I haven't been watching a lot of TV lately. Since I'm sharing it with my parents and their slight obsession with home improvement, home buying and home selling shows that come in two or three similar flavors with two or three slightly-varied names, that's mostly what I see. The writer's strike has helped ease the shakes of prime time withdrawal, as has not being able to record any shows to watch during ridiculously late hours.
But that's all about to change now that American Idol's back on. For the love of Daughtry, I just can't help myself. For the sweet sweet country crooning of Carrie Underwood, I can't tear myself away from even the awful auditions and embarrassing people all caked in glitter cream and unrealistic dreams of pop greatness.
While Lil E was wondering where Gina was in the line of people auditioning, I was worried about this disillusioned boy who got uncomfortable and uncontrollable laughter from Paula and Randy.
And did he really say that he wants to love a good woman from the hair down to their nipple? And that his current girlfriend says he is a "sexyface" and he's good with that? Maybe it was the intense rendition of that BeeGees song that made me wonder.
I'm just surprised producers didn't follow that up with a plea for this Yuka dude to wrestle nakey with some big hairy man they pulled out of line for some montage segment.
Ohhhhnonononono. And what I mean by that is, Oh yes. Oh hell yes. I'm not even missing awkward Izzie-George sex with this goodness going on.