Would it make a sound? A peep? A whimper? A winkle? (provided by 12-year old looking over my shoulder).
Me: Hey, what will we do Tuesday night now that Idol is over.
Him: I don’t miss American Idol.
Me: Hey, I don’t miss it either.
Last year, it seemed there was a void after the Tues/Wed one-two punch of Idol was over. We didn’t really like either finalist, but we had been hooked on the process. But this year, we really didn’t care.
Hmmm. Why is that? There just wasn’t much drama this year. No transplanted Southern girl with a daddy in jail learning about California cuisine. No old-looking guy who surprised us all, until we go so tired with his “whoo!” and “soul patrol” shouting. No shock when the shoo-in arrogant Rocker was booted.
This year, it was just, well, kind of dull. Dull songs. Dull contestants. The judges were dull. Paula stayed sober, Randy stayed within his SlimFast® goal, and Simon used the same, tired schtick about karaoke and a bad high-school performance (DIY British accent). The winner was so safe. Yes, she sang well, but she couldn’t move without looking completely uncomfortable. And the guy who was taking a chance, was even more calculated. A masterful chess game for him, but just not enough oomph.
Sure, there was a Daughtry-esque turn when this year’s shoo-in got booted. But it wasn’t REALLY a surprise. At least not to us.
So, we ended up watching our last TiVo’d episode of Idol. Fast forwarded to the end when the host had the two finalists on the stage. He said that there were a large number of votes and then.
Well, nothing. American Idol went on past the safety record time. So we didn’t know the winner. And instead of being upset, we laughed. Because we really didn’t care. Now THAT’s apathy.