Damn You, Blake, and Your Bedroom Eyes

Well, you did it, Seattle. You got into the finals at American-freaking-Idol. What the hell? It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were supposed to fade out gracefully when everyone realised that there were some real hard-core singers involved with this competition. But no, Seattle. You had to flash those bedroom eyes of yours, do your best (a.k.a. worst) James Brown-ish dancing. You had to beatbox and reach your hand out at the camera like you're beckoning one of those teenage girls to come hither.

Mary, Christ, Joseph, and Buddha ... our prediction yesterday was correct. Melinda Doolittle was voted off American Idol, and two extraordinarily sub-par contestants get to stay to duke it out in the Battle of the Mediocre next week. Okay, maybe mediocre is a little harsh. After all, all three of the semi-finalists seriously brought it this week. Still, we thought for sure that there were two contingents at work here: the mature audience with impeccable taste (Melinda's fanbase, obviously), and the teeny-bopper audience who screams so loud it doesn't matter that their idol can't outsing MindyDoo. The latter was supposed to be split between Jordin and Blake. We had it all planned out. The question on our lips going into last night's show was: What do little girls love more? A gorgeous amazon woman with a big voice, who they can aspire to be like someday? Or a pretty, pretty boy who's not much taller than them, who they can dream about and cry about from the audience?

But then came the montage of clips from each contestant's trip home last week. You know how Blake's homecoming went. Yeah, well Jordin attracted more than 10,000 people, which is practically the same size as the entire population of our hometown. They were screaming, screeching, high-fiving, hugging, and crying. It was just like what Blake got, except without Sir Mix-a-lot, though we would love to see that. Melinda's homecoming was far more subdued. It actually kind of looked like maybe the show paid some people to show up.

"It's Tennessee," we told ourselves. "People are quieter, more reserved. Polite. It's the south, not Melinda." The whole Melinda-portion was just very disappointing. We imagined the little voice in her head watching footage of Blake and Jordin's hometowns and thinking, "Shit, nobody screeched over me."

Ryan did the teasing-us thing by calling each contestant to the center of the stage, cueing the music and the lights, and then making no conclusion whatsoever. Elliot Yamin showed up and performed all smooth, smiley, and super nice. He thanked the Academy and went on and on about how nice he is, and then Simon pretended to love his performance. Simon, actually, looked more bored than us with all the filler last night. Maroon five came out and performed, we fast-forwarded. Then Jordin was safe, which sealed the deal that Blake was going home, except it wasn't Blake going home, it was Melinda.

The gates of hell opened up and demons swarmed the earth. America bombed Iran for no reason at all. George Bush got reelected. Whitney Houston made a comeback, and Elvis, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain all showed up to make a plea for Idol Gives Back. At home on our couch, we sat up as straight as we could, mouth agape, looking around, all Where's the hidden camera? We looked at our partner like she could save us. We felt a little queasy. For the first time all season, Melinda looked completely unsurprised and relaxed. And then our effing TiVo cut off before we could enjoy the Queen of Everything sing herself off. Instead, we just cried in our beer and ended the night with the series finale of Gilmore Girls. Damn the masters of the universe.

And, um, congratulations to Blake.