Idolatry versus Idleness
I can count the number of occasions I have actually voted for an American Idol on one hand (assuming the hand in question belongs to a polydactyl). As I see it, there is a line that separates the healthy regular viewer from the unhealthy participant and that line is defined by an overwhelming need to clog the phone lines with one's votes out of paranoid fear, rabid devotion or some combination of the two. To my shame, I voted once for Clay; but in my defense it was during the initial paring down of contestants into the core twelve (in other words, it was when Clay seemed like a geeky breath of fresh air and before he became a drag queen for Jesus). I feel no shame whatsoever admitting that I voted for Fantasia on a number of occasions because, quite honestly, there were moments where her performances sent shivers down my spine and brought a smile to my face. I think after one particularly disturbing week where she ended up in the bottom three I was galvanized to vote all of eight times due to the aforementioned fear that the American public was an ugly conglomeration of tasteless racists. Even so, I stopped voting toward the end of the competition when it became clear that there was no competition. That bitch could sing.
I have done my best since to keep a healthy distance but last night I may have finally crossed the line. Another Christian rocker came along and stole my heart, only this time it's a black chick with a mohawk who lists Prince and Tina Turner as her favorite pop artists. Nadia is what the kids used to call 'da bomb' but last night, despite looking fierce, her version of Cindi Lauper's Time After Time lacked stylization and 'umph.' I listened in horror as she failed to demonstrate her vocal strength or range, paralyzed by the growing fear that an audience with notoriously short attention spans would vote her off rather than considering her consistently superior performances in the past.
So, after the show ended, I switched to the Amazing Race and, while chatting on the landline with my boyfriend, used my cell to vote for Nadia...
One hundred and one times.
I finally quit because the battery had grown uncomfortably warm in my hand while electromagnetic radiation began curdling my sperm.
Did I feel a little dirty afterward? Maybe, but I also felt like I had done my part. If she was voted off, the blame would rest squarely on the shoulders of those like my boyfriend who manage to somehow get worked up over reality television results yet refuse to participate. Mine was a noble act - sacrificing my future fertility (likely wasted due to my sexual preference anyhow) for a chick who looks like Storm circa 1986. I was quite proud of myself for each and every one of those one hundred and one votes.
That is, of course, until I read this.
Whereupon I vowed to never vote again.
I have done my best since to keep a healthy distance but last night I may have finally crossed the line. Another Christian rocker came along and stole my heart, only this time it's a black chick with a mohawk who lists Prince and Tina Turner as her favorite pop artists. Nadia is what the kids used to call 'da bomb' but last night, despite looking fierce, her version of Cindi Lauper's Time After Time lacked stylization and 'umph.' I listened in horror as she failed to demonstrate her vocal strength or range, paralyzed by the growing fear that an audience with notoriously short attention spans would vote her off rather than considering her consistently superior performances in the past.
So, after the show ended, I switched to the Amazing Race and, while chatting on the landline with my boyfriend, used my cell to vote for Nadia...
One hundred and one times.
I finally quit because the battery had grown uncomfortably warm in my hand while electromagnetic radiation began curdling my sperm.
Did I feel a little dirty afterward? Maybe, but I also felt like I had done my part. If she was voted off, the blame would rest squarely on the shoulders of those like my boyfriend who manage to somehow get worked up over reality television results yet refuse to participate. Mine was a noble act - sacrificing my future fertility (likely wasted due to my sexual preference anyhow) for a chick who looks like Storm circa 1986. I was quite proud of myself for each and every one of those one hundred and one votes.
That is, of course, until I read this.
Whereupon I vowed to never vote again.