Idolatry

I don't often write pop culture commentary because it's done to death.

And honestly, I don't watch much television and I don't pay much attention to whom is the fame whore du jour. Admittedly there are a couple notable exceptions; those who court fame with such fervor that it's hard to be unaware of them, the way it is hard to be unaware of a boil on one's backside.

But today I'm going to come clean and admit that....I watch Americal Idol.

I know. Shocking, isn't it? So common.

I didn't used to. I really couldn't stomach watching all those poor discordant schlubs being led before the judges like lambs to the slaughter and then mocked mercilessly on national television.

That Lemur guy? I wanted to hug him until his protruberant little eyes popped right out of his head. And the Star Wars girl reminded me of every painful moment I ever had growing up. I wanted to be her friend and put make-up on her.

I still don't watch that part. It makes me squirm. I feel their embarassment. It's hell being so empathetic. It often puts the kibosh on perfectly good opportunities to ridicule stupid people.

But Husband finally sucked me in during Season 5. It was a little embarassing how quickly I succumbed after being so adamantly and vocally opposed to such nonsense. But, it is what it is, and now I watch it without (for the most part) apology.

At first, I was really crushing on Jason Castro. Because, let's be blunt...looking at him is like having sex with angels. It's a transcendant experience.

And I really was impressed with his first performance. He seemed like a natural and his voice, while not powerful, was very pleasing in a Peter, Paul and Mary kind of way. That's not a gibe, by the way. I really like Peter, Paul and Mary.

The Mama in me wanted to take him under my wing and teach him how to speak in a complete sentence, and perhaps take him down to the local soda fountain and buy him a milkshake after elocution lessons.

The hot 20 year old with a tight ass and gravity defying breasts that still lives somewhere deep, deep, deep inside me wanted to climb aboard, grab the reins that he has so oblingingly grown out of his very head and ride that blue eyed bucking bronc til the break of dawn.

But through the course of the competition, he continued to speak. Before long I was forced to admit that, beautiful although he may be, after using him for my own base purposes, there would be very little to hold my attention. Call me particular, but I enjoy a sexual plaything that can conjugate a verb properly.

I needed a new Idol obsession interest, and although David Archuleta is no doubt populating the dreams of pre-pubescent girls everywhere, he is only a few years older than my oldest son, and therefore, the skeeve factor was just too great for me to entertain any satisfyingly prurient thoughts about him.

And then, out of nowhere, came David Cook.

I had pretty much dismissed him at the outset, because I just couldn't get past that nightmare of a hairdo.

Oh I enjoyed his vocals. He has a gritty, soulful, rocksy-bluesy thing that is really appealing. But a rock star without the proper degree of pretty is like a vibrator without the rabbit. It just doesn't get the job done.

So I closed my eyes to the raw material that lay beneath that cock's comb-over.

But eventually somebody backstage got wise and he got a bit of an overhaul.

And all of a sudden I was like...Hello? David Cook? Did you know you were HAWT underneath all that Dippity Do?

I began really paying attention and I realized that he has a lot of qualities that I find truly irresistable; bedroom eyes, full sculpted lips, strong jaw, and a big....brain. The guy has some mad vocab skillz and that makes me extremely libidinous. (See David? We have so much in common!)

So he had all that going for him.

And then...and THEN....

He sang "The Music Of The Night" from Phantom of the Opera.

It's probably the most sensual, the most romantic, the most electrifying song from the entire show. It's amazing as a soaring theatrical production number. As a soft and dreamy rock(ish) ballad that David imbued with his own uniquely smoldering tenderness, it was absolutely SMOKIN.

I don't know if he upstaged Michael Crawford, (the original and best Phantom) but he certainly gave him a run for his money.

By the end of his performance, I was a steaming puddle of girly goo in my ugly teal green recliner. I may or may not have been drooling and chanting "I want your babies" to myself, even though I swore ten years ago that the production line was shutting down for good due to structural damages sustained during the delivery of the second Antagonist child. That kid had a cranium to rival David's own sizeable noggin.

My Husband is aware of my, erm...fondness for Cookie, by the way, as he was my little Jason flirtation. Strangely, he's not at all threatened by that. I could choose to be insulted, but instead I am choosing to see it as a demonstration of his deep, abiding trust in the strength and sanctity of our marriage.

Whatev.



So...Simon can bite me. That was amazing. And Paula needs to keep her thoughts about David's instrument to herself.

I have to add, that aside from the technical prowess of his performance, it's somewhat gratifying and refreshing to realize that he actually comprehends the meaning of words like "unfurls", "tremulous" and "garish".

His fan community, which is pretty rabid but essentially harmless, call themselves "Wordnerds", which is a term he applied to himself in a video interview.

Truly, a guy after my own heart. We would make such beautiful Scrabble together.

Alas, sweet Cookie, I am spoken for. And my Husband is a truly wonderful guy.

But I do hope you find a girl who can appreciate you for what you are. When you're famous, and you will be...don't fall prey to bimbos, skanks and hos. And for God's sake stay the hell away from likes of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. Her ass isn't all that great anyway.

Mine was better, once upon a time.