Somebody Slap Me

A killer day of travel for my very innocent Thursday sojourn to Boston. The morning flight was delayed two and a half hours because they could not find the captain. I was hoping that he wasn't tucked away in some LaGuardia bar. Then, my 6PM flight from Logan did not leave till almost 10PM, as they couldn't find a plane. How hard is it for American Airlines to find equipment? And keep track of their flight crews? The disaster did provoke one great laugh as a fellow passenger on the return started to argue with the gate personnel because he was missing the season finale of Grey's Anatomy? Hey, Stupid, get a DVR and season pass a show so it will always be recorded for you?

Do I have to teach logic to everybody in this country??

With all this time cooped up in airport food courts, my mind started to wander a bit. I kept thinking about Melinda Doolittle's ouster from American Idol the night before. Beyond being the best singer in the entire competition, I found her quite engaging and grounded as a person. She'll be one of those Idols who does better than the ultimate winner. Where the hell is Reuben these days? I swear he scalps Laker tickets outside the Staples Center. Melinda's song stylings are essentially the type of music I like. I am waiting for the CD. She will be doing the Hollywood Bowl and Feinstein's. I am ordering a white wine to sip at the same time.

What I finally got with this cockamamie vote is that American Idol is no longer a singing competition. It's a popularity contest. Worse. It's the tenth grade class election. While I'm not disputing Jordin's musical gifts, she essentially has sailed to the finals because she reminds the core of the Idol audience of their best friend. The one you walk around the mall with and practice doing each other's hair with. Blake is the edgy boyfriend that is acceptable to both your friends and your parents. Dad would be amused to hear him sputter like a old carbine engine while sitting in the living room waiting for you to come down for your Shrek:the Third movie date.

The American Idol tour does phenomenally, but the venues must reek of Clearasil wipes. It's probably no different than Rugrats on Ice. The loading area where moms are picking up kids after the concerts must have a car line six miles long. Statistically, there was no way a 29-year-old expert singer of soul could ultimately win. It was the same reason why Chris Daughtry got the boot last year. Because those adults who are watching and fans of Melinda or Chris may join the geeky Pod people and vote once. The teenage girls, enamored of Sanjaya or Blake, take their cell phones and hunker down on their bedroom floors hitting speed redial like crazy.

And that's how somebody like Blake gets to the finals.

I'll pay a little less attention this year to the Idol finals. I'll probably flip between that and a Dodger game or Susan Lucci hawking necklaces on HSN. Unless Jordin goes completely full frontal, she will be the next American Idol. She'll wind up with a marginable CD and host next year's Kids Choice Awards on Nickelodeon.

But, I'm not as engaged this year because I've already lived through my shares of sophomore elections.

I didn't win then either.

You know Melinda's bounce is killing Simon Cowell, who genuinely wants this to be a singing competition. If Idol is serious about that, they would change the voting procedures. Indeed, some weight should be given to the judges' opinions. Simon's critique should have the most weight. Randy Jackson's thoughts should be weighted a little less. Tell Paula her opinions are important, but then ignore them.

But they won't monkey with the format.

Because somewhere someplace ATT and Sprint are making a fortune when some little Gidget in Ohio bangs "redial" on her cell phone about 500 times every Tuesday night.

Dinner last night: Burger King Whopper Junior in Logan Airport.