Originally published February 02, 2007
It started in North Carolina. If it hadn’t been for North Carolina, this whole thing never would have happened.
I am, of course, referring to “American Idol.”
I managed to stay away from Simon, Paula, Randy and Ryan for a good four seasons.
When my parents began watching during the fourth season, I scorned them.
“It’s people like you who are contributing to the downfall of society, of quality entertainment,” I said, all high and mighty.
And then North Carolina happened.
As regular readers of this column may remember, I moved back to Maryland about a year ago after living in the Midwest for five years. Up until last October, I lived with my parents.
One January night in 2006, my mom mentioned that she had taped “American Idol” from the night before. She suggested I watch, as the auditions had been in Greensboro, N.C., home of the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, which I attended for three semesters before transferring to Illinois.
“Who knows, you might see someone you know,” she said. Unable to resist the lure of possibly seeing former classmates make a fool of themselves on national television (come on, you know you’d do the same thing), I watched.
Fans of “Idol” may recall the Greensboro auditions were particularly engaging.
First, there was Kellie Pickler, the innocent 20-something Sonic waitress from Albemarle, N.C. Estranged from her mother, her father in prison, she was raised by her grandfather. She was spunky, she was funny, and winningly naive. She bounced into the audition with her campaign slogan on hand — “Pick Pickler!” — and charmed the judges, and me.
Then there was little Paris Bennett, the 16-year old granddaughter of gospel singer Ann Nesby (“Sounds of Blackness”). Paris has a high speaking voice, and I thought for sure she was going to bomb. But she didn’t. She sang “Fever” like a seasoned veteran of soul. The thing that got me about her was that she was so young. Always perfectly poised on stage, she was still a young teenager, and therefore, possessed a very real vulnerability.
Needless to say, after watching those two audition, I was hooked. I had to see how far they went. As it turns out, my interest paid off — both Kellie and Paris made it to the top 12; Kellie finished sixth and Paris fifth.
Along the way, more “Idol” contestants won me over. Elliott Yamin, who finished third, remains my favorite “Idol” to date.
So yes, I fell prey to “Idol.” I got swept up in the fever that captures the nation from January to May every year. I’m not proud of it, and often refer to “Idol” as my ultimate guilty pleasure. It may be fodder for the masses, but it sure is entertaining.
Here’s the thing — I never watch reality television. I’m aware that there is some decent reality programming out there. And it’s hard to ignore. But what can I say? I have no desire to watch people eat bugs, build homes or get makeovers.
This is why “American Idol” caught me by surprise. I never expected to get caught up in the frenzy. And yet, here I am, a year later, watching the auditions, hoping to find the next Kellie Pickler or Elliott Yamin. As of this writing, no one has even come close. But I have faith someone will emerge from the woodwork and win my heart for a season.
The rest of the shows on my DVR programmer are fairly high-brow, (with the exception of my other guilty pleasure — “Desperate Housewives”) so I think I’m safe for now.
But if I ever become captivated by a group people playing mind games with one another while trapped inside a house in order to win $1 million, send help.
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'Idol'atry (Nice Kellie Read)
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