+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 9^th 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!!