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Dear American Idol,
By briantologist | April 24, 2007
Again this week, I will be writing you, Idol, as ELB has been struck by a protracted case of The Vapors; I believe she contracted it from Gus.
Tonight, it appears Seacrest is supporting the hungry by donating his shaving supplies to the Red Cross. Somewhere in Malawi, someone’s face is baby-soft.
Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, it appears Randy has not donated his pancake makeup. Seriously, I can see brush streaks in that crap. He should use one of those Wagner Power Sprayers instead. Paula’s all gold and shit this evening, and Simon has busted out the formal shirt. Truly, this is a night for giving.
On a serious note, we here at l’unit du Byrne were kind of genuinely touched at Simon’s abject horror at the conditions in which hundreds of thousands of human beings live, all because they were unlucky enough to be born on a continent that just doesn’t seem to be all that high on anybody’s priority list. Simon is a stand-in for us actual persons (yet again) in this case: He’s disturbed to the point where he literally can no longer stand, and that’s really about the only appropriate response to conditions like that. That, and making a charitable donation, which you should seriously do right now, or as soon as you get paid next. Fuck, seriously, donate something. Anything. A buck. Five bucks. Christ, just give ‘em some fucking money already. (See the end of this post for links.)
Okay! Back to petty, self-serving commentary!
Oh thank GOD! It’s TimberFake! And he’s his usual nasal self! And he sucks balls! Again! Seriously, who the fuck are the judges listening to when they say he’s doing well? Does Randy have the cassingle of “Opposites Attract” playing on his vintage tape-driven walkman the entire time? Is he glancing back and forth between Paula and the stage, actually under the impression that TimberFake is MC Skat Cat? These are things I wonder.
Mindy Doo, look: You’re making it difficult to think of anybody else as a contender with any kind of seriousness. Flub a note here and there, for cram sakes. You’re going all Charles Van Doren on us and shit.
Ah, Blake Lewis. So earnest. Somebody had to sing “Imagine,” I guess. So many questions! Is that a burlap sportcoat? Is that Forest Whitaker on piano? Is that a jean jacket underneath his burlap sportcoat? Could he have maintained eye contact with me, the viewer, any more than he did? (Answer: No.) He’s fine, though. As long as TimberFake remains, Blake’s gonna look fantastic. The judges are all exactly right: He’s sincere, but kinda dull otherwise. Still, nice work there. And no beat boxing! Somebody give that guy his four-week chip.
Okay, so LaKisha is my girl, and she’s got every spare vote in my phone. This was not that good, though, and frankly I’m worried. Paula is worried too, and is expressing it by having a stroke during her comments. Simon to audience: “Please shut up!” Dude, I know.
“When we come back: Phil is all about change!” I’m hoping that involves him changing into more of a non-contestant role, though from the looks of things it’s more a matter of Phil changing into fucking Nosferatu. Dude! Phil’s daughters are in Oklahoma with their grandparents! Look out Stacy! Your kids are gonna be gun nuts when they come back! Shortly thereafter they’ll be unceremoniously and abruptly written off the show! I wish they could stay and their dad could go. I’d be much happier looking at a tiny baby snore for two minutes than watching this fucking dreck. And yet: The TimberFake corollary stands. As long as that bitch stays, Stacy is okay.
Um, celebrity commercial montage, anyone? Note to charities the world over: To procure my donation, please keep Bono out of my home. Speaking of which, Bono was supposed to be the goddamn celebrity mentor tonight, and I have not seen hide nor hair of his ego, or even the shades himself. Maybe he and Former Secretary of the Treasury Paul O’Neil are out picking fights or something. I guess I’d be okay with that. Again, if the net result is fewer total Bono pixels, so motherscratchin’ be it.
Now Cowell’s at a food bank. Wait, there’s a box full of kids at this food bank! You can’t donate kids to a food bank! Or you shouldn’t, anyway! They’ll eat all the food! For god’s sake people. Think these things through.
Jordin Sparxxxxxx is once again delivering the goods. “The goods” should be a box full of Seacrests sometime. Jordin is clearly capable of delivering it. I mean, I think a slightly undersized toddler could deliver it. Seacrest is no Munce, is what I’m saying here.
My god, how the time flies. Another night gone. The joy. My god, the joy.
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Okay, so: Donations. Obviously you can donate through the American Idol web site; nothing wrong with that, I’m fairly certain, as they don’t (at a glance) appear to be fraudulently siphoning money away for “administrative costs” or the like. However, I’m a huge believer in cutting out the middle man, especially where charity is concerned, which is just one of many reasons I like this site as much as I do. Clearly it’s a reaction to the whole Project (RED) thing, which I have some general problems with*, but which is at least marginally commendable.
HOWEVER. If you really wanna go the extra mile, spend ten minutes with Google and find yourself a charity to give to. Being kind of easily led, my first impulse is to urge you to concentrate on programs that target hunger here in the states and like, pretty much everything that’s going on in the entire African continent; however, obviously it’s your call. Seriously though, it really doesn’t take much to do something really important. We are just stupidly, ridiculously privileged. Many people are not. Spread it around, bitches.
* — I mean, seriously, have we really sunk so fucking low as a culture that we can’t fucking give to needy people unless we get a fucking T-shirt out of it? Prove my darkest theories of our basic nature wrong, for chrissake.
Topics: 'Murkin Idol, Existential Horror | 7 Comments »
April 25th, 2007 at 3:51 am
I am clapping so hard at that last bit that my metaphorical hands hurt. Seriously, the (red) stuff and all the pink ribbon shopping make me ill. UNICEF put out a little fake-y credit card so I could, I dunno, show people all my donation cred? It becomes increasingly difficult to find a charity that spends more money on helping people than on promoting itself in what I think are dumbass ways. Although it’s worth looking.
April 25th, 2007 at 9:50 am
I thought Bono was Robin Williams and got all excited. Mork, you’re letting me down.
And in other news, to anyone looking for a new favorite charity, Partners in Health doesn’t give you anything other than a thank you letter from Roald Dahl’s daughter (which is pretty much awesome). http://www.pih.org Their website has almost too much content, but the book Mountains Beyond Mountains is a great read, tells the whole story of the organization, and it is pretty much amazing.
April 25th, 2007 at 2:23 pm
I like Heifer International and Planned Parenthood. But seriously, I would also like for my taxes not to be donated to Halliburton but instead to the problems staring us in the face at home.
April 25th, 2007 at 10:07 pm
So how many guys watching tonight were NOT hoping to get a shot of Annie Lennoxes nipple, show of hands…liars.
April 27th, 2007 at 9:19 am
My question is… what happened to Pink and Gwen Steffani? I’m fairly certain I heard Seacrest promise they’d be there, but I surely didn’t see them around. Instead, I did see Earth, Wind & Fire, Il Divo and Celine Dion. What the…?
April 27th, 2007 at 10:12 am
Borat didn’t show up either, did he?
April 27th, 2007 at 11:14 am
what’s the point of donating to charity if you can’t BRAG ABOUT IT? I mean, come on!
Actually, the saddest part about all the charity swag is that no one really wants it. How many plastic Livestrong bracelets are in the landfill right now? Or how many marathon/charity walk t-shirts can you find at the thrift store?