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Forgive the MANY outdated pop references.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....