Damn you Joaquin and your insistence that I bring a child into this world because of love and not fame.
Apparently an Idol wannabe in Texas literally WENT INTO LABOR when she got up to sing in front of the judges during the first round (the round I got turned away from, apparently because I was not able to break water. GOD! Add that to the list of things I wish I knew before auditioning):
Just as she finally had her chance after waiting for 16 hours, "I felt something over my body when I was walking," she said in a telephone interview from her hospital bed Wednesday after giving birth to a healthy boy — her second — Tuesday morning.
It gets so soooo much better. She named the child: Jamil Labarron Idol McCowan. That's right.
I think the folks at BestWeekEver say it best when they assume Jamil's siblings must be named: Jaclyn Oldsmobile Singing Bee, Raheem Seville Flavor Of Love 2 and Tamara Town Car Amazing Race: Family Edition.
She moves on to the next round which I'm sure is entirely due to her stirring rendition of 702's Get It Together and nothing to do with live child birth.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Thursday, August 2, 2007
9th Ring of Hell - the BOR Version - Final
As Rachael drives because I need to go back to concentrating more intently on my drooling, I espouse my 2 key theories as to how Rachael could possibly have been overlooked by these idiot judges.
1) This is an open casting call for a reality show. It’s not a singing contest, as Simon et al like to say again and again, it’s a reality show. The producers are looking for certain types, certain roles to fill. There is enough of a talent pool that they can find singers, so they are more concerned with types. Rach said they took one look at them and had basically dismissed them before they even started singing. That’s because no one in her group fit any of the roles they’re looking to fill. She also said producers were pacing back and forth behind the booths, scanning the crowds. They’re there to catch anyone the booth people might accidentally overlook. They weren’t listening, though, just looking.
2) Ok, this one is a little more controversial. I may be wrong here, but I believe there are people who skip the first cattle-call part of the auditions and go straight to Simon, Paula and Randy. A very good friend of mine, who shall go un-named, tried out for a very famous reality show that I will also not name for legal reasons (but it rhymes with ‘schmapprentice”). She was sent there by her agents and told that she was actually being considered as were the other people submitted this way. The thousands who went through the public process were basically ignored as this was mostly a publicity stunt to drum up business for the show. I think Idol does the same thing. No one ever asked Rachael her story. How does Idol get all these great stories if they’re not out in the crowd looking for them? It’s just a coincidence that a guy who missed his baby’s birth to audition ends up in the top ten? Ditto the daughter of a famous football player? I think the producers find themselves a number of people through various means and let in a very small percentage from the actual cattle calls. Those are mainly for finding the freaks.
My first theory is almost definitely fact, my second is probably so. No matter what, I don’t know what these crazy people were looking for. Here’s what I’m certain of – they’re definitely missing out by passing on our Rachael.
Frozen yogurt, sleeping on the couch, excellent delivery and cable tv followed. As we take some time to figure out our next course of action in Operation Make Rachael Famous, I have one important thing to say – Rach, I want that makeup.
1) This is an open casting call for a reality show. It’s not a singing contest, as Simon et al like to say again and again, it’s a reality show. The producers are looking for certain types, certain roles to fill. There is enough of a talent pool that they can find singers, so they are more concerned with types. Rach said they took one look at them and had basically dismissed them before they even started singing. That’s because no one in her group fit any of the roles they’re looking to fill. She also said producers were pacing back and forth behind the booths, scanning the crowds. They’re there to catch anyone the booth people might accidentally overlook. They weren’t listening, though, just looking.
2) Ok, this one is a little more controversial. I may be wrong here, but I believe there are people who skip the first cattle-call part of the auditions and go straight to Simon, Paula and Randy. A very good friend of mine, who shall go un-named, tried out for a very famous reality show that I will also not name for legal reasons (but it rhymes with ‘schmapprentice”). She was sent there by her agents and told that she was actually being considered as were the other people submitted this way. The thousands who went through the public process were basically ignored as this was mostly a publicity stunt to drum up business for the show. I think Idol does the same thing. No one ever asked Rachael her story. How does Idol get all these great stories if they’re not out in the crowd looking for them? It’s just a coincidence that a guy who missed his baby’s birth to audition ends up in the top ten? Ditto the daughter of a famous football player? I think the producers find themselves a number of people through various means and let in a very small percentage from the actual cattle calls. Those are mainly for finding the freaks.
My first theory is almost definitely fact, my second is probably so. No matter what, I don’t know what these crazy people were looking for. Here’s what I’m certain of – they’re definitely missing out by passing on our Rachael.
Frozen yogurt, sleeping on the couch, excellent delivery and cable tv followed. As we take some time to figure out our next course of action in Operation Make Rachael Famous, I have one important thing to say – Rach, I want that makeup.
9th Ring of Hell - the BOR Version - Part Four
Rach returns with amazing news. She has run into a friend of hers from San Francisco. She is hiding in a stadium tunnel and she knows how to cut the line! Rachael says she will be back, but I cannot stand another minute in that same small area, so she kindly takes me with her. I will have to learn to drool and walk at the same time.
We meet Rach’s friend, Sarah, who tells us that the Idol staff do not check tickets when letting in each group to audition. The key is to hang back in the secret underground tunnel, then jump in with the section once they begin making their way onto the field. I promise Rachael I will bail her out of Idol jail if she is caught. But she isn’t! As stated earlier, Rach’s friend Sara is the Harriet Tubman of American Idol Auditions and her crazy plan works. I grab all the stuff and head to the other side of the stadium so I can get a closer look as Rach takes the long walk towards the audition booths.
I can’t hear anything, but I can see her reach the front of the line, sing last and grab the attention of the other people in her group. I am sure she will make the next round. Absolutely positive. I will bet money on it. Then I see Rach hold her wrist out over the garbage can of shame. NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! ATTICA! ATTICA! ATTICA!
We agree via cell to meet back at the car. Instead of devastated, we feel strangely victorious. This may stem from the fact that we are escaping hell just before 3pm, instead of sometime in the middle of the night. Cheating is the way to go, people. It’s my favorite.
One more post to come to finish the story.
We meet Rach’s friend, Sarah, who tells us that the Idol staff do not check tickets when letting in each group to audition. The key is to hang back in the secret underground tunnel, then jump in with the section once they begin making their way onto the field. I promise Rachael I will bail her out of Idol jail if she is caught. But she isn’t! As stated earlier, Rach’s friend Sara is the Harriet Tubman of American Idol Auditions and her crazy plan works. I grab all the stuff and head to the other side of the stadium so I can get a closer look as Rach takes the long walk towards the audition booths.
I can’t hear anything, but I can see her reach the front of the line, sing last and grab the attention of the other people in her group. I am sure she will make the next round. Absolutely positive. I will bet money on it. Then I see Rach hold her wrist out over the garbage can of shame. NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!! ATTICA! ATTICA! ATTICA!
We agree via cell to meet back at the car. Instead of devastated, we feel strangely victorious. This may stem from the fact that we are escaping hell just before 3pm, instead of sometime in the middle of the night. Cheating is the way to go, people. It’s my favorite.
One more post to come to finish the story.
9th Ring of Hell - the BOR Version - Part Three
This is where my notes stop, so I will have to re-create the rest from memory. The despair persisted for a while. We munched on the snacks we had brought (individual-size packets of hummus and pita chips from Whole Foods – yummy). This is not enough, so Rach announces she is off to buy us some pizza, disappearing yet again and leaving me to my drooling. Having spent a good portion of my drooling time imagining the delicious combo of cheese and pepperoni, I am gravely disappointed to see Rachael return with hot dogs. She claims she could not find the pizza. I have seen 5000 sheep walk by with pizza I wanted to rip out of their hands. How could these morons all manage to succeed at this task but Rachael, with her significant IQ and stellar SAT scores (read: better than mine), fail? Ah – the paradox that is our Rach.
I send her back into the abyss to find ketchup. I am proud to say she found some which made the hot-dog-eating experience pleasurable, even if it wasn’t pizza. Food consumed, we check on the audition progress. Progress is a very flowery word for what was occurring. They were 3 and a half hours in and had made their way through 4 sections at the most. Our seats were in section 19 and these people started at section 1. At this rate they were going to pack up and go home before they ever got close to us.
Tension ran high in this part of the stadium. The first people in line, the crazies who had camped in the woods or merely driven around the stadium for hours until they were let in were facing the possibility of not being able to audition. I thought for sure I was going to get to see spontaneous combustion up close and personal.
Rach announced her intention to find a way to cheat. I go back to drooling. Another girl with a piece of stadium floor real estate near us went off on a recon mission. She returned with good news. A P.A. told her that everyone with a yellow wristband would be allowed to audition, the judges would stay all night if they had to. He also conceded there had been a fuck-up with the audition order. As Rach would eloquently respond - no-doy.
I send her back into the abyss to find ketchup. I am proud to say she found some which made the hot-dog-eating experience pleasurable, even if it wasn’t pizza. Food consumed, we check on the audition progress. Progress is a very flowery word for what was occurring. They were 3 and a half hours in and had made their way through 4 sections at the most. Our seats were in section 19 and these people started at section 1. At this rate they were going to pack up and go home before they ever got close to us.
Tension ran high in this part of the stadium. The first people in line, the crazies who had camped in the woods or merely driven around the stadium for hours until they were let in were facing the possibility of not being able to audition. I thought for sure I was going to get to see spontaneous combustion up close and personal.
Rach announced her intention to find a way to cheat. I go back to drooling. Another girl with a piece of stadium floor real estate near us went off on a recon mission. She returned with good news. A P.A. told her that everyone with a yellow wristband would be allowed to audition, the judges would stay all night if they had to. He also conceded there had been a fuck-up with the audition order. As Rach would eloquently respond - no-doy.
9th Ring of Hell - the BOR Version - Part Two
7:02 AM – We spot a contestant dressed as a pimp. I observe that he should have no trouble finding employees in this crowd.
8:15 AM – WE GET IN!!! Alas. We think we’re victorious, but little do we know our entire victory consists of gaining access to hell.
9:30 AM – We are yelling “I’m the next American Idol!” and “Stay Classy San Diego!” along with 10,000 other Idol cult members on the cue of the irritating producer with the megaphone. I try to explain the concept of “no camera aimed anywhere in our vicinity” to the sheep around us, but they aren’t having any of it. When the producer says wave your arms, they wave and smile like it’s their own personal close-up. They have the nerve to glare at me when I sit back in my seat and refuse to play along. The camera never pointed anywhere but at a small section of folks far far away from us. The cool-aid is beginning to lose its effect on Rachael.
10 AM – We realize we have been screwed, but royally. In a mix-up, the last people to get their wristbands will audition first and the people who camped out in the hills above Qualcomm Stadium to be first in line (seriously – we met people at McDonald’s who did exactly this) will audition last. I smell a riot a’brewin’.
10:10 AM – They start auditioning the first group.
10:23 AM – We (Rachael was the one with the sense, I was just smart enough to follow) have the sense to leave our sun-scorched seats and head undercover to escape the heat. We stake out the bit of stadium floor next to the lemonade stand that will become my home for the next 5 hours. Rachael will abandon me for most of that, which is fine, because she seems to have summoned some energy while I have just enough to stare off into space and drool.
11:25 AM – Despair.
11:46 AM – Rachael declares that neither one of us can look at the Idol audition progress for 2 hours. I start to agree and then remember that she is not the boss of me. I remind her who is the boss of whom and she concedes with a gentle, “crap”.
8:15 AM – WE GET IN!!! Alas. We think we’re victorious, but little do we know our entire victory consists of gaining access to hell.
9:30 AM – We are yelling “I’m the next American Idol!” and “Stay Classy San Diego!” along with 10,000 other Idol cult members on the cue of the irritating producer with the megaphone. I try to explain the concept of “no camera aimed anywhere in our vicinity” to the sheep around us, but they aren’t having any of it. When the producer says wave your arms, they wave and smile like it’s their own personal close-up. They have the nerve to glare at me when I sit back in my seat and refuse to play along. The camera never pointed anywhere but at a small section of folks far far away from us. The cool-aid is beginning to lose its effect on Rachael.
10 AM – We realize we have been screwed, but royally. In a mix-up, the last people to get their wristbands will audition first and the people who camped out in the hills above Qualcomm Stadium to be first in line (seriously – we met people at McDonald’s who did exactly this) will audition last. I smell a riot a’brewin’.
10:10 AM – They start auditioning the first group.
10:23 AM – We (Rachael was the one with the sense, I was just smart enough to follow) have the sense to leave our sun-scorched seats and head undercover to escape the heat. We stake out the bit of stadium floor next to the lemonade stand that will become my home for the next 5 hours. Rachael will abandon me for most of that, which is fine, because she seems to have summoned some energy while I have just enough to stare off into space and drool.
11:25 AM – Despair.
11:46 AM – Rachael declares that neither one of us can look at the Idol audition progress for 2 hours. I start to agree and then remember that she is not the boss of me. I remind her who is the boss of whom and she concedes with a gentle, “crap”.
While we wait for Brittani's next post....
Some breaking Idol related news:
Despite celebrity vagina shots and drunk driving viewed as “addiction” – certain things in our culture are considered sacred. And certainly the combination of some of these things ranks up there with Jesus and supporting the troops.
One such combination was idiotically stumbled upon by ex-Idol co-host from season one, Brian Dunkleman when he combined a joke about AIDS and RYAN SEACREST. Is he insane???? Despite his own bitterness can he not see that cheesy one-liners (re: “Seacrest OUT!) and sexual ambiguity aside RYAN SEACREST IS AS BELOVED AS FREAKING AMERICAN PIE IN THIS COUNTRY??? Add that to AIDS??!!
You can read more here. w00t.
9th Ring of Hell - the BOR Version - Part One
Too big to put all in one post, so I'm breaking it up. Still too big, but whatever.
Some of this is faithful note-taking from the day, the rest is added recollections.
3 Am-ish – According to Rachael, I talk in my sleep. Apparently I was also rather belligerent when she tried to get me to stop. The moral of the story? Better to let me just run my mouth when I’m on a roll.
A wake-up call followed soon thereafter, then a brief encounter at the hotel valet stand with a teen version of Fabio and his yuppie dad, who didn’t look all that thrilled to be up at 4:30 in the morning to watch his son audition for a freaking reality show. We didn’t realize this was the smartest person we’d ever met in our entire lives.
5:34 AM – It was only 30 minutes in line before Rachael, with utter sincerity in her voice, finally answered the question “What are you singing?” with “I don’t know. I’m trying to decide between Whitney or Celine.” It took every cell of my body to avoid cracking up. In retrospect, that brief moment was the outstanding highlight of the day for me.
5:42 AM – The moment I know, for absolute certainty, that we have been duped yet again by those wily Idol producers. We don’t need to be in the stadium for hours and hours but they have put the fear of missing the audition into us, and so we are here at 5 am, 3 and a half hours before they will even let us in, just so they can get some good shots of a crazy line. Bastards. Sweet, naïve, innocent Rachael is still convinced there is an important reason we needed to be there this early. Worry not. She’ll jade quickly.
6:09 AM – Rachael is taking this all very seriously. She will not reveal what she is singing nor does she want to tip her hand in any way to her competition. I realize, tragically, this means there will be no sing-offs. The $2.99 echo microphone we bought at rite-aid will never see the light of day. Rachael shushes me for some innocuous comment and I proclaim, “You’re no fun anymore. I think you’ve been drinking the cool-aid.”
6:21 AM – We spot our first Idol freaks – a terrifying mime and her mariachi back-up. Many more to follow, including 2 insanely drunk UK lads handing out business cards belonging to a mortgage broker named Eva. These two boys will be among the first to get through to the next round.
6:22 AM – We realize I’ve left my camera in the car. Even though we won’t move for another 2 hours, rach is terrified if I leave the line something important will happen. Our fans will have to settle for camera phone pictures.
6:43 AM – I realize that in the entire span of this crazy Idol adventure, Rachael has not sung one single bar of Celine Dion. This is certainly a blessing to count. I am content.
6:51 AM – The line is getting to Rach. She announces “Trying to get famous is hard.”
Some of this is faithful note-taking from the day, the rest is added recollections.
3 Am-ish – According to Rachael, I talk in my sleep. Apparently I was also rather belligerent when she tried to get me to stop. The moral of the story? Better to let me just run my mouth when I’m on a roll.
A wake-up call followed soon thereafter, then a brief encounter at the hotel valet stand with a teen version of Fabio and his yuppie dad, who didn’t look all that thrilled to be up at 4:30 in the morning to watch his son audition for a freaking reality show. We didn’t realize this was the smartest person we’d ever met in our entire lives.
5:34 AM – It was only 30 minutes in line before Rachael, with utter sincerity in her voice, finally answered the question “What are you singing?” with “I don’t know. I’m trying to decide between Whitney or Celine.” It took every cell of my body to avoid cracking up. In retrospect, that brief moment was the outstanding highlight of the day for me.
5:42 AM – The moment I know, for absolute certainty, that we have been duped yet again by those wily Idol producers. We don’t need to be in the stadium for hours and hours but they have put the fear of missing the audition into us, and so we are here at 5 am, 3 and a half hours before they will even let us in, just so they can get some good shots of a crazy line. Bastards. Sweet, naïve, innocent Rachael is still convinced there is an important reason we needed to be there this early. Worry not. She’ll jade quickly.
6:09 AM – Rachael is taking this all very seriously. She will not reveal what she is singing nor does she want to tip her hand in any way to her competition. I realize, tragically, this means there will be no sing-offs. The $2.99 echo microphone we bought at rite-aid will never see the light of day. Rachael shushes me for some innocuous comment and I proclaim, “You’re no fun anymore. I think you’ve been drinking the cool-aid.”
6:21 AM – We spot our first Idol freaks – a terrifying mime and her mariachi back-up. Many more to follow, including 2 insanely drunk UK lads handing out business cards belonging to a mortgage broker named Eva. These two boys will be among the first to get through to the next round.
6:22 AM – We realize I’ve left my camera in the car. Even though we won’t move for another 2 hours, rach is terrified if I leave the line something important will happen. Our fans will have to settle for camera phone pictures.
6:43 AM – I realize that in the entire span of this crazy Idol adventure, Rachael has not sung one single bar of Celine Dion. This is certainly a blessing to count. I am content.
6:51 AM – The line is getting to Rach. She announces “Trying to get famous is hard.”
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Satan Eve
Sorry for the posting pause, I was languishing away in early-wake-up-call land.
So, Sunday evening. After a day of preparations, we made our way once again down the 405/5. Rachael had dubbed this “the ugliest drive in America”. I tried to dissuade her of this notion – “Um, no, Rach – it’s actually quite pretty, there’s ocean and green and stuff” but she wasn’t having any of it. Clearly she hasn’t spent time on the New Jersey Turnpike. Then, out of the blue, somewhere between Culver City and Oceanside, Rach exclaims “this is pretty” as if our earlier discussion had never occurred. I, of course, remind her and she realizes that hunger and exhaustion can affect the way one perceives their surroundings. It was magic hour the whole way down, we sang our hearts out to the “Rach’s Possible Audition Songs” mix and a good time was had by all. Which is a good thing, because we were only a few short hours away from entering the 9th ring of hell. We’ve seen where the devil lives, people. It’s no fun there. I recommend you behave yourselves.
Dinner calls but I will post again soon with the gory details.
So, Sunday evening. After a day of preparations, we made our way once again down the 405/5. Rachael had dubbed this “the ugliest drive in America”. I tried to dissuade her of this notion – “Um, no, Rach – it’s actually quite pretty, there’s ocean and green and stuff” but she wasn’t having any of it. Clearly she hasn’t spent time on the New Jersey Turnpike. Then, out of the blue, somewhere between Culver City and Oceanside, Rach exclaims “this is pretty” as if our earlier discussion had never occurred. I, of course, remind her and she realizes that hunger and exhaustion can affect the way one perceives their surroundings. It was magic hour the whole way down, we sang our hearts out to the “Rach’s Possible Audition Songs” mix and a good time was had by all. Which is a good thing, because we were only a few short hours away from entering the 9th ring of hell. We’ve seen where the devil lives, people. It’s no fun there. I recommend you behave yourselves.
Dinner calls but I will post again soon with the gory details.
She stole my joke...
Despite the fact that Rachael has already blown the whistle on my Harriet Tubman/Underground Railroad joke (about as clever as I get, folks, so I hope you enjoyed it), I will post my version soon. I just haven't gotten quite enough sleep yet. Maybe tonight or tomorrow morning.
+THE NINTH RING OF HELL+
Alright folks, here’s what went down. Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of emotions – the suspense is going to kill you. Except, you know I don’t make it anywhere really, but still. Anyhoo…..
The night before we enjoyed a lovely trip down the interstate for the third time on our way from L.A. to San Diego. We pulled into the Westin Hotel (very lovely, thanks mom!) where we were greeted like stars due to the Idol labeled wristbands. I don’t think the staff their realized that they gave anything that breathes a wristband but I wasn’t about to correct them and reveled in the whispers and cheers of, “Good luck!” As if they were going to see me on TV.
The next morning I popped up at 3:30 a.m., made Brittani coffee and began beautifying.
We hopped in the green bug and were on our way back to what Brittani later named the 9th ring of hell – Qualcom Stadium. Brittani mumbled about not needing to be there this early because they just want aerial shots of the crowds huddled around the stadium, etc. – but I was not taking any chances.
Then hour four of standing came around. And it really sucked. This is where I began to realize what would become the lesson of the rest of the trip: Alls fair in love and war? They ought to add reality television to that. It’s not fair. Nothing is just or good. It’s just soulless producers getting everything they need out of you, and promising nothing in return. Sure, I’ve treated a boyfriend (or two) this way in the past at a more immature time in my life, but I feel I’ve suffered enough because of it. Namely by not being famous yet. But I digress. The point I’m making is that only two days, and six combined hours of standing in line into the competition, these people had effectively worn me down. I stopped worrying about becoming the next American Idol, and day dreamed about things like cable television, eating sushi and flat shoes.
Other contestants in line were SUPER EXCITED to wave at the local news cameras. I kept telling Brittani how much I hated all people. She tried to add humor to the situation. I stared at the ground and kept thinking about how much I hated people. A pair of friends were “jamming” to one iPod near by singing every single awful song known to man (songs I admit I previously enjoyed). I wanted them to stop. I was considering using our umbrella. I told Brittani that. The guy in front of us agreed. He started to run down all of the ideas he had that were better than this. He wondered aloud to his friend:
“Remember that time we did a pub crawl? Yeah that was a better idea than this..Or that time we ordered pizza? ….That was a good one….better than this….”
+INSIDE THE STADIUM+
Finally they ushered us in and Brittani started in with the, “See – everyone gets in at the same time. We didn’t need to be here so early.” I acknowledged this as being correct confident that the worst was now over – let the judging begin!
But the judging would not begin. We found our seats in section 19. It was very hot out. I was sweating. Over in the earlier sections the producers had a crane with a camera mounted on it and it was clear they were the big group that would be on TV, not our section. The producer came out and started to teach everyone the words to California Dreamin – assigning the boys a part and the girls the echo. At first I thought (perhaps out loud), “These suckers – I’m not ruining my voice just so they can get this city singing a song together.” However once the crowd started singing my middle school chorus roots kicked in and I just couldn’t resist! I sang it loud and sang it proud. Giving into my better instincts that this was all a sham, and for a couple of choruses let myself be part of this moment. Brittani sang loud too.
Next they shot some cheering and then finally at around 10:20 a.m. they announced that they were starting on the opposite side of the stadium than us. People were to empty out on to the field when it was their rows turn, then they would line up in groups of four to sing for judges placed at 13 booths. That’s right, 10,000 + people and only 13 booths. Add that to the fact that they started with the section that got their tickets LAST and it became clear that we were totally screwed.
I was still upbeat though and said to Brittani, “Hey, cheer up buddy! Let’s see how long they really get through this before we despair.” THREE HOURS LATER they were only on section three. We had by this point moved our camp inside and out of the sun. It was disgusting. We sat on that gross stadium floor. We ran out of things to talk about. We were stressed. We didn’t hate each other but we hated all of life and people which makes talking about boys, or celebrities, or pondering how exemplary this show was of the commoditization of the American dream and how that dream is largely a myth that (based on this particular experience) benefits only corporate interests, difficult.
We would pop our head out into the stands and would see a lucky talented person or freak get the big yellow paper that indicated they were moving on walking up the winner flight of stares (apparently they still had several rounds to make it through before Simon, Randy and Paula at that point). But mostly we saw dreams crushed. After all that cheering and singing for the show, they left in the hundreds, through a loser tunnel, back to the monotony of their own life (otherwise known as outside the stadium). I would have found this disheartening except that I still deep down thought I had a shot and instead was happy to see more people leave.
But when we realized this was moving slower than a snails pace, I figured out that my only option was the cheat. Ok, honestly I thought about cheating from the beginning, but now I really was going to try to do it. I left Brittani for an hour to investigate. Poor poor Brittani – stuck on the floor of the stadium, with only a soft cooler and electrolyte water from Whole Foods to keep her company. Just a shell of the woman I had entered the stadium with.
+THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD OF IDOL+
I made my way to the sections that were about to empty on to the field – a very enviable position. I wondered if they checked tickets or not but didn’t know how or who to ask. Then suddenly I ran into my friend Sarah from San Francisco. Once we were over the shock we were both there she told me she met people! People who had done this before and would show us the way onto that field!! I told her I had to get my cousin and she said to hurry and meet her in the underground stairway tunnel. I ran to get Brittani and we packed up and met Sarah in the tunnel. It was easy, the plan was to empty out onto the field along with the next section. Once they started moving Brittani packed me up and wished me luck. It was risky but we made it onto the field! I couldn’t believe it! We were gitty – we effectively cut thousands of people. At this point it wasn’t as much about becoming a star but about getting the EFF out of there sooner rather than later.
I waved to Brittani in the stands back in our old section near the judging. She later told me that people wondered aloud if they were actually checking tickets to which she replied, “No. No they are not.” We hope that it inspired Idol mutiny but we will never know.
+SINGING TIME!+
While I was up near the booths I heard AMAZING voices – but none of them got through. My friend Sarah is a trained opera singer and should have had a fair chance. But she would not make it either. One nerdy looking guy with glasses who sang so softly the judges had to lean forward to hear him, got the yellow ticket to head on up the winners stairs. Finally it was my turn. I stepped up with my group to the table, just inches away from the judges ears. They barely looked up and seemed bored out of their minds. The first guy in my group sang something R&Bish. It was just ok and I had a feeling his golden "grill" may have been distracting. The next girl sang "Landslide" and it was just OK. They cut her off almost immediately hardly looking up. The next girl sang something really obscure and probably from a Christian Rock station because there were a lot of lyrics about, "light" and "your power up above." Then it was my turn. Kind of an awkward start because they don't really acknowledge your existence much less that it is your turn to sing. So I just started in with Mercedes Benz. It sounded pretty good and they snapped their heads up. I finished the first verse and wasn't asked to zip it so I kept singing. Thirty seconds must have gone by and they finally smiled at me and said thanks. I watched the lady judge's hand, willing it to grab that yellow paper and give it to me - probably mentally referring to her in this moment as "Biatch" worked against me in terms of Karma. But instead they said, "Thanks guys...sorry..." And before it could sink in, a pimply kid with an Idol t-shirt and visor was there yelling, "Over here guys let's cut those wristbands off!!" Then boom - you are done. The entire adventure is over.
+LOSER TUNNEL+
Sarah (who Brittani named the Harriet Tubman of American Idol) and I saw each other and laughed and headed out into the sunset through the tunnel that lead us out to J24 where our cars were parked. We thanked GOD that we figured out how to cheat. Because we got to sing. And it was just 2:30ish, and we were heading home. I saw an Oscar Myer Wiener van and wondered in my head, "Why would they put the Wiener van out here? Just because my dream has been crushed doesn't necessarily put me in the mood for a consolation wiener." I learned later from news reports they were holding some kind of jingle singing contest.
Brittani appeared by the bug with all of our crap attached to her looking very tired. I drove. We hopped on the freeway and laughed hysterically, probably deliriously. We were somehow thrilled that the best part of the weekend was still ahead: cable TV and frozen yogurt. w00t!!
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