I’m so happy for my girl, Jordin Sparks. Perhaps I’ll soon get sick of that enormous smile plastered on billboards everywhere, but for now, let me have my moment. American Idol is so wholesome and manufactured — there are no limo-ride sobs, racist tirades or obligatory skinny-dipping footage — and yet I still love it. Jordin, who’s (have you heard??) only 17, is so fresh and moldable that it’s exciting to see where she’ll end up (most predictably, 40 pounds lighter and partying it up with Mary Kate and Ashley in the pages of US Weekly). Tonight, the possibilities are boundless. It’s only with a tinge of shame that I say I believe American Idol brings the world together. At work, each week, we would convene over lunch to discuss Haley’s (aka Celine Dion) 99 cent garment district earrings, Chris’ (aka JT) annoying bounce and Phil Stacey’s (aka Powder) creepy powderness. But it’s more than just water cooler substance. If you wanted to feel like you still had a few leftover brain cells in there, you could hop onto the LA Times or Washington Post websites to find in-depth commentary on the beloved singing competition by some of the best entertainment writers in the business. And, I suppose what’s most meaningful to myself was that it was something I could watch with my folks (which, in this day, qualifies as “family time”) for two or three (OK, more like 1.5 — TiVo) hours a week. All that is now over. At least for the season.
Now what?
