Tiny Seacrest

I watched the American Idol finale tonight. Go ahead, make fun if you want. I can take it. I used to consider myself a bit of a music snob. I was never one of those hipster kids who listened to indie music exclusively, but I was of the opinion that everything on the Top 40 radio was total and complete bullshit. I was an occasional closeted Idol watcher throughout the years. Kelly Clarkston was great. My ex was locked up during the Carrie Underwood season, so I could watch without getting a pop music died in the 80s lecture.

I barely watched this season. After the Colombian chick was kicked off, I decided the 12 year olds who spend the night jamming up the voting lines could have the champion. I knew where the real talent was. Some kid named Scotty won. I remembered seeing him earlier in the season. He was the assembly line country guy, but since he held his own with Tim McGraw tonight, the assembly line will be gold-plated. The whole thing was a little weird, really. The other finalist was a girl named Lauren and they were both very chicken-friend Southern types. Maybe that’s who votes the most. Mouth breathers must love Idol. Maybe next year some banjo playin’ Deliverance kid will audition.

I love how any super star out pimping a new album or tour makes an appearance on the show. Beyonce, Gaga, Tim McGraw, Tom Jones, and my personal favorite, Tony Bennett. He was the cutest thing ever. The TLC thing got a little weird, very left field. And I’m not sure if Left Eye actually died in a car wreck or if T-Boz ate her.

That was really mean. Sorry.

It was going to the finale two years ago that helped me mend my relationship with pop music and realize that just because something is mass marketed or on the radio doesn’t mean it is terrible.

In May 2009, I received the awesome early birthday present of tickets to the American Idol finale and after party. I hadn’t watched any of that season, but sort of knew what was going on thanks to co-workers and general media coverage. I needed a vacation and a few days in LA sounded perfect. The tickets were in the 20th row and the buzz was that there would be amazing star performances. My travel companion and partner in crime for the trip was Tim, a super fun family friend. My roommate, Chef Boy, made some joke about taking care of Alli if I died in an earthquake. We actually landed during a small earthquake. Chef Boy felt kinda bad about that.

It was Paula Abdul’s last season so Tim and I were praying that Paula would be fall off the chair loaded. She was not. Sigh. Ryan Seacrest was tiny. Adam Lambert was brilliant. The whole night was brilliant really. We saw Jason Mraz, Black Eyed Peas, Queen Latifah, Lionel Richie, Cindi Lauper, Rod Stewart, and KISS perform. Now, seeing KISS almost put me over the edge. I was screaming like it was 1979. And then, during the commercial break, a large banner dropped and covered most of the stage. Tim and I were having a, “Oh my lord, can you believe we just saw KISS” moment and experiencing general bliss, when I saw him. I wouldn’t mistake the skinny man with the big black hair. Brian May walked on stage. I started pounding on the arm of the man sitting next to me and said something unholy about just seeing Brian FUCKING May. Sigh. Lambert killed “We Are The Champions” with Queen.

The after party was great, too. We were able to meet a bunch of the finalists, we danced, we ate great food. Tim enjoyed the open bar. The whole energy of the show and the party was amazing. I hadn’t been to a major live show in over a year, so it had been a while since I had had that type of joyful crowd experience. I couldn’t believe I had so much fun. Really, I couldn’t. It was such a good lesson about not being cool or worrying about what other people think. If ya like something, ya like it. Period. It’s funny how rigid I used to be in my open-mindedness…

The bitches like all types of music. They are the chosen audience when I play iPod karaoke. The current favorite is Bohemian Rhapsody or anything Michael Jackson. Joey also likes dancing to Single Ladies. I grab her front paws and sing, “You’re a stinky pubin, you’re a brown head bubbin.”

I really need to pitch my life as a reality show. There is definitely an hour a week of entertainment here…