PLEASE NOTE: As a throwback to my previously established blog, www.twosortsofpeople.com which involved my unbalanced segregation of all people into two irrelevant categories, I’m hitting you up with a blast from the past, Brendan Fraiser style, with another “two sorts of people in the world” blog entry. Enjoy!
I’m not a huge fan of reality television. I know everybody says that while secretly filming audition tapes for “Wife Swap,” but I’m serious. Yes, I watch “What Not To Wear” on occasion, and dry heave my way through episodes of “Jersey Shore” but like I always say, if I haven’t “liked” it on Facebook, it’s not actually happening.
However there is one reality show that I
anxiously reluctantly allow into my life each January. One that breaks through my general attraction to the – anti-establishment, screw top 40 radio, involuntary mouth-foaming rage at the mere mention of Ke$ha –mentality I harbor in regard to modern pop culture:
It IS… A-MERICAN Idol
Ok, that was supposed to be written with a very obvious Seacrest-ian inflection, but I realize without the 5’2 physique and frosted tips, it sort of falls flat. So use your imagination.
Anyway, American Idol has always had some sort of a mystical hold on me. I can’t quite describe it…
…. so I’m going to try. It’s like the butterfly feeling I get in the pit of my stomach every time I see a Leonardo DiCaprio movie, particularly if he is shirtless, using an accent, or aging to the point of death throughout the duration of the film. Or the agitated trembling sensation that flows through my body when I lie in bed at night, knowing Nutella is somewhere in the house waiting to be eaten. These reactions are very similar to those that I feel when introduced to a new season of American idol, and last night at work during the season 11 premiere those panty-changing feelings returned (ewwww).
I know what you must be thinking. How could such a street-smart, happenin’ chick, with great hair and a vinyl record collection get behind the revolving factory of crap American Idol has proven to be year after year? Simple:
“It’s where dreams come true” …or go to die, depending on who you are.
It’s not just about the often over-hyped singing or the offensively hokey Ford commercials, which frankly I could do without. American Idol has locked me in because every year some 17 year old from North Dakota — who learned to overcome the struggles of being born with one eye to mute parents, by working toward a cure for childhood diabetes in between secret vocal lessons in the local church basement, that no one knew about until she begged to fly to Austin to audition for American Idol using the money earned from the sale of the single, family vehicle, — sings a rendition of a Stevie Wonder song or something from the “Hannah Montana” soundtrack, “wowing” the judges to the point of tears. Said teenage cyclops will then proceed to awkwardly cry, and explain to the camera in a candid post audition interview, that this is her dream and “dreams really do come true” and that she WILL be the next American Idol. As we pan out, one of the judges, probably Randy, will point his never-used pencil at the door and say something like “that’s what it’s all about, dawg. That’s what it’s all about.”
It’s a really beautiful scenario and if you were not moved to tears by my portrayal, get your eyes checked, son. Anyway, my point is that my love for American Idol is often more about the hopeful, inspired feeling I get while watching it, than the actual talent. At least until three years ago…(I’ll get there, don’t worry)
So, according to my limited understanding of the world, pretty much everyone has watched American Idol at some point in its 10 year run. Therefore I feel comfortable dividing all of humanity into two different categories:
People who Passively Watch American Idol and People Who Destroy Relationships Over It
Now I realize not everyone who watches American Idol does so with the same level of dream-realizing grandeur with which I do. There are some people (tools) who watch it to make fun of the talentless hacks (just keepin’ it real), but don’t actually care either way about what happens. To these people, and all other, non-voting, non-psycho viewers who fall into the former category of people who watch passively, I say bravo! You are sufficiently less irrational and cracked-out than me. Good for you. Now go get hit by a bus.
Because really, it goes without saying that I fall into the latter category; the people who destroy relationships over it. I’m not going to lie. Anyone in a category that indicates obsessive, home-wrecking levels of passion for a TV show ought to be dragged out into the street and shot. Not really. But, something to that level. After all, it is completely ludicrous for anyone to get as unreasonably attached to a reality show and its contestants as I do. But in all honesty, I just can’t control myself!
Last night while working the coffee counter I decided to watch the season premiere of American Idol. Just so you understand, this is not the kind of thing I would normally deem appropriate for being in public. Why? Because a typical evening of watching American Idol provokes a certain manic behavior in me that is not in the best interest of society. But every year, I convince myself I will be stronger. I will care less about the poverty-stricken man with a newborn and a nasty case of Tourettes, who can sing like gold. I will care less about the homeless single mother with a Janis Joplin vibe and cool back tattoo. I won’t cry during auditions, or throw pillows at the TV in angst, I will sit back like the passive viewer I used to be three years ago.
Three years ago. What can be said? I was happy, healthy, and armed with sardonic wit about the crazy Sanjaya chick and the unexplainable fandom of David Archuletta.
If you do nothing else in your life, watch this video:
But then Season 8 happened and I fell in love with 16 year old Allison Iraheta.
Ok…marathon voting and crying when she was voted off…no big deal. Then Season 9 happened and I was introduced to Lilly Scott and Crystal Bowersox…
This was a very difficult year for me. Lilly was voted off early but Crystal made it to the finale and I never thought I could be more obsessed with a contestant until Season 10. Arguably the best season in the show’s history, with the weirdest indie-style, jazzy talents ever. I am weeping just thinking of Casey Abrams and Haley Reinhart.
OMG, I need to stop. Let it be known that my need to find videos for this blog entry turned into an hour of me watching and rewatching videos, while sobbing from the tears they all moved me to. I have a serious problem. But it’s important that you see this vulnerable, disturbed side of me because my obsession with Haley Reinhart last season, resulted in several fights with family members, near loss of friends, and two hour voting sessions. The judges hated her, HATED her, and other (jealous) people hated her amazing voice, her beautiful hair, her incredible legs…OK I admit it, I’m a bit lesbianic for her. I’m out and proud.
But seriously, everyone I was obsessed with was painfully, unbelievably talented in genres I actually listen to. I don’t care how indie, or anti-establishment, or hipster you are, you cannot deny the talent of the people above, and if you do, I will likely mail you a package of anthrax.
But I managed to stay composed during last night’s premiere. While I did have a few inexplicable smiles of insanity, explosions of unprovoked laughter, and the salty taste of tears streaming down over my lips in reaction to some inconsequential audition I don’t even remember right now, I’d say I kept it together pretty well. How I will fair the rest of the season, I cannot say.
I think it’s quite obvious that I have an illness. I’m not proud of it, just simply aware that I am not alone! Since I already congratulated the former group of people for their tight grip on sanity, I am going to applaud myself and the other dangerously fanatical people out there. You are NOT alone. I am here! Which you may not find the slightest bit comforting, but let’s face it. You’re obsessed with American Idol…what else do you really have at this point?
The girl who knows it is tacky to plug her own blog, within her blog, but still hopes if you enjoyed the “two sorts of people in the world” theme you will check out her other posts under the Sh*t I Write About section: two sorts of people in the world
“If it weren’t for beards I’d probably be a lesbian.” -Lena aka the girl with the blog (November 2011)
Beards. What is there to say about beards that has not already been said by me in a previous blog entry? Plenty. So today I am devoting the English language and my blogging efforts to beards. Why? Because I’m bored, unemployed, and considering taking testosterone injections just to have my own to play with. Join me on a journey of love, lust, and rabid devotion to the beard; the single characteristic responsible for my checkered past of dating Republicans.
In order to prepare you, dear readers, for the stimulating voyage of beard worship, I am going to share a few of my own, creative writings about beards, featured in my upcoming self-published literary debut “Strip down, you’re rocking a beard,” available now in my imagination.
I will start with two Insightful Acronyms Marking Profound Appreciation Toward Helping Erotic Traits Indefinitely Continue (IAMPATHETIC)
Right, right? Not even a little creepy that I wrote these…eh hem.
I shall continue now with two traditional Haikus:
Whiskers in the Wind
Scratchy facial pubes
Bushy sexy jawlines please
Destroy all razors now
I’m in Stubble
Boring dates with nice goatees
Poor romantic choices
Now that I have sufficiently roused your shared passion of beards and frightened you to your core, I shall move on. Let’s take a look at:
Famously, Fabulous Beards Throughout History:
No one rocked a beard better than humanity’s common perception of early man. With that ravenous, facial frock, it’s no wonder cavemen and women hardly kept their clothes on.
Jesus didn’t ‘eff around when it came to his beard. His constant access to fruity alcohol beverages wasn’t the only reason he was known as the LL Cool J of Nazarath.
(Ladies Love Cool Jesus, suckers!)
It wasn’t just his tall frame and “come hither” stare that drove the 1860 Electoral delegates into a passionate frenzy. It is a little known fact that after Abe’s 1865 assassination, Congress organized two memorial services in his honor; one for him, one for the beard.
Often referred to as”the quiet Beatle” George Harrison and his beard are the main reason I refer to him as “the sexiest Beatle.” I am so into his “Concert of Bangladesh” look, I found myself *gasp* waiting for Bob Dylan’s part to end, just to indulge on more of Georgie boy’s luscious facial locks. Myyyy Sweeeeet Lord!
Tom Hanks knows how to sport a beard. He does a lot, frequently when vying for an Oscar. All I can say is this: Forest was a mentally challenged running enthusiast who scored a slutty chick like Jenny. One might question, how he could pull off such a feat? Exhibit A: Bearding out all over the place. And then we have Cast Away. Don’t know the character’s name, don’t care. What I do care about is his ability to manifest a loving relationship with an inanimate object. That takes a lot of finesse. A lot of skill. You know what else? A lot of beard.
Hope for a Bearded Future
As you can see, beards, both modest and unruly, have been a constant feature sexyifying men since the beginning of time. But as a young woman in 2011, I fear for the future of beards. With the constant feminizing of men, with chest waxing, mani-pedi specials, and bathing, I fear that men will rapidly decrease their beard harboring. Frankly I don’t know if I want to bring my children into a world of baby-faced men, and if I can’t find an impressive enough beard, I probably won’t have the opportunity to!
So as a last stitch effort to promote the importance of beards, I ask all of you readers, who support my unhealthy obsession, to stand up now. If we are going to put an end to the fading popularity of the beard, everyone needs to chip in. Start by sharing this blog post with all of the non-believers of the world, promoting the conservation of the beard. If you know beardless men, particularly young ones in their 20’s, belittle their bare-face until they cry, followed by mockery of their tears and the reassurance that only growing a beard can secure their manhood once again. Do your part. I will do mine. And we can ring in 2012 with hairy faces and happy hearts.
The girl in need of psychiatric evaluation