Proofed by KK, 8/5
CUT/Blake Lewis and Jordin Sparks will perform as part of the “American Idol” tour. Photo courtesy of Frank Micelotta (Fox Broadcasting)
American Idols Live
The Palace of Auburn Hills
7 p.m. Aug. 12
Uh, no. I am telling you: I’m not going. Just like I didn’t last year. And the one before.
This time around, though, as the “American Idol” clique dances, skips or, in Sanjaya Malakar’s case, shakingly shimmies into Motown to The Palace of Auburn Hills on Aug. 12, my reasoning is more rightly-justified. Even though my eyes were super-glued to the TV twice a week. And, again and again — for good measure — to YouTube.
But consider this: Thousands of screaming pre-pubescent girls, flailing their arms around like a drunken guy at a Pistons’ game and screeching every time “Idol” runner-up Blake Lewis unleashes his beat-boxing. And the hokey encore of winner Jordin Spark’s mashed-potato-mushy, celebratory “Idol” tune, “This is My Now.” And Sanjaya — the fruity ‘do-dude who alarmingly grabbed girly-girls by the ears with his often-off chops, and then made them cry.
Yep, I’ve just painted an axed scene from some shelved horror movie. Or was that whore? I guess if we throw Haley Scarnato into the warbler mix, then it’d be the latter. Which brings me to the last reason I’m avoiding this “Idol” circus: I’m tired of Haley’s long limbs. And there’s no way I’ll pay to see an encore of those.
Like some teenage, made-over Sharon Stone, Scarnato traded her ultra-blah voice for a leg show on “Idol” — sporting ass-tight skirts — as if the program went from sing-off to strip-off.
Sure, I’d dig seeing local LaKisha Jones — who a Palm Beach Post reporter called a “consummate professional” in concert — blow through a Whitney Houston song better than the tired diva finishes her own blow. And watching Melinda Doolittle thrust soul into a Tina Turner number would tickle me more than, well, griping about The Sanj.
But I can’t go. I won’t.
Consider this a warning. Odds are, however, that friends raced to scrounge up a group — and you’re part of it — when tickets went on sale. Or, more likely, you secretly say that. God knows, I would.