This is Highly Irregular

I sat down to watch American Idol this evening for the express purpose of seeing the much-maligned Sanjaya in action. I haven’t been watching this season, because I’ve come to the realization that this show, addictive though it may be, requires too much of a time commitment. Between the actual performances, the results show, and hours spent reading up on/discussing the contestants, I think I’d spend more time on it than is truly healthy. I could be reading! Writing! Baking delicious treats! Organizing the parasitic shoeblob that has sunken its stiletto teeth into my closet floor! Granted, I don’t do any of these things with my freed-up Idol time, but knowing that I could definitely fills me with a strange sense of satisfaction.

All of this to say, of course, that this boycotting Idol was a futile endeavor, as trying to avoid…Idol chatter (hee!) is like trying to board a subway without getting accosted by a hobo. You know, if you’re me. (Not the most universal of analogies, but apt all the same.) The radio guys J & I listen to in the car on the way to the train each day are disturbed by their own Sanjaya fixation, alternating between wanting to make out with him and wanting to kick him in the face. My work friends loathe him. Everywhere I go, people are talking about him, primarily negatively. It was inescapable, and so I decided to see just how disturbing his performance was.

Well.

The kid is bad, there’s no getting around that. He has an unfortunate Farrah Fawcett ‘do, his voice is godawful, and his sweater sleeves HAD ACTUAL THUMBHOLES. LIKE, HOLES. IN THE SLEEVES. FOR HIS THUMBS. TO GO THROUGH. THUMBHOLES, PEOPLE. I can’t even talk yet about the pre-teen girl who wept joyfully during his performance, and got to hug him afterwards; I'm still in shock. Furthermore, the judges didn’t even think he was so bad tonight, which likely means his reign of terror will continue for the foreseeable future.

However...

He is FAR from the most disturbing thing I saw during the show. I’ve searched high and low for some evidence of what I’m about to discuss, but to no avail, so you’ll just have to take my word for it. *Doo do doo!* [For those of you not presently inside my head, that was the Reading Rainbow sound effect.]

I had TiFaux’ed the show, and began to watch about 20 minutes into it; unfortunately, the taped portion soon caught up to the live broadcast, and I was stuck watching the whole thing, commercials and all. One in particular caught my eye:

Plinky-plink guitars play in the background. Voice-over lady (“VOL”) sexily utters words as they simultaneously curlicue across the screen:

VOL: Primp! [Woman applies mascara]

VOL: Coif! [Different woman shakes out her hair]

VOL: Gussy up…[Third woman applies ill-advised coat of intensely orange lipstick]

VOL: …Your insides! With Metamucil!

Then one of the ladies playfully kick her legs in a pool, another falls in slow motion on some artfully arranged pillows and blankets or something, but really, who the hell knows because I was just told to GUSSY UP MY INSIDES.

Who wrote this?

And what, exactly, would gussying up said insides entail?

I think I want to throw up.

No, I think I’ll lie down.

No, wait; first throw up, THEN lie down.

GROSS.

There’s only one evil genius out there so diabolical, so calculating, as to have crafted this commercial. Only one who could’ve created copy that makes no sense whatsoever, add an unreservedly ridiculous tagline, sneak it past God knows how many rounds of focus group testing, and get it broadcast on national television to millions of people.

Sanjaya.

I’m on to you, sucka.

*********

Hey, guess who finally got her bangs? I’m not sure yet if it was a good idea; haircut pictures to follow tomorrow.