Idol Thoughts

I nearly made it through my entire life without watching American Idol. Evidently, the show is ending, having suffered a loss in ratings and maybe a victim to the glut of similar shows which offer the same thing only somewhat different.

I sure enough like music but when I first heard about it and the peanut gallery aspect of watching truly talentless people sacrifice their dignity (perhaps) actually thinking they had talent, going on stage to be abused by a prissy Englishman, I just couldn't see myself getting into such a program. Several years ago you couldn't help but at least be somewhat aware of the show as it got a lot of mention in all media. Yes, delusional people went on stage and warbled horribly, making people wonder if they truly believed they could sing or if they just didn't mind embarrassing themselves to be on TV. The deal was viewers could wade through many episodes of that vulgarity, mocking the losers before some obscure young man or woman stepped on stage outa- nowhere- and really wowed the Englishman, the black dude and the Laker Girl. Then, it would all be worth it.

Eh, not for me. I made plans to never actually watch the show.

The best laid plans of mice and Ferrerman being what they are, I found myself on the road with Frank Vaginalicker (not his real name) and forced to watch Frank's favorite show. Well, forced by boredom, actually.

We were in Dothan, Alabama doing a warehouse and Frank was the foreman. He was a Chicago guy, like me and I figured we'd get along pretty good on this trip. I already knew Frank from work but hadn't actually worked that much with him and, though I had been warned about him, he was nobody I couldn't handle.

"Wait until he starts talking that shit" Ronnie Somebody admonished. Ronnie had been on the previous excursion with Frank and refused to return with him. 'Talkin' shit', I thought. I'd have no problem putting Frank down if he wanted to fight. I wondered why a big dude like Ronnie would see that as a problem.

Well, 'talkin' shit' turned out to be a literal conversational affliction for Frank Vaginalicker. Three or four Budweisers and half a joint caused him to be damn near incoherent. He babbled. Worse, he was one of those people who finished EVERY sentence with: "...ya know what I'm saying?" Half the time I did not know what he was saying and the other half I sorta did but didn't care. Worser part of this was he expected a response to "...ya know what I'm sayin'?" He'd fucking keep asking until you responded.

Yeah, Frank I do indeed know what you're saying. It's seven o'clock. I get that. I've got a fucking watch myself. Yeah, I hear ya. Yeah, OK, time for Idol. Of course you're an excellent driver....

Sheesh! THIS is what Ronnie Somebody meant! Why couldn't Frank just want to fight like other drunken idiots? Why did he want to talk and make sound checks?

Frank made it very clear that Idol was the best show, EVER! Know what I mean? We were gonna watch Idol and he was sure I would love it. Know what I'm sayin'?

It sucked. They happened to have been in Birmingham Alabama doing the fodder segment of the formula and, if you've seen one talentless idiot who thought they could sing, sing, you've seen them all. It was one of the worst hours of my life but, I survived. Frank was one of those people who, having no control over their own life, leapt at the chance to control others. When I had worked with him back in Memphis, he was very accomodating. A good guy. That's why I thought we'd bond just fine on the road. Though he was a Sox fan and a bit younger than me, we could talk about Chicago stuff- deep dish pizza and the like.  Everybody's different on the road. Though Memphis was full of titty bars, I had never been to one. I'm a huge fan of naked women but not of spending $600 dollars for a handjob from one like I had heard too many strip club stories about. I'm a do-it-yourselfer. Titty bars just seemed like a terrific way to blow your paycheck without actually getting blown in the process. (NOT a diy'er there, thank you!) But, on the road, you do stuff like that. Everybody drinks too much and even I smoked a bit of weed. Frank also decreed that we would go deep sea fishing as we were a couple hours or so from Florida's Panhandle and, goddamn it, we were going deep sea fishing whether we we liked it or not! And we were gonna listen to country music in the truck. Frank was burned out on classic rock and was into country music. So, he hoped that me, Benji and Jorge liked country music because that was ALL he wanted to hear.... Sheesh. Bengi was Mexican, Jorge, Nicauragian. No way to treat guests.  I could tolerate country just fine if a rock station was on commercial. Pobrecito amigos! Lo siento!

I don't recall if it was a week trip or two but, before it was over, I had a junta with the amigos and we agreed to a revoluccion. We would not return to Alabama with Frank. The boss would just have to see the pattern here with that and Ronnie Somebody's asessment of Frank. Not a bad guy...but...DO NOT go on the road with him.

As it turned out, Frank wasn't destined to return to Dothan regardless. He had to go back to jail either for his DUI's or an assault on his stepson, I forget. The next trip was with Bobby Booooosssss at the helm and is an insane story for another day. I'll never forgive Frank for ruining my perfect streak of never having watched American Idol.

But, if I ever see Frank again, I'd have a beer with him and catch up. I'd just bail on him after that first one. Know what I'm sayin'?