Hollywood: The Place Where Dreams Become a Reality TV Show - 
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American Idol is finally done with the bad auditions, and has now moved on to the “Sudden Death” round. Not the round where Randy keels over from years of fatty foods, rather where the contestants have a week to pick and learn a song out of a list of 12 to sing before the judges, and move on to the next round or are sent home with no explanation. They will audition in groups of 10 by sex. Boys v. Girls sex, not “Pegging Simon Cowell” sex.
We see people arriving in LA from all over the country, many familiar faces. Some nauseating, others slightly less so. One girl tells us that she used to be a hotel chambermaid, and is not staying in the kind of room she used to clean. The editors decide not to cue up Mariah Carey’s “Heartbreaker” (i.e. catchiest tune ever.)
Some contestants get sleep before the big day, others work out, a big fat guy dons a clay acne mask, and the “cool kids” are at a Ruby Tuesday’s playing pool. Most seem incredibly nervous, and for good reason. The vibe reminds me of my high school debating days, traveling on the road and staying in hotels where the kids were cutthroat competitive, but also liked to have “fun.” Hence very tense. Yes, I did go to Debate Camp, and no, I don't appreciate you judging me.
7 a.m., the “kids” are up and ready to head to the audition. They are divided into two groups: Bus 1 will be headed to the auditions, and Bus 2 will be led on a sightseeing tour of LA. It’s just like American Idol Boot Camp, the very place Ryan Seacrest went from being a frost-tipped boy to a “curtains match the carpet” man. The younger competitors are traveling with their parents.
First up, one of my faves (and Simon’s as well), Carrie Underwood, the sweet, blonde farmgirl with a fabulous voice. There’s a small tet a tet between her and Ryan. He asks her if she’s seen any starts, and she says “It’s been pretty cloudy.” He clarifies he meant “Celebs”, and she guffaws and says “Just you!” Seacrest, again self-mockingly in a way I appreciate, retorts “Hopefully, it gets better.” Better as in John Travolta circa 1990 or Horseshack circa 2005? Just asking.
Carrie sings “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, and I’m already dry heaving. This song has been forever ruined since it was covered by Michael McDonald, a singer who a friend described as sounding "like a foghorn full of Cool-Whip." Carrie does an admirable job, singing in a pretty and effortless way.
Next, Jaclyn Crum from Cleveland. She’s only 16, traveling with her mom, and is a pretty girl if you choose to forget about her rotting, homeless bean teeth. Really, at 16 this should be taken care of already. Sings OK, nothing special. Very plain, I’m not wowed by her. Following Jaclyn is Sarah Mather, a beautiful girl who sings Dusty Springfield nicely.
The last one in their group is Tamesha “Mesha” Foote, a tall pretty black girl with two identically twin daughters who sleep every night with the false promise that Mommy isn’t “going to go home empty handed.” Sorry, little ones, but your Mommy cannot hold a melody for her life. She is completely out of tune, missing every single note. And instead of singing “I’ll be there in a hurry”, she says “I’ll be there in a hoo-way”, further annoying me and everyone else watching.
The results: Carrie is in, Jaclyn is in, Sarah is in, Tamesha is a goner, and will be going home empty handed. The good news is, her heart is full of hate, as she explains that she sang better than Farmgirl Carrie, and remembered all her words. Maybe she can steal a blanket from the plane for her kiddies.
Next group up is totally Boyzone. We start with Anthony Federov, a flaxen-haired bespeckled boy who’s kind of cute and dresses way better than you would expect him to. His sad story is he got a tracheotomy when he was young, but now has the voice of a Broadway singing gay angel. At least he’s better than that horrible deaf kid from awhile back.
America’s Favorite N’Orleans fatty boombalatty Michael Liuzza (a.k.a. “Rosemary Clooney”) is back with his awful nasal “unique” style. I’ll stress again that he’s still a pretty good looking guy. And even though his voice is weird, he seems genuinely sweet, so I’ll stop my hateful spewing with Michael. Anthony makes it through, Michael Liuzza (pronounced, Jim Carrey style “Leeoo! Zzaaher!”) doesn’t, but says he’ll change the world some other way.
The other bus is partying it up in LA. But oh no! Shunta Warthen got on wrong bus, and instead of touring the city, was supposed to audition. Blue eyeshadow painted up to the top of her forehead, Shunta is in panic mode, and must get a cab to make it to the auditions in time. Hurry Shunta! Your time is almost up!
Back at the auddies, Rashida Johnson has a cold. They show her training, and she sounds kind of like a manly Toni Braxton. Ooh.. but she’s singing one of my favorite songs, “Baby Come to Me”, and managed to pull of a pretty great performance. Her singing chops are still there, and the judges know it. She’s through to tomorrow, people cheer, and she cries, saying she “wants her Mommy.” Aww, Rashida.
Back to Shunta. Where is Shunta’s cab? The girl is a mess. I feel for her, as this is something I could see myself doing. Minus the Ringling Brothers face get-up, of course. Yikes.
Now, it’s Pirate Whore Amanda Avila’s turn. She’s not as amazing as she was in her audition, but still pulls it off. Next, Travis Tucker, an adorable black guy, followed by tube-topped Lindsey Cardinale, who both sing “Ain’t No Mountain” like men. All three are yeses.
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