Moscow or whatever walked in the room and belted out a Dixie Chicks song that brought back heaps of memories. Before I knew it, some guy with gray hair who looked old enough to be my dad was staring at me through the screen and while he looked to be having a seizure while singing, some wonderful southern soul music was flowing from him and before I knew it, I was watching the Hollywood finals cheering for the few favorites I had.

The Hollywood finals should have been the end of it. I should have seen what was going on and solved the problem right then and there. I should have realized that my arm had been caught in whatever trap had been laid and therefore chewed the limb off in order to save the rest of my body, but that’s not quite what happened. Instead, I figured I was smarter than your average wild animal and that I could use my other free arm to save myself!

Don’t ever let anybody tell you again that animals are stupid.

Yes, thanks to Katharine McPhee’s performance on Tuesday night and Taylor Hicks’ last night, I’ve officially been fully sucked into the vortex of hell that is otherwise called American Idol. [Quick aside, if Katharine ever wants to change her name to Hotty McHot, I fully endorse her decision and will pay the cost of filing the proper paperwork with the courts. Dear Christ, the looks she gives the camera while singing could make the entire gay population of Philadelphia switch sides. Also the fact that Hicks gave three shout outs to his "Soul Patrol" fans on the Internet makes him that much more awesome.] I’d never really listened to Elton John’s Levon before hearing Hicks sing it last night, but let’s just say my iPod has already grown tired of playing it since I stuck it on there about a day ago. The real kicker to proving there’s no turning back for me now is that if you were to look at the outgoing call list on my cell phone, it wouldn’t be a proud moment for me.