Idol dirty. Need soap.

It's 7 AM and I'm already working on my third cup of coffee. My mind's been working overtime, mostly trying to figure out the specifics of my next novel. It will be a sequel to the one I just completed (called Distortions, it's my fourth novel), but I don't want to write anything until I've gotten a better sense that Distortions will be published. It's a little frustrating, since my ideas are rampant and way cool. If I ever do write this sequel, it will rock the block, I'm sure of it.

But I digress. This is a follow-up to yesterday's post, '(Almost) Done with American Idol.' Seems I was off-base in my prediction of the final results, but I was on-base with my thoughts on the gratuitous on-the-fly revising of the show's rules. If Ryan Seacrest said it once, he said it at least three times, by my count. 'These are random results.' (I'm paraphrasing).

In other words, Kris Allen, who was returned to safety first, wasn't the top vote-getter. No huge surprise there. As I stated yesterday, at this point talented singers will have to go home; so I shouldn't have been surprised that Allison Iraheta was the one to go. I suppose 'disappointed' is more appropriate, because who doesn't want to see a 17 year old step onto the train to stardom? It's a nice story, but nice stories don't sell and someone had to go. In other words, no big surprises last night, not even Ryan Seacrest's repeated stressing of randomness. An obvious and expected ploy, to try to inject some drama into the show. Really, producers?

American Idol is the perfect candidate for the next hit daytime soap. Seriously, the contrived plots and preposterous cast of characters are ripe for a Daytime Emmy. Randy Jackson as the loveable yet goofy protagonist; Kara DioGuardi as the conniving yet innefectual temptress; Paula Abdul as the (dare I say it?) blonde bimbo saddled with dialogue crafted by four monkeys, two typewriters and a mime; and (of course) Simon Cowell as the moustache-twirling villain. Notice I didn't mention Seacrest. In the aforementioned soap, he'll be replaced mid-season by David Hasselhoff; and within two years - after falling down an elevator shaft - his diminutive Seacrestiness will be revived in the form of an evil twin, played with aplomb by Zac Efron.

The next General Hospital? Or is Days of Our Lives more in-line? You tell me. I'll even propose a name for the show. American Suicidol. Okay, it's not sexy, but let me remind you of paragraph 1, sentence 1. I'm only on my third coffee. Geez.

So Danny Gokey and Adam Lambert are safe, but the feeble tension that remained after Ryan Seacrest's 'random' results should still leave us with that unsettling feeling. You know, the one that begins in the pit of your stomach after too many chili cheese fries. The unsettling feeling that this season still has two more episodes. TWO more!

I really, REALLY hope that the rumored tantrums by DioGuardi and reported hints that this will be Simon Cowell's last season are true. First, because I don't like DioGuardi, not even one bit; and second, because although I like Cowell and his acerbic honesty, his departure should signify the show's timely demise.

Regardless, I do believe I'm done with the show, after I force myself to see this season to conclusion.