Agony, ecstasy, and idolatry (part two)

Time to kill and money to burn

"There is no longer a lock down," Simon Fuller told us. "You are allowed to come and go as you please. However, be aware that auditions could start as early as Tuesday afternoon. If you're not here and you've been in line, you'll have to go to the very back and face the possibility of not getting to audition." Simon could have told me that a thousand horny prison inmates would be allowed to make a urinal out of every orifice in my body if I left and I still would have hightailed it to the La Quinta. At 2 a.m., Tricia and I returned to our sanctuary and enjoyed a glorious sleep. The next morning, after a typically limited (but free) continental breakfast, Tricia and I returned briefly to the stadium. After announcing to our family that we were headed to the Galleria (so I could purchase an entirely different outfit), we hit the road. Deb would call us if we missed any breaking announcements. Our first stop was Todai, an all-you-can-eat gourmet sushi buffet. Then we headed to the Galleria. Specifically, Express Men, in which I purchased a vintage long-sleeved shirt and a pair of funky jeans, as well as a leather wrist cuff. We also stopped by Godiva to purchase some chocolate for "Mom," a drugstore to buy some Bendryl for a girl whose lip had been bitten by a mosquito over the course of her cold floor slumber in Minute Maid Park, and Anthropolgie to reward Tricia for her unfathomable patience. By the time we returned to Minute Maid Park, rumors had circulated that auditions would begin around midnight. It was 4 in the afternoon, and Tricia and I decided to head back to the La Quinta and get in as much sleep as possible. We invited Angie in light of the fact that she had slept on suitcases the night before. While Angie slept and Tricia shopped at Ikea, I remained unable to sleep. My thoughts focused solely on my first audition. In 12 hours, I would either be continuing through the competition or going home.

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me

We returned to Minute Maid around midnight. The baseball field had been covered with a portable floor. Twelve separate tables were set up. Patrick and Mandy told me that these stations would hold round one auditions. In front of the entire stadium. Despite the rumors, auditions began nowhere near midnight. Even though I needed some sound sleep, I sat up in my chair. Deb couldn't sleep either. However, I wasn't about to risk my voice by talking, so I sat straight up, pondering the fate of each person I'd met and making deals with God about my own victory. At this point, the most annoying person I met during the entirety of my voyage approached me. He was a chubby, Gothic looking gorilla with all the aesthetic pleasure of Elephant Man in the midst of an unpleasant bowel movement. Despite the towel tied around my neck and the hood of my sweatshirt firmly covering my head (not to mention the "Fuck off" look on my face), it appeared I was lonely and wanting to chat. "Isn't it ridiculous how some people twirl their voices instead of actually singing?" he asked (although his questions were always in the form of a finite statement). "Yeah, I haven't heard a lot of singing here," I replied. "What? There's a lot of singing here. Maybe you're only hearing the bad." "Yeah, probably," I said. This perpetually contradictory exchange continued despite such strong statements as "I have no desire to talk to you," "All I want to do is sit here and think," and "I wish you would hemorrhage and die before my very eyes." "What song are you singing?" he asked. "I don't know." "You don't know? See, that's why so many people like you are cut after the first round. You're uncertain about your voice." "Oh." "As for me, I'm singing Bohemian Rhapsody. No one else here would touch a song that challenging." "Yeah, that's a wonderful performance piece." (he breaks into song without being asked) "Mamaaaaaaa, just killed a maaaaaaan, put a gun against his he-ha-hed, pulled my ta-riggggggggg-eeeeeeer........now......he's.....UHDEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD." "Dear God." "Thanks." "Noooo...'Dear God' as in bad. Do you not realize that 90% of your song is twirling...and that you're flat....and you sing out of your nose...and you look like American Gothic, not American Idol?" "See, that's another reason why someone like you would never make it in this competition. You're all appearance. I'll bet you can't even sing. I actually have talent, and I know what song I'm singing." "Wow, great, fuck off Donnie Darko." As much as I hate to cut ahead and spoil the suspense, I will say that American Gothic did not make it past the first round. Despite the essence of karma, I applauded and whistled when I saw him take the walk of shame the next morning.

Primping...hobo style

Not wanting to miss any last-minute announcements, I relegated myself to the stadium for the remainder of the time until auditions. With my travel bag full of hair and face products, Tricia and I did my hair. And makeup. Yes, makeup. You see, I, too, was the victim of a bug bit during my brief slumber on the floor of Hell. With bronzer and bed head applied in only a matter of minutes, I had nothing to do but wait until my audition. Unfortunately, I still had no idea what song to sing. That's when Simon Fuller made yet another announcement that changed everything.

Brother dark brown hair surprise

"We like cheesy pop songs," Simon told us. "This isn't Nashville Idol or Gospel Idol or Broadway Idol. It's American Idol, and we like cheesy American pop songs." Thus, my decision was made. I practiced "Sister Golden Hair Surprise" and perfected my stage presence. As the judges slowly but surely began appearing at their respective stations on stage, Mandy and Patrick warned me about which judges (producers) were harsher than others. Ultimately, it's not up to the contestant as to who will hear his or her singing. A peon for American Idol takes a look at you and tells you for whom to audition. Simon Fuller was the "looks" man. Beth was an "ugly-but-might-have-an-exceptional-voice" judge. The others were equally unilateral in their decision-making process. Secretly, I hoped the peon would tell me to try out for Simon.

The part where Kelly Clarkson wishes me luck

I can quarantee I'll be on camera this season. You see, to film the introduction to the Houston episode, the camera pans throughout the entire audience. Few people on my side of the stadium wanted to stand up because we had been in line the longest. I, however, was not about to pass up the chance. So although I'll be a blip on the map, you'll see me. You'll also see a horribly cheesy and disgustingly staged moment in which Simon Fuller introduces us to "Someone who wants to wish you luck." We looked up at Minute Maid's video monitor to see a filmed message from Kelly Clarkson. Apparently, the first time we saw this message, we were not enthusiastic enough. So, with considerable direction, Simon told us to "watch it a second time, and act really surprised, like you've just won the entire competition." In light of my lack of sleep, I decided to really ham it up. Once I saw Kelly's exuberant face this time around, I jumped, screamed, and started crying. "Oh my GOD, it's KELLY!" Again, if I'm seen in this moment, it will be as a blip on the map.

Round one...Chase vs. Simon Fuller

The process of round one auditions was quite simple. One by one, contestants were to approach their appointed auditioning station. Depending on the judge, contestants would either audition solo or take turns in groups of three to five. At each table sat a judge, his assistant, and a camerman recording everything on a small digital camera (for insurance purposes only, we were informed). After your 30 seconds of singing, the judge would immediately tell you whether or not you advanced to the second round. If you advanced, you were to go the left of the judge's table and move to the far left of the stadium for everyone to see. If you were cut, the assistant snipped your wristband (which under no circumstances was anyone allowed to keep), and you faced a long walk to the right, to the stadium exit (also for everyone to see). One by one, each row of the first section of seats went to meet their fate. Out of the 500 people who auditioned from that first section, 10 advanced to the next round. People I'd heard with brilliant voices to match John Lennon and Mariah Carey were cut left and right. Those with God-awful clothes and nauseous hair color advanced. Apparently looks far outweighed vocal talent. Eventually, my row was told to head down to the baseball field. Mandy, Patrick and Ben had been in the row in front of me, so Angie and I faced that terrifying walk together. I was told to audition for Simon Fuller, as was Angie. With about six groups of three before me, I felt calm. A friend from my karaoke bar told me to act like I was hot stuff and that my singing would reflect it. So I tried my best. I warmed up a bit but preferred to watch those in front of me. Over and over, Simon told them "Thank you, but we're not taking anyone from this group." And then, just a few feet in front of me, stood Edgar. After only five seconds of his "audition," Simon winked at him and said, "Oh God you're horrible!" Then he advanced Edgar to the second round. Just before my turn, I heard the guy behind me nervously working on his song. I immediately recognized the lyrics. He was singing "We Shall Be Free," and he sounded God-awful. Finally, my turn. I was on the far left, which meant I would sing first. I sang the first verse and chorus of "Sister Golden Hair," never once looking away from Simon. I felt wonderful about my audition. Every note was pitch perfect. I had expression to spare. And I liked my look. Once the other two people in my group sang, Simon looked at us, smiled and said