When Taught By The Best

Broad beginning statement to sweep it all up : There isn't that much honesty in being funny.

So I refuse to be in this post. I feel like a little corazon-a-corazon with anyone who reads my blog on the subject of friendship. Mainly regarding its expiry date. Some friendships are like a carton of milk. It eventually gets old and sour, and you feel absolutely nothing or next to nil when you throw it away. You might not ever drink milk again or you might go for flavored. Hell you might go out and buy yourself the exact same brand and volume (never let it be said that Hamza Latheef cannot stretch a metaphor to the point of annoyance). But the point is that it never really mattered that much in the first place.

But then there are people close to you that you tend to think of like an expensive video game console (whether it's a PS3, Nintendo Wii or Sega Saturn is totally a matter of taste). It get's broken and you fix it over and over like a maniac. You ignore the fact that it really doesn't work as well as it did at the start or that there are some games that you just can't play anymore no matter how hard you try. Then it get's to the point that it won't even respond anymore and you sit there staring at something you loved so much lying completely still. No way to resuscitate it any longer. Well that's when you feel real loss.

Sometimes it's your fault. You were careless with it. Sometimes it was flawed to begin with. Most times you can't explain why it had to end. That's the hardest thing for me. Some sodas just lose their pop and you can be like me and go on drinking it regardless until there's nothing left (if at a loss for analogies, look inside your refrigerator). However, once it's gone and there's no way to get it back, it's just, well, for lack of a better word, sad!

Not as sad as when Randy Jackson (God will he never stop talking about that show, right? That's right I won't!!! Not until the season finale at least) proved to the world, just what an out-of-the-loop dinosaur he is in terms of being a producer. He praised that despicable Chris Richardson for squeezing out all the emotion from a song that I (and most other sane people) absolutely adore. I didn't even think it was possible to sing Don't Speak with that much anti-passion (why bother looking for antonyms when you can do this people?). I'd like to apologize to Gwen Stefani as a fan of No Doubt for that horrendous display which I hope she was too busy to have the misfortune of watching. Also, if you're supposedly a big man in the music industry (pun intended regardless of the conditionality) aren't you supposed to know when a song's been covered by an artist from a different genre (and masterfully I might add)? Putting an RnB (by the way nasal over-singing isn't RnB 'dawg'!) spin on the song was fresh? Then what's this doing on YouTube?

Idolwild

Now there's no doubt in anyone's mind that American Idol gave new meaning to the phrase "socially acceptable cruelty". Why do we feel little or no guilt in watching people embarrass themselves and get laughed at and/or ridiculed for it on AI? It's really no mystery. Simon Cowell is just the living embodiment of every snarky thought we've ever had about anyone else (never mind whether we have the cajones to utter them out loud or not). Why even Mother Theresa in her moments of weakness must have felt a giggle come on when some bow-legged, malnourished kid with a bulging belly (Oh the irony that is protein deficiency) streaked nude across the entrance of her tent/shack/wherever-the-fuck-she-lived. (On a side note: the only reason why I ever watched Haarudhan, or as it was called in its previous incarnation, Haarusoanaa, was for the sight of old or retarded or ugly people prancing about on live TV doing things which they obviously never had the talent to do to begin with.)

I for one feel no shame in saying exactly what I think. There's a childlike honesty to bluntness that I, and the Simon Cowells of the world, feel carries more weight than Paula-esque roundaboutedness. But for some inexplicable reason (probably a loaded revolver pointed at Cowell's forehead by a TV exec from behind the camera) even [insert tired, over-used adjective synonymous with the word "mean"] Simon doesn't go far enough. Therefore I have taken it upon myself to go the distance and say what's on everyone's mind but left unspoken at primetime Tuesday and Wednesday nights on Fox (brought to you by Diet Coke and Ford...among others).

Gina Glockson: I'll say one thing for her. She's pale enough to pull off the whole Goth-Chick image that's been pushed on her by the judges but I swear one of her eyes are smaller than the other (or bigger for you half-full-glass kinda people) and she can't sing to save her life. Now there's an interesting concept for a TV show. Let Al Qaida kidnap her, put a black hood on her head, cut a hole for her mouth, let her sing and ask America to vote on whether she gets decapitated or not. Let's hope for her sake that she doesn't go into a rousing chorus of Hava Nagila.

Haley Scarnato: She reminds me of that Lahufa Faez chick from our own Maldivian Idol. Translation: she looks annoying, sounds like nails on a chalkboard and makes up for mediocrity with silly stage antics.

Blake Lewis: I have a feeling if I knew this beat-boxer personally I would actually like him but that's what the people who watch this show (mostly pre-teen girls, old women on life support and me) need to realize. We DON'T KNOW these people. Their stage personas shouldn't be taken at face value. The fact of the matter is that this dude is a unique choice for this show because of only two reasons. 1. He's slightly more urban than your Carrie Underwoods or Kellie Picklers, and 2. Technically speaking, he's a horrible singer.

Brandon Rogers: I actually recognized this guy way before the revelation that he was a backup singer for big stars. Why? Because I remembered him warbling in the background when Christina Aguilera performed Come On Over (All I Want Is You) on AOL Live. A reason I would have been too ashamed to admit before my sister (lovely girl that she is) made sure that everyone and their grandpa knew just how fey I can be sometimes. Most of the time. Ok! All of the time. Now why did I go off on a tangent about my borderline gayness instead of discussing the strengths or weaknesses of Brandon. Ah elementary my dear Watsons! Because that's what anyone would do when they see Bland-on Rogers perform. Think about their laundry. Or grocery lists. Or the condom wrapper they might have left lying around where their mom could see (Isn't it interesting how fear of condom wrappers being discovered by parents is universal across genders?).

Jordin Sparks: Can sing. Too bubbly. Better suited for a beauty pageant.

Lakisha Jones: Obligatory fat, black, belter (those of you who don't pay attention to punctuation marks, feel free to assume that Ms. Jones can take on Jackie Chan anytime, anyplace) who finds her way onto almost every season (anybody remember a certain someone called Jennifer Hudson?).

Chris Richardson: I would point out that he's a Justin Timberlake-wannabe but that's already so obvious and probably (ugh!) part of his appeal. However, aside from his many, MANY, flaws, Timberlake can actually sing. Through his mouth. Not his nose unlike Chris. Still, kudos to Chris for dedicating Jason Mraz's sublime Geek in the Pink (which he butchered) to his Grandmother (Those are sarcastic kudos by the way. Google the meaning of the song if you've actually read this and don't get what I mean).

Chris Sligh: Kinda sorta funny although I do admit anyone can see his jokes coming from a mile away. Self-deprecation is so blase' these days anyway. He does sound a lot like Elton John though. And if there's anyone who could win American Idol it would be the fairy Knight himself.

Stephanie Edwards: I think the people behind the show still can't get enough of Fantasia Barrino so they just incubated a clone which came out lighter-skinned with a weaker voice.

Phil Stacy: I have no interest in even discussing baldie with the scary smile. He's probably going to be the first to leave next week.

Sanjaya Malakar: I don't understand why Simon and co. just won't come out and say it. This guy is too gay. Even for the show which made a star out of Clay Aiken. He hula dances and being seventeen is no excuse for having a girl's voice either (yours truly could do Marvin Gaye on his fifteenth birthday). Don't get me wrong. I'm not a homophobe. But the key demographic to which AI caters to surely are. He really can't sing for sour apples too. I blame Janet Jackson for making impressionable young queers like Sanjaya think that whispering in a girly voice is singing.

Melinda Doolittle: Had to save the best for last. Melinda is by far the only real talent on the whole fucking show. If I had to criticize her (which, to be fair, I do), I would say she has absolutely no neck. None at all. But neither does Nelly and he seems to be doing pretty well. I also think her deer-in-the-headlights schtick is a well-executed ploy to win votes. But she doesn't really need to do that. She's got more talent in her half-an-inch of neck than all the other contestants combined. Whether she wins AI or not, one thing is for certain, she gets the you-tube embed award for this post. Congratulations Melinda. You might as well leave the show now completely satisfied.