My apologies to Jackie, the John Lennon fan. I don’t know if it was the fact that we were talking about Paul Simon just before I wrote the blog, putting Pauls on my mind, or just all the time I’ve been spending with Jason Castro that did it, but I made a grave factual error. Thank you for pointing out and I will try to be better if and when there is a next time.
Sorry to disappoint with the final blog of the season, but the Tivo in my dorm picked a good time to give up on us. I had class from 7 to 10 and I’d say an education is sometimes more important than watching the two-hour finale of Idol live, especially when it’s your major. Unless your major is something like Geography. Thank you for teaching me my state capitals. I could have learned everything we learned in class from Google maps, but they won’t give me a degree for that.
Recap Time (the Abridged/YouTube Version)! Some SPOILERS are coming your way:
The winner of the seventh season of the show that dominates the ratings (according to some crabby old media measurement company called Nielsen) is David Cook. Sorry to burst the bubble of the little darling fans of the tweenie bopper who could, but it wasn’t even a close call. 12 million votes was the difference. That’s like the-entire-population-of-Tokyo difference. Surprising, consider the adorable David Archuleta sang like some angel escaped from the gates of heaven Tuesday night. Well, that’s what I imagine my heaven to be like. Little angels singing to me. Oh no. Now I sound like little Archie’s dad. “Sing, monkey, sing!”
The Love Guru spoke with the Davids. As they came in, he was playing some version of Guitar Hero with the most badass guitar ever. If only it weren’t Mike Myers minus 2.0 promoting a film that shouldn’t exist. He almost had it all. Anyway,” the skit verged on being funny, except that it also verged on being brownface. “Mariska Hargitay. Offensive much?
The fabulously dressed man, Ronaldo Lapuz, who believes in brotherhood made an appearance on the show, singing with the USC band. This probably shouldn’t have been allowed, but it was entertaining. Paula joined him for the encore performance. Ronaldo’s mums were as shiny as ever. Aww, the south and wearing cheaply made flowers with cheap streamers that cost almost as much as the homecoming dress. Beautiful.
The top six girls sang some Donna Summers, sporting tight, red outfits. It was like one giant ad for Big Red gum. Mildly spicy. About 1/3 of the way through the performance, the real Donna Summers came out, which was a blessing. Watching Amanda Overmyer dance as if she had no soul was starting to cause blindness. Professional dancers started breakdancing to a song that should have only included moves from Saturday Night Fever. Ryan decided he would show some moves of this own, which were ridiculous. Not really surprising. He always wants to steal the limelight, even if he ends up looking like Crazy Uncle Ed in the process.
George Michael performed. As much as I would like to make some rude and inappropriate comment about him, I can’t bring myself to trash a legend. Okay, I am evil and I cannot resist. I felt like he was singing “Love In Any Language.” You could have muted the T.V. and probably gathered what he was singing about. It was like watching an interpretive dancer, only one rooted to the spot with painful clamps decorating his/her back (only reasonable explanation for the painful expression on his face). Paula cried, but if anyone has watched her show, they’d know it could have been her coke being a little flat. By the end of it, I was so depressed I wished the Mayans predicted the world would end tomorrow.
Carrie Underwood performed, and she was great as usual. She was dressed like a modern-day bride. She was so modern, in fact, she included a nice towel attached to the dress to wipe her face after the “cake in the face” part. Genius.
I guess some other stuff happened and maybe it was awesome. But nothing tops Fantasia dressed as a troll performing a song that had no words, just deep, guttural noises. So therefore the rest of the show is invalidated. Just go with it.
So season seven has come to a close and now hopefully David Cook can become the first male winner to not flop after the show. Considering his arrangements are brilliant and (mostly) original, I think he’ll do just fine. Until Idol decides to invade our lives once again (although maybe it should end here at lucky number 7), peace out. Hey, I felt very 70s inspired by the show (or what I saw of it). It was all groovy baby and free love (only not free love). Groovy, just groovy.