American Idol

Another Idol has come and gone. Good. In the past I’ve complained about AI, about the waving hands in the front row, the inane and repetitive comments from the judges, the audience screams during a performance, Ryan Seacrest’s phony bologna smile, the tasteless outfits worn by the judges (especially Randy’s), and Randy’s constant “Yo, dog” and “He/she could sing the phone book.” Let’s see, that just about covers it. Last night, the Season 11 winner was announced, PROCLAIMED! (in caps): Phillip Phillips, he of the Sting vocalizing. And Jessica Sanchez was runner-up. Either would have been a deserving winner; both are extremely talented, probably more so than nearly all other contestants from eleven seasons except for Carrie Underwood, Adam Lambert, or Jennifer Hudson. Jessica took on Whitney Houston again last night with her rendition of “I Will Always Love You,” and she did herself proud. Hard to believe she’s only sixteen. What’s different about Idol now compared to Idol then: the sets and costumes. The production details for performances has evolved from simple to mind-boggling light shows; the wardrobes for performers have gone from torn jeans and T-shirts to Pierre Cardin and Georgio Armani gowns and suits. Seacrest informed us that 132 millions votes were cast to decide this year’s winner. Amazing. Can’t you just imagine about a million little girls out there in tv land, dialing and dialing and dialing up to a hundred times apiece? Amazing. But I’m certainly glad it’s over for another year.