the sandbox

The last time I watched American Idol, Clay Aiken was in a heated competition against a destined-for-stardom Ruben Studdard. By the end of the night, Studdard was "Flying Without Wings" into the hearts of American pop fans. That was 2003.

So the news that Kara DioGuardi-a Duke graduate-has expanded the triumvirate of judges to a foursome piqued my interest. How will this one-time Ivy League-wannabe and now-songwriter fit in with the bro, the Brit and the boozer? What sterotype will she fulfill? How will the show reckon with the fact that three is an infinitely stronger number than four? Most importantly, will she have awkward sexual tension with Ryan Seacrest? Better yet, will they get busy backstage?

After Tuesday's premiere (where an ultrasensitive Ryan tried to high-five a blind man), the blogosphere answered my questions. DioGuardi is a mean girl. And I ask myself, what sorority was the vamp in during her Duke days? What sorority was she not in? Why is she bitter? Is it because Jewel performed her songs?

Cut to Wednesday night. While frantically copy-editing today's paper, I attempted to endure part two of the American Idol premiere.

The jury's still out-HA!-on DioGuardi (she wasn't as mean as I hoped). Simon was more pretentious than even the worst of Pitchfork's reviews, Randy as confusingly verbose as ever and Paula still as sauced as Sitar's tikka masala. Cute bubble-tea makers sang their way into America's heart by way of Vanessa Carlton songs, producers manufactured drama and crackheads from Nowhere, Mo., had their hearts broken. Were it not for that "geeky Silicon Valley IT" guy (Anoop Dogg) I went to high school with crooning out Boyz II Men, I would have thought it was 2003.

What killed me most was not the stupidity of the show or the fact that I wasted two hours trying to psychoanalyze Kara DioGuardi, but they way I felt after the credits. I was one of those people that watched American Idol. A midwestern housewife tasteless enough to think the Sex and the City movie was good. Someone who eats Chef Boyardee or buys Kraft singles. For two hours last night, I was someone who watched American Idol.