American Idol: wake me up for round two

I love tv. I truly do. I have the digital cable, the PVR, my shows are set to record all on their own so that I never miss a moment of warm, moist, tv goodness. I'm especially fond of reality tv. That's right - I said it. I loves me the trash tv.

Survivor, The Amazing Race, The Bachelor/ette, Big Brother, The Apprentice (more Donald than Martha, not that that matters anymore), You're The One That I Want, and, of course....American Idol.

Ah yes, a new year has only truly begun when Simon, Randy and Paula pop out of their fancy cars (notice how they never show up together? Strange...) in front of the big convention centre/sports arena/superdome in insert-city-here, USA. Smiles, bottles of water, and mugs for the camera, they're then whisked away into day upon day upon day of nauseating renditions of top 40 hits by the Idols of yore. Don't get me wrong - I love the concept of the show. Hold auditions nationwide, give everyone their shot, discover raw, hidden talents and mold them into solid gold.

It's every singers' dream, being discovered. Hell, when I was ten years old and in the car with my parents, I'd roll the window down and sing along with the Annie soundtrack at top voice in case, just in case, a big time record producer also happened to be on his way to Peterborough...and had his window down. Could happen. He'd hear me, flag down my dad and convince him to stop the car, and life for me would thereafter never be the same. A hard knock life no more.

Obviously, that never happened. Poor 10 year old me. Tragic. The failure of the universe to as-of-yet notice my talent adds more to the diva mystique though. All true divas must triumph over some degree of adversity in their lives before they can become truly successful (seriously - check the rule book), and I've almost managed to convince myself that my lack of a record contract by the age of 11 was mine. Sure as hell felt like it at the time!

Funny though - when I sing now, wherever I may be, I still wonder if someone out there in my 'audience' is secretly harbouring a brother in law that works with a guy who went to university with someone who works for a recording studio of some kind. After the performance (read, 'me getting off stage at karaoke dive') this someone will be so blown away, so utterly moved by my rendition of I Will Survive, that they'll vacate their seat, leave their beer behind, and walk (okay, stumble) my way to congratulate me on a job very well done. They'll tell me of this friend of their brother in law's friend, ask for my number and say this guy just totally has to hear me.

And thus, my 'how I was discovered' story would be born. I'd relate it to Cheryl Hickey (start small - ET Canada's a good jumping off place), and by the time I had my appearance on Letterman or The View, I would have perfected it down to the most minute nuance. Dave and/or Babs would be eating out of my hand. Toss in a hair flip or two for good measure, and the whole world would fall in love with little ole me. Teacher says, every time you see a hair flip, a diva gets her wings. Awwww.....

I'm surely not the only one out there to have these delusions of instant fame and fortune just 'cause I can sing. If nothing else, American Idol has taught us that. 16,000 people show up for the Memphis auditions, coming up on the next episode. Thousands upon thousands showed up in Seattle (dag, did you see some of those people? Mental note - do not breed in Seattle) and something like 14 made it through. 14!! Yeesh. Hope this picks up a bit, or there will be some seriously slim pickins as we whittle down the truly talentless that happened to squeak by in round one.

I sometimes think I'd be much better off starting my American Idol experience after they've picked their Hollywood crew from the ragtag bunch of 'I just wanna be on tv, who cares if I can sing' contestants. It actually causes me physical pain to sit here and watch some of these people publicly humiliate themselves. Hubs actually had to ask me if I was okay during one particularly awful showing this evening - and that's not right! The only time tv should cause you genuine physical pain is if you drop it on your foot while transporting it (another good reason to hire people to do these things for you). Definitely not during something like American Idol.

I'll have to think long and hard before I decide to tune in to next week's two hour nausea-fest. I don't know if I have it in me to watch again. I'll probably have terrible dreams tonight...sigh.

On the plus side, there were some real gems on the show tonight, and I look forward to hearing more from them as they continue on and the singing just gets better. I'll watch and smile as they get their chance at fame, the opportunity to work with a renowned vocal coach, and the spotlight shining down on them as they perform in front of millions upon millions of people.

And I won't be jealous....no, not me. My time to shine will come. Spring will eventually arrive, and I'll get back in my car, turn the music up, roll the window down...and pray for the car next to me to have 'somebody important' behind the wheel.

Somethings you never grow out of. Except the Annie soundtrack, that is. I think I'll belt out a something a little more contemporary.

And you, you, you - you're gonna love me.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?