Frailty, Thy Name Is Woman (Specifically, Paula Abdul)

Ah yes. I, like millions of television-addled and American-Dream-intoxicated Americans, watch American Idol with my Monsieur every Tuesday and Wednesday (and every magical Monday that extended the sugar rush as well). Heck, even our cat seems to come in earlier on those particular nights to hear the tuneful caterwauling of the aspiring Idols.

We all like the show. (I speak for my household only)

The format is entertaining. The twists from season to season have managed to add some suspense to the otherwise predictable formula.

Ryan Seacrest is a wonderful target for all sorts of disses, and therefore not that annyoing (I mean…. could a skinny, shortish dude with frosted highlights, chiclet teeth and puppy-dog eyes ever be taken as anything other than a target? Does he really expect to have a serious journalistic career after this?)

The aspiring Idols are always entertaining. Some are root-worthy all the way –for me, Tamyra was one such contestant in past seasons, and Vonzell and Bo are proving to be them for this season. Some happen to be fun to deride and root against: Constantine –with that bloated, pervert smile of his–would be the one for me. Last season, it was Fantasia. I screamed bloody murder when she won (not that I was totally gung-ho on Diana “Miss Piggy” DeGarmo). Some start off lukewarm but get better or vice versa. And some turn us off with their attitude (Scott Savol showed his domestic disturbance side yesterday, in my opinion). And some are so milquetoast you wonder how they made it so far without getting the boot– last season I have to say that Jasmine Trias was it for me, though Hawaiians went crazy voting for her. This season, Anthony Federov is the Boy With The Valium Voice for me.

And then… there are the judges. The poor judges who have to put up with endless auditions and awful lack of talent and travel time and the judges who have to break the bad news of the extreme suckiness of people. The judges who, after years of showbiz experience, know what they are looking for and are not afraid to be direct and sometimes even scathing because we cannot take the torture anymore. The judges who hold the key to unlocking the mystery of the next American Idol and with their expertise and wit guide the voting public.

Hmm… yes. One minor problem: there are only two (one and a half, really… but I don’t hate Randy outright) out of three judges who do their job. The third one, week after week whines in her annoying voice, screams and pouts and tells people to “SHUT UP!” when they disagree with her. This saccharine aging female judge lets herself be wooed by younger contestants on a regular basis and never has the guts to truly say to someone, “Wow. I am really sorry, but that was simply awful.” Not even when the crazies were auditioning did she have the courage to tell those people that they were no good: she simply giggled unprofessionally and stoked the fire, making the other judges’ job that much harder. And what’s more…. she tends to just latch on to whatever Randy says –or disagree when he says that the performance was not good! If it were up to her, no one would ever get voted off. If it were up to her, Simon would never speak. And if it were up to her, we would never ever even know who was good or bad, because she’d be too busy waiting for Randy to speak — ready to mostly agree with him and ready to add her stupid platitudes,

“You gave it your all!”

“You made it your own!”

“I’m really, really proud of you!”

“I think you’ve found your niche!”

“I am a big fan of yours!”

“That was better/higher/louder than [insert original performer who was not discovered on prime-time talent show]!!!!!”

I mean, honestly… I think she would even be discouraged as a judge in a Special Olympics! After all, even in Special Olympics there has to be a clear winner, right? But not in Paula’s deeply warped little world: she thinks they are all winners and would never want to see anyone go home (so what’s the point of the show then, Paula?) But then again, when it comes to accepting you did something wrong (like clipping another car in an L.A. freeway with your Merc that was promptly sent to the body shop, perhaps), then she has to pretty much be threatened with jail to admit wrongdoing, let alone doing at all!

Oh I forgot. She does have her “harsh” moments:

“That was a little pitchy to me.” <–Why oh why can't you just say that they were off-key for three-quarters of the song, Paula? It's nothing against them! They need to know that they sucked, otherwise how will they ever improve?!

“That was a little flat to me>”<– less-used twin of the above feeling. I get the feeling that Paula wants to sound like she knows music and thinks we've all forgotten she's nothing but a glorified cheerleader with big tits (though now they are looking a bit deflated) who owes part of her fame to being friends with Arsenio Hall –oh, and teeny-bopper Idol-mania. And really…. she may have been a pretty good dancer, but she's not a singer and shall never be (who could forget her maudlin, sappy breathiness in such songs as "Rush, Rush"?). Her only usefulness is as a choreographer –quite a good one, too– but as a singer and judge she is most pitifully useless. If she cannot tell the truth and be straightforward or mature about disagreeing with the other judges (especially Simon, of course), she needs to be voted off the show.

To cap this off, it seems Paula also has people concerned regarding her sobriety on and off the show (might explain the car crash). Click here to read that piece.

But boozed up or not, she still sucks at judging– and at schlocking it up on ET *shudder*. But that’s a tirade for yet another day.

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This entry was published on April 13, 2005 at 4:48 pm and is filed under Soapboxing. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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