They flew out all the way from Florida. Ten hours, two layovers
and one crappy on-flight bag of peanuts later, a conservatively
dressed middle-aged housewife and her balding husband had arrived
at their final destination: a live taping of “America
Idol.”
OK, I know I wrote about “American Idol” in my last
column, but I can’t help it; I’m obsessed. And not just
regular obsessed. Like super
I-found-you-on-Facebook-and-know-your-entire-class-schedule
obsessed.
Or at least I used to be. Up until the couple from Florida
sitting next to me at Tuesday’s taping decided to jump out of
their seats at every opportunity, shake their “groove
things” and scream desperate pleas for Ryan Seacrest’s
affection. Not that I don’t do the same at home every week
when I watch, but please, people, leave that sort of smut in the
bedroom.
I know I sound like a big hypocrite, and I did enjoy seeing the
live taping ““ there was no way I would have ever passed up
the opportunity to see an actual taping of my once-favorite guilty
pleasure. But being stuck in a studio with a bunch of other people
just as fanatical as me about “American Idol” was a
dose of reality I was not ready for.
First off, the audience is filled to capacity with families and
children, and nobody comes empty-handed. In fact, at times I could
barely see the performance stage, just a sea of neon cardboard with
disturbing phrases like “Marry me Simon” or “I
miss Constantine so much it hurts.”
More than that, everyone does a lot of standing up and
screaming. I know it’s getting down to the final episode, and
everyone’s emotions are running high, but please ““
it’s just karaoke.
The over-exaggerated set didn’t make things any better.
Sure, the stage was huge, and being there with all the lights, it
was like 10 times more beautiful than via television. But with all
the screaming pre-teens and giant metallic icy stage, I felt like I
was going to see “Seacrest on Ice” rather than a talent
contest.
And there’s something about the mood in the studio that
makes everyone think they, in fact, are the “American
Idol.” During the breaks, some more of that “fun,
hip,” idol-type music plays, and the audience sort of claps
along, which eventually turns into a whole room of out-of-tune
renditions of “Since You’ve Been Gone.” While the
audience sits, Paula, Randy and Simon run around, talk to people,
and just generally act like they are super important. Why they
couldn’t just sit still during the commercial breaks like the
rest of us is beyond me.
As for my days of sitting in front of the television, waiting
for my chance to call in and vote for my favorite
“idol” as many times as humanly possible, they have
definitely been ruined. I guess when you’re really obsessed
with something, the only way to get over it is to get up close and
personal and see its flaws.
As for my friends from Florida, their cross-country pilgrimage
managed to stir up more than a little jealousy with their friends
back home.
“All our friends hate us,” she told me.
I can’t imagine why.
Want Scott to quit writing about “Idol?” E-mail
him at jscott@media.ucla.edu.