What You See/Read Isn't Always What You Get

Online profiles and communication are a forum where what you see isn't always what you get. 

And it's the same with what you read.

So there was a post a while back where I referenced this email I recieved:

"So, obviously you passed the aesthetics test or shallow men (such as myself) would never contact you, but a buddy of mine was looking over my shoulder and claimed that – without a doubt – your profile looked to have been written by a guy; it’s just too perfect, minus the incompletion. He claimed that any account with so little information is a dead giveaway. I came to your defense, of course, but now we’ve got a $20 bet going as to whether or not you’re real. So I wondered, just between us, am I about to lose $20?"

And someone named Brandon(glad you stopped by, Brandon! Thanks for reading!) commented on my post informing me that this is HIS line that he wrote on a site that apparently gives opening lines for online sites! 

(check it out here) 

So it was a total rip off!!

Brandon- way to be original...or were you? 

(Now I'm suspicious!!)

Guy who wrote me the email that I never heard from again- for shame. 

I'm constantly ammending my list 

of what I'm looking for. 

My rote answer has always been, 

"I'm looking for unabashed adoration."  

Now I'm going to add, "Non-plagiarizer"

to my list...

Critical Thinking

American Idol aside, I must return to the primary reason for my blog. 

Dating.

***

From the internet.

***

(gag)

One of my sisters told some mutual friends that she has never seen someone as critical as me when it comes to the opposite sex. 

My response-

 At least I have a really great profile, and am not putting out things like these men are:

Prepare to be impressed!

I am the type of man women only dream of. I am:

• Spiritual,trustworthy, honest, possessing a great deal of integrity

• Unselfish, thoughtful, giving, considerate, selfless

• Mannerly, gentlemanly, chivalrous, courteous, respectful, classy

• Extremely mature, very responsible, on-the-ball, detail-oriented

• Highly motivated, extremely hard-working, driven to accomplish and succeed, organized

• Committed, loyal

• Intelligent, highly capable, confident, efficient

• Friendly, likeable, witty, enthusiastic

• Good listener, communicator, conversationalist

• Romantic, affectionate, passionate

• Know how to treat others properly, especially women and children

• Like to dress up

• Good kisser =0)

• Unselfish lover 

• Financially secure

• Athletic, health-conscious

• Gentle, yet strong

• Immaculate housekeeper and gardener

• Accomplished pianist, able to play the organ

• Good cook

• Careful manager of money

Notice humble isn’t on his list. 

How about this guy:

I am looking for a perfect 10 in all respects (spiritual, intellectual, physical, maturity, responsibility, etc.) . I believe that the pursuit of perfection (in word, thought, deed, appearance, etc.), although not completely attainable on Earth, is the pinnacle of success in this life. If you feel the same, I am very interested in developing a relationship with you. I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Anyone else feel like he may produce infomercials or run self-help seminars on the side?

What about him:

I am a fairly well known published author and I own a Consulting / Financial Services Company that trades Oil / Gas. I am also a part time University instructor.

(Really? I mean, REALLY? All of these things?- I call BS! But then he goes on....)

I am a mixture between Orrin Porter Rockwell and Rhett Butler.

I am considered handsome by many and a great "catch".

So. I may be critical, but it’s only out of absolute frustration and only expressed to those closest to me... Oh. And to anyone who reads this... 

Rest assured, when I interact with the fellows I am a perfect angel. 

Can I help it that they are a bunch of freakazoids?

I was an English major in college. (It's where I learned words like "freakazoids"). My mother asserts that a learned skill in that major (because let’s face it, there aren’t many with that one) is Critical Thinking. I just can't help it. And with these to choose from, is it any wonder? 

AI: PART 3. SHE SINGS.

AND NOW, OUR EXCITING CONCLUSION!!!!

Finally, it was our turn. Our row went down to the floor, and into the lines. I couldn’t believe I was about to do it. I was thinking to myself that my friends and family were right. I couldn’t feel my feet I was so nervous. But then I thought to myself, Why not? Maybe even I could be the next American Idol! Maybe even I could have my 15 minutes! And so it was my row of four’s turn- me, my two friends, and randomly a girl from Orem. We handed them our release forms, and waited. 

They pointed to the girl from Orem. “Go.” She stepped forward, but all too soon she was done. And they pointed to Angie. “Go.” And then all of a sudden they were pointing at me. “Go.” It was my big moment. I took a step forward, and I sang the first line to “I Need a Hero“, from Footloose. 

“Where have all the good men gone,” I belted it out. “And…and…..” And I forgot the words. 

“Hold on a second…“ I tried to regroup. “Where have all the good men gone, and where….where….” 

I turned back to Angie and Allison. “I forget the words!” I whispered emphatically. They encouraged me, “Go on, your doing great, keep singing!” and so I tried one last time. “Where have all the good men gone….” 

It was useless. My mind was a blank. I then remembered the absurdity of the whole thing. I was standing there trying out for American Idol! And so I started to laugh. Hard. Our table of judges cracked the first grin I’d seen out of them. “I think I have wasted enough of your time,” I told them, and took a step back into the line, still laughing. 

When they gave us their decision they looked at the girl from Orem and said, “Not going to work.” Then they looked at Angie. “Not going to work.” Then they looked at me and smirked. “Really not going to work.” All that managed to do was make me explode into a whole new fit of laughter. After all, wasn’t a part of the show about being shot down, criticized, and made to look ridiculous? I had been mocked by an American Idol judge! I had conquered! 

The moment, captured on film. I'm turning around saying, "I forgot the words!!!"

Now My friend Allison’s experience is a whole different story. A music and dance major at college, she really had genuine talent. When she tried out the year before in New York City she had made it to the second cut, but not beyond. So this year she had an angle. Usually a conservative girl, singing jazz balads or show tunes, this year she broke the mold. She had ratted crimped hair, bright red lipstick, a gold sequined jacket, and a skin-tight black outfit underneath. She sang “Ballroom Blitz,” a 70’s rock song, complete with the rocker screeching. 

She got her yellow ticket!!

The judges at our table were intrigued by her. They asked her who her influences were. She said Shakira, Gwen Stafani, and Pat Benetar. They asked her what her image was. She said that she loved hard rock, and that there weren’t enough females in that particular genre today. She got the yellow sheet of paper. She was onto the next round. She had infiltrated the American Idol system. You could tell they wondered if she was for real. But you could also tell that they are all FOX producers. She was interesting, she was loud. She was ratings.

Only about 500 of the thousands there make it to the second round. The next day (day 3 of auditions for those of you counting) they were to return to the hotel. There they see Ken and Nigel, the main producers of the show. The duo told Allison that she was great. She made it to the next round, finally on to see the infamous Simon Cowell, the sweet Paula Abdul, and the big Dawg, Randy Jackson. They told her to come just as she was. “The hair, the makeup, the outfit! It is perfect! Come just like that!” they raved. 

Here is where the competition gets tricky. Remember, it is after all a television show. They want ratings, besides finding a real star talent. So in that group of 500 there were the William Hung’s of the world, along with the Reuben Studdards. The bad and the good. The crazy, the wacky, the horrible, along with the best talent. And even the best talent is only the particular “type” that they decided they want.

Only about 150 go on to see the three main judges over the next two days (day 4 and 5- we had to leave Allison in Las Vegas to go back to work). And the crazy, wacky, horrible people get through that cut too. So when you see them on TV. crying, incredulous to the fact that they are horrible singers, think of them making it through three cuts, in their audition city for several days, perhaps even a week, one of few picked out of thousands and thousands. Someone who thought they could be the one, when really they were just bad enough to be shown on TV. and be laughed at. The clause in the release form, “expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation,” made much more sense at that point.

Allison didn’t make it onto Hollywood. Paula told her that it was all wrong. She asked her, “Have you ever even watched the show? What do you think we are all about?” Allison countered by saying, “It is American Idol, not American Pop! There is room in music today for this type of thing!” But to no avail. Ironically, those of you who have been watching this season will know, there are two “rockers” on the show. Bo Bice and Constantine. Both tattooed up, long haired, tight leather wearing crooners. Perhaps Allison gave the producers an idea. Perhaps they needed to expand their genres to reach a larger audience. 

I realized in the middle of the day that the date was September 11^th. It was the anniversary of the horrible tragedy that befell our country. And here all these kids were, vying to be on TV, a pop sensation, a star. At first I thought it was almost sacrilegious that we were all there. I thought it disrespectful that these people were all so caught up in themselves, in stardom, in celebrity. But then I realized it could be seen as a celebration of the American spirit. Most of these people had come from nothing. Small towns, no future, and there they were believing that they could be something bigger. 

It was the largest representation of living the American Dream that I have ever witnessed. 

All these people were thinking it. You could see it in their eyes. The “what if” factor. They were all thinking, “What if I do make it. What if I do win.” And they all thought they could. And inside with them, after two days of being surrounded by them, I began to believe in them too. They could win. They could do it. Having that much drive and passion and real belief in themselves and their abilities, why not? We asked a few of those rejected what they would do next. The most common answer- “I’ll be back next year. I have to try again.” They weren’t phased by the experience. They would carry on. And with the audition eligibility age being raised to 28, perhaps, so would I.

THE END

I AM THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL: PART 2

We last left me on a hot morning in Vegas, making references to many an outdated pop phenomenon.  We now return, in line, to watch the spectacle unfold. Here is the much anticipated sequel!! 

(the crazy line)

After 5 hours in line, we finally were able to go inside. Only to get into another line. Another half hour or so, and we were signed in, had the wrist bands, and were given tickets with seat assignments where we were to go sit in the arena. We went and took our seats, along with the other thousands of hopefuls. 

(early early morning- Day 1)

Picture the E Center. And picture it filled to its maximum capacity. And imagine that all of those people really thought they were “IT.” That was my experience. On the floor of the arena there were 2 British men who began to address the crowd. Ken and Nigel (of recent “So You Think You Can Dance“ fame), the real powers behind Idol, the main producers for the show, asked if someone in the masses was going to be the next American Idol. The noise was deafening in response. Then they asked if there was the next William Hung in the group. Me and a few others yelled for that one.  

(forum shops)

We were to return the next day between four and six a.m., (welcome to show biz, they said) and sit in the exact seat we were sitting in then. That was when the first audition would really happen. And then we were released. Seven hours later, and one wristband richer, my friends and I went on to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory and shopping at the Forum Shops, while others had nowhere to go. 

(waiting for our turn: Day 2. Love how thin my arm looks...)

The next morning, again before the hot desert sun had risen, we arrived at The ’Orleans and took our designated seats. Once all the seats were filled, at about 6:30 a.m., they asked the crowd to sing The Pointer Sister’s hit, I’m so Excited. The cameras were there on the contestants for the first time, so everyone was excited. The words were given on a large jumbo tron screen, and the tens of thousands of us sang and danced and screamed. 

And then they asked us to sing it again. They needed different camera shots, different angles, they needed us to be even more energetic, even more lively. So we sang it again. And again. And again. By the 4^th or 5^th time around, the enthusiasm was lost. And then they asked us to sing the Elvis classic, Viva Las Vegas. And so we sang that song. (Or rather tried, as nobody knew the words to the verses. But we always nailed the chorus). And then we sang that one again. And again. And yet again. We were told that each audition city would have a musical montage, and a “theme song.” Sadly, when the show finally aired, there were no Pointer Sisters to be heard. All that was shown was one second of “Viva Las Vegas.” 

(the all access wristband. please note this is before I discovered the wonders of NAIR)

Then the “personal release” form was handed out to each one of us. We were to sign our lives away for that afternoon. As a reader/writer, the verbiage used in this form was fascinating. I, of course, took an extra copy home. Here are some of my favorite lines (emphasis added) “I understand that I may reveal, and other parties may reveal, information about me that is of a personal, private, embarrassing, or unfavorable nature, which information may be factual and/or fictional. I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Program may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing, or of an otherwise unfavorable nature which may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation….I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to broadcast and other wise exploit…d

epictions or portrayals in any manner whatsoever in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, or for any other purposes, throughout the universe in perpetuity…I agree to follow all of Producer’s rules…which rules are subject to change at Producer’s sole discretion…Producer reserves the right, exercisable at any time…to disqualify me from the program should I…fail to abide by the rules or regulations of the Program, or for any other reason or for no reason at all.” Basically it said that they owned our image forever and ever and into the eternities. And we all signed it willingly. 

(the audition line up)

And then, finally, it was time. In the floor arena area there were 10 folding tables, each divided by a small curtain partition. At each table sat two people, our first judges. The arena seating was in a U shape, and we were at the hump. They started at one end, and had a section go, row by row, single file, and line up 4 at each table. And then lined people up behind them, until each line had about 10 people. And then they started to sing. Each group of 4 would take a step forward to their table, and then the judges would point to one of them and say, “Go.” And then the person would step forward, sing for 20 seconds or so, and then they would say stop. And then they would point to the second person. “Go.” Each of the 4 would take their turn. Then all 4 would step up to the table and would hear “No, no, no, no” and their wrist bands would be cut off and they would have to exit the building immediately. You were not allowed to stay for any reason. Some left with their head high, some left in tears. But the common factor was that most left. If there was a rare, “Yes,” they kept the wrist band, and were given a yellow sheet of paper admitting them to the next round. The “yes” people went thru another door, amidst screams and cheers from the others waiting in the stands.

So all we had to do was wait for our turn. Easier said than done. It seemed streamlined, having 40 people trying out at a time. But it takes longer than you would think. We did not have our turn until around 4 in the afternoon. And we weren’t allowed to leave. So people started to wander around and talk to one another. The concession stands were open selling pretzels and licorice and soda. For me that was perfect. Seeing these auditions was the best spectator event I have ever been to. 

With all the time to kill most people began to rehearse in the hallways, bathrooms, stairwells- anywhere that wasn’t in the actual arena. Small groups formed where the contestants turned into critics. We watched many performances out in the hallway. And again, here I was thinking, “Who are these people?! They can’t be for real!” The cheese factor that existed in all of them was almost overwhelming. Picture an amateur musical production that you’ve seen in your life. The smiles are too big, the gestures exaggerated, the tunes a bit off key. But because of the energy, you can’t help but be entertained. 

We watched and critiqued many a performance. We got several people to change their song choices, to tone down their movements, or to take out that one extra run. There were some that wouldn’t perform for their competition. They would seclude themselves in a corner somewhere, and sing quietly. There were also those with the tape recorders, listening to themselves, critiquing themselves. I was asked many times that day to sing for the others. I just smiled and said, “I don’t want to make you too intimidated.” .....

OH THE SUSPENSE!!! WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I FINALLY SANG FOR THEM?

FIND OUT TOMORROW...

I AM THE NEXT AMERICAN IDOL!!

Sometimes you just don't want to write about the ridiculous dates you've been on. 

Sometimes you just don't want to write about the fools you are emailing.

Sometimes you just want people to read stuff you wrote.

So.


On the premiere of the 10th anniversary of my first real pop obsession, 

American Idol, I salute you. 

Here, dear readers, is the first in a THREE part series of the time I tried out for American Idol.




Thank you to this guy 
for first publishing it 
online after literally 
begging him to publish it 
for YEARS. 
It became a sort of running 
gag with me. And then it was 
still only printed online. 
Oh well. 
(also thanks for my Avatar.
I wish my legs really looked
like that in my skinny jeans.)

Forgive the MANY outdated pop references. 

(A prize to the reader that can guess from the  what year this was!)
Some of you have already read it. If you have, read it again while you watch the season premiere. : )

ENJOY.

It started slowly. I watched the last episode of American Idol, season one, with a friend. I saw Kelly Clarkson beat out the puffy haired guy and was intrigued. I thought that I might check it out next season. After a few weeks I was hooked; I did not miss a single episode, and at two nights a week, sometimes three, that is quite the commitment. I became a Clay Akin fanatic. I watched the show to vote for him, and even if I didn’t watch the show live, I would call someone who did to find out what number was his so I could vote. The next season my roommate and I would watch John Peter Lewis, wondering if BYU-Idaho was as generous with student’s personal information as BYU in Provo. And I cried when Fantasia sang Gershwin’s Summertime. 

There is a strange phenomenon that happens in pop culture today. I, like many of you I’m sure, thought that it was something that could only happen if you were an adolescent caught up in the frenzy. It is “The Scream.” Watch TRL on MTV for 5 seconds and you will know what I am referring to. “Hi, my name is- insert average name here- and I want to give a shout out to everyone in- insert small middle America town here- and I wanna see Britney Spears new video because she rocks! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!“ I would see these kids and wonder how any generation could be that obnoxious, let alone that one person. But I got sucked in. I screamed along with them. I became one of them: I went to see The American Idols in concert. I was given tickets as a birthday present, and besides the parents in the audience I was the only person there over the age of 16. There were posters and glitter galore. It was a spectacle. It was beautiful. 

Over the next summer I then became friends with another AI obsessee, Angela. She and her sister, Allison, had been in New York the summer before and, both being accomplished singers and performers, actually tried out for the show. It didn’t take us long to decide that this year they were going to try out again, and I was going with them.

Now I must explain something. I don’t sing. No, let me rephrase that. I shouldn’t sing, but I do all the time. I’m not awful. Fifteen years of piano lessons taught me a few things about music. But when I told friends and family members that I was going to live out my dream and try out for my favorite reality TV show I was met with laughter. “I know you, Linda,” a friend said. “You wont do it. You‘ll chicken out.“ All that managed to do was give me the guts to really go through with it. 

So it happened that Allison, Angela, and I drove down to Las Vegas on a hot Thursday night in early September, practicing our song selections as we sped through the desert. Then, Friday morning at 4 a.m. we went down to the ‘Orleans Hotel, just off The Strip. There were hundreds of people there already. The sun wasn’t even up and it was around 85 degrees. There were stanchions wrapped around and around, reminiscent of Six Flags, but nobody had any idea what the ride at the end of this line would be. There was no information given to those in line. They all believed that all they had to do was walk into the hotel lobby and there they would see Randy, Paula, and Simon, waiting to tell them that they were the next big pop sensation. In actuality, only about 2% of the people that try out in each city even get to see the Big Three. And if you do make it past all those cuts, it is a week long ordeal in whatever audition city you come to. But the ignorance of the crowd only created more energy and excitement in the air. 

Waiting in line for those long hot hours was the first of many instances where I found myself thinking, “Is this for real? Are these people serious?” The whole thing seemed completely absurd. And I would look around to see if anyone else found it as amusing as I did. It didn’t take long to realize that, with the exception of my travel companions, nobody did. Cameras were all over the place, and people with megaphones got the thousands of us to scream in unison. “I am the next American Idol!” “Viva Las Vegas!!” “WOOOOOOOOOOO!!” I was doing the damn scream again. I couldn’t help it. 

As the sun rose, I noticed the fashion choices. The large majority of people there were dressed to kill, with makeup melting in the sun. Pointy stilettos, large hoop earrings, and funky hats were a basic staple for the Idol hopefuls. Then there were those that had a gimmick to get noticed. One girl had a tee-shirt and a huge picket sign with her picture blown up on both, declaring that she was the next American Idol. Another girl was wearing a formal dress complete with tiara. One guy had on every color of the rainbow, and was carrying a large staff with a teddy bear impaled on top. (We enjoyed him, because once the line started moving, he tracked its progress.) 

When I started talking to those around us I became even more struck with the absurdity of the whole thing. We met a mother and daughter from Minnesota. They didn’t know that they would need to be in Vegas for more than one night, just for the initial audition. They had spent most of their money on dinner the night before, and the cab ride to The ‘Orleans. (They were staying at one of the cheaper motels on the outskirts of the city.) They weren’t sure if they would be able to pay for dinner that night, but it didn’t matter because that woman knew that her daughter needed to be there. She was going to win. 

We met an adorable 19 year old from Oklahoma. He had saved his money for the last year, working two jobs, and flew to Vegas all by himself. His church at home had the whole congregation praying for him. A religious 19 year old can’t do much hanging out in Las Vegas, but he didn’t care. He knew that he needed to be there. He was going to win. 

Two girls next to us were with a Southern California radio station D.J. They had won a radio contest to go to Vegas and try out, while the D.J. documented the whole experience for the radio show. While waiting in line the D.J. decided that he was going to audition along with the contest winners. He told us that they were unable to book a room for the next night, none of them had extra money, and they had no idea where they were going to stay. It is a good thing that Vegas never sleeps, they said. They didn’t care. They knew one of them was going to win. 

That is where I differed from the masses. I knew that I was not going to win.

With the sun high in the sky, I then noticed the people themselves. There were people from every ethnic background. There were people from every age possible within the contest restrictions, and beyond, with children and parents acting as entourage. They all looked so serious, as if they were above obsessing about a teen pop show. Yet there they all were. There were upper class, lower class, those who had spent their life savings to get there, and those whose bank account would barely be scathed by the expenses. 

Every person had a story. They had been taking voice lessons for years and knew they had the talent, or they always thought they were okay, and were now putting themselves to the test. They were there alone, or they were there with their whole family. The tragedy was, out of 30,000 people there that weekend they were only one. And chances were, and we saw, they were in truth, not going to win. 

The media marketing frenzy that was going on as the day wore on was out of control, over the top. FOX was on the prowl, handing out candy, key chains, paper fans, flyers, anything you can imagine, to promote their upcoming TV. season. They handed out little mirrors that had The Swan logo on the back. They had coupons to go to JC Penny and buy the American Idol fragrance, because even if you don’t make it as a star, you can still smell like one. At one point wrist bands were thrown into the middle of the line. As the line had progressed it was learned that we would all get wrist bands to then come back the following day. Everyone assumed these were the coveted bands, and a small frenzy ensued. Amidst screams and pushes, people grabbed for their band only to realize that all the band did was advertise the date of the Season Premier of the O.C. (That is when I pushed and shoved to get my band.) 

One former AI star was interviewing people in line. But nobody around us recognized her. We heard a lot of, “Oh my goodness! Its…that one girl!…” And, sadly, there was no Ryan Secrest. 

END PART 1. ARE YOU DYING RIGHT NOW TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED???
Stay tuned to find out....

Join me, Won't you?

Now it has come to my attention that I have inspired several other ladies to join online dating sites as well.   

I am amazed that I could influence anyone for anything. Usually I’m the one following the crowd. So I must be painting a picture that is pretty amazing. 

And I’m not sure how that happened.

Because ladies, if you are going to do this thing, you need to know what you are getting yourselves into.

Lest you forget, joining these sites has had me in these situations, or hearing these statements: (some you may remember, and some are new tidbits, but ALL are absolutely true)

• lost in the woods in the middle of the night and ignored
• “If we had sex you would get pregnant because I’m really potent”
• Gay, gay,  and gay
• “I have died 4 times, but have yet to remain dead”
• On his way to buy guns late at night in a parking lot from someone’s truck
• Didn’t grow from the time he was 2 until he was 17.

Just to name a few...

So ladies- 

Why are you wanting to get involved in this?  

What is it about my experiences that leads you to believe you will find love?

This is my advice. 

If you are looking for a great conversation piece, if you are looking for some great stories, if you are a person that sees life for how absurd it really is and can still just roll with the punches, then yes. Sign up. 

It is absolutely exhausting and ridiculous...

But I am still hopeful. I am still on the sites. I am still sending emails. I am still going on dates. 

So maybe it is absurd, but maybe I keep hoping it wont be. And for all of you that are new to the experience, I am hoping it wont be for you either.