"American Idol"--that odd little ol' talent show that combines Americans' love for the underdog with their lust for Mega Train Wrecks--closed out its 7th season last nite, clocking something like 95 million, 800 gazillion votes for David what'shisname. How do we know this? We read about it in this a.m.'s paper. Haven't watched a lick of "AI" this season--not even the promos.
Don't get us wrong--we used to be HUGE fans. We watched Kelly Clarkson (a Texas gal--from Grapevine, to be exact) launch toward the Outer Galaxies from the outdated color set in our family room. Later, after Hubby upgraded to Plasma, we booed when Jennifer Hudson got the boot (Your Humble Scribe most certainly recognized the gal's talent way before Hollywood did!).
But most of all we laughed at the losers, sang along with William Hung, and had a blast debating voting patterns and the upkeep of Bo Bice's long locks with our estudiantes the next day. Until this year, that is.
Maybe it was "AI" Overkill. Maybe it was that nasty aftertaste left by Taylor Hicks & his Soul (less) Patrol. Maybe it was because Paula Abdul apparently intends to continue to play a parody of her new self, with Randy and Simon riding shotgun to pick up the pieces.
We used to watch Paula when The World Was Very Young and MTV cycled her videos over and over and over again. We never got tired of "Forever Your Girl" and "Straight Up." Paula was a Woman of the '80s. No one can take that away from her.
Tons of folks these days laugh at Paula's double-takes & double-entendres, and speculate about her heavy consumption of double scotches. This year is the 20th anniversary of Paula's first multi-platinum LP, "Forever Your Girl." We dedicate this post to you, Paula Julie Abdul. We think it's "Cold-Hearted" the way folks talk. They should just "Shut Up & Dance."