Tonight's two hour show began in the Big Apple... or rather... the state next to the Big Apple. Even though the auditions were held at Manhattan's Chelsea Piers, the crowds gathered at the Continental Airlines Arena at the Meadowlands, which last time I checked was hardcore Jersey territory. Ryan tried to have us guess how many people showed up, and while it was fun to hear all the estimates, I wound up totally frustrated by the fact that they never told us. Did I miss it? If I did, please fill me in.

Anyway, we had another guest judge tonight, and it was none other than Mrs. Garrett's new rival, Joan Collins. Oh wait, never mind. It was merely Carol Bayer Sager, a sassy old school song writer who's penned much of the songs on your local Lite FM station (not to mention my secret stash of embarrassing MP3s). If you've got "Groovy Kind of Love" in your CD player, you've got Carol Bayer Sager in your ears.

"You can call me Alexis."

I was suspicious of CaBaSa at first, but by the time the show came to a close, I actually enjoyed her presence. She was neither harsh nor a pushover -- just a gussied up old dame who knew how to deliver some straight talk and rock the leather jacket. Anyway, Carol Bayer Sager (or CBS... or if I didn't like her, Carol BS) was significantly better than other guest judges (cough, JEWEL, cough), but her presence also completely disrupted the judging table universe. For the first time, Paula actually sat at the end of the table, no longer flanked by the men who perhaps keep her in her chair. I was afraid she might roll off into oblivion without a warm body to her right, but I'm proud to say, Paula survived this new arrangement. For those of you wondering, it went Paula, Randy, Carol, and Simon. Craziness, people. Craziness.

Anyway, first up to audition was a guy named Ian Bernardo, a flamboyantly gay reject from sister show, So You Think You Can Dance. Ian was 100% annoying, but not because he seemed like a vapid idiot, but mostly because his schtick was so transparently a ploy for camera time. We watched him galavanting through the street, spurning "illegals" and telling everyone else "How you been?" Most people were justifiably scared and recoiled as soon as he opened his mouth. This didn't seem to deter Ian from his quest for stardom. He showed up in front of the judges and announced that he "thawt" he could be the next American Idol. He then insisted that he was already a superstar, and if we needed further proof, we could ask his friends, his family, or one of his therapists. Well rehearsed.

Up until this point, I still kind of believed that Ian was a delusional idiot, but when he started to sing "Gloria" by the late Laura Brannigan, it became obvious that this was all to get on TV. His singing style was kind of like a modified rap -- a weird merger between freestyle and Barbara Streisand.