To make a long story short...

Instead of dragging out this rendition of I Tried Out for American Idol, I'll offer a blow-by-blow synopsis of my trip to Hawaii. Sigh, dear readers, the wait is over.

-Unlike the previous audition cities, the Honolulu line wasn't allowed to form until one day prior to the round one auditions (as opposed to the normal two-day lines). We arrived on a Saturday, and because the line didn't form until Tuesday, we used Sunday to visit Pearl Harbor. The Arizona Memorial is remarkable, yes, but the one thought that kept going through my mind was "Marcia Brady has been here."

-The next morning my parents dropped me off at the Aloha Stadium to claim my place in line. Within five minutes I learned that everyone else in line around me had tried out in another city. My new "family" consisted of Kapialoni, a beautiful Los Angeles girl (and married mother of one) who brought her aunt and mother-in-law along; Shawn, who could barely abstain from talking about himself for more than the bat of an eye; Nate, Shawn's friend who seemed forced into the audition process; Erica, a sassy and amusing sister from Atlanta; and Sonny, the only local among us with a humorous, comforting personality.

-Thanks to the kindness of Kapialoni's family, I didn't have to sleep outside Monday night. My parents picked me up and took me back to the hotel. The next morning we arrived with breakfast for everyone. Shawn was talking about how Paula had practically eaten him up at his last audition because, as he assured us, "I was awesome. Man, I hit this one crescendo with sooo much soul. It was awesome. When I knew I'd made it past round three, I did this awesome backflip in the middle of the hotel lobby. It was awesome. My friends were rolling, it was so awesome." When he told me that he'd made it to round three in the Dallas auditions of season two, I was at first reluctant to point out that season two auditions took place in Austin. But I resisted the resistance and pointed out his erroneous claim in front of everyone. "Yeah, Austin, that's what I meant. It was awesome."

-Blah blah blah, we eventually lined up in ten lines to audition for one of ten different judges. Losers walked to the far left, winners to the far right. My friends and I were in line one, meaning the walk of shame would be brief and the victory walk would be long. The line two judge was my old "friend" from Houston (the judge who said "no"). I tried to avoid his indifferent stare. Kapialoni made it to round two. Erica made it to round two. Nathan was cut. Then Shawn tried out. He was cut. Then I tried out.

-In the very last seconds before I auditioned, I decided to sing "Groovy Kind of Love." The judge smiled, said it was good, and asked me to sing another song. I sang "California" by Rufus Wainwright. The judge smiled again, said I'd traveled a long way from Oklahoma, and that I'd have a not-as-long walk to round two. I jumped up and down. I pretended to cry. I skipped all the way to round two.

-Out of 2,000 auditioners, 200 made it to round two the next morning at the Sheraton Waikiki, which was much closer to our hotel. I arrived at 8, filled out a bunch of interview papers, answered questions like "What was the toughest part of last year," and allowed dozens of creepy looking Fox employees to take my pictures. I made the local news on two of the three major stations and cringed when I saw each broadcast. Eventually my friends and I started auditioning for two stuffy British men (the executive producers). Kapialoni almost made it, but they said she didn't "move around enough." Erica almost made it, but they said her song didn't fit her register. Sonny made it, much to no one's surprise. So, knowing that if I impressed the British men then I'd get to meet Paula Abdul, I entered the hotel conference room.

-And, wow, were they harsh. They film the entire thing while a crew of six chatter in the background. One guy smiled after I sang "Groovy Kind of Love" and said to the other "Paula would love this one." The other said, "Yeah, but he just stands there. And he's white. We need some variety." So then, upon realizing that I was, in fact, in the room, they leaned in to each other and spoke in conspiratorial whispers while occasionally turning to catch a quick glance at me. So, they finally remembered me, looked at me and said, "You have a good look. You have a nice voice. But you don't move around much. You just stand there. You're very boring to watch." Realizing my odds, I siezed the opportunity to let my true colors show. "Oh, so you want me to move around?" I asked. "Yes, we did want you to move around, but you didn't. Sorry. Good day." "I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was American Epileptic. If you wanted people to convulse, you should be a tad clearer about that. Thanks for wasting my time." And I was spent! After two try-outs and a week's worth of torture across the country, I had no room for quibbles as insignificant as my body language. It's not as though I stood there. I moved my arms and upper body when appropriate. I'm sorry I didn't undulate all over the place.

-So, relieved to still have five days of vacation before me, my parents and I headed back to the hotel and spent the day on the beach. That night we met Kapialoni and her family for dinner at Duke's, which was a great recommendation from Jackie and Tricia. The rest of the vacation consisted of me avoiding my parents, me drinking exotic drinks, and me getting a tan. And one night, when I went out on the town with my fellow rejects, we ran into none other than Ryan Seacrest. He's short, big-eyed, and two times as annoying in person. Just ask his bodyguards.

-The next day, while shopping in downtown Honolulu with my parents, Seacrest and his entourage came our way. He was on his cell phone, speaking in his signature condescending tone.

-That night, while dining at Bali by the Sea, we were sat two tables from Ryan Seacrest, an unidentified male, and...bodyguards. I tried to eavesdrop on as much of the conversation as possible, but it was futile.

-So that's it. I'm still suffering from jetlag and my dreams of being a reality TV star have once again been crushed. But it's all for the good of my acting career, about which I harbor no delusions. The ill-conceived rejection from American Idol only reinforced that I am, in fact, too big a star for television. Silver screen, here I come.