I stand motionless in front of my mirror. My head hangs to the ground, and I wait for my cue.
My hairbrush is in one hand; my other hand slowly runs through my golden locks of “rock star” hair.
With the grace of Celine Dion, I raise my mic to my mouth, and the words of the song pass through my lips.
I tease the mirror and work the imaginary crowd. My natural talent impresses everyone in attendance — oh yeah, it was a solo, private performance, but that is beside the point.
If only Randy, Paula and Simon could see me now — in my shining moment of glory — they would say the words I have longed to hear all summer, “Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, you’re going to Hollywood!”
My summer obsession, “American Idol,” concluded last Wednesday, and to say the very least, it was an emotionally difficult day.
The overwhelming uncertainty of who would win and the overbearing reality that I would no longer have an engagement every Tuesday and Wednesday night scheduled weeks in advance frightened me.
My relationships with Kelly, Justin, Nikki, Tamyra, Ryan, Christina, Jim, R.J., E. Jay and A.J. came crashing down in a 120-minute montage of Motown hits and sappy sentiment. Personally, the last three contestants I could have done without — too many J’s to keep track of.
There were also loads of sponsor plugs — I will admit however, that because Kelly looked so cool in her Ford Focus, I put a down payment on one; it’s red with four doors.
This past Tuesday it was like waking up from a dream. My televisions flipped on at 9 p.m., yet Brian Dunkleman and Ryan Seacrest were absent from my screen — who are those guys anyway? No more witty repartee from two of the most charismatic hosts in television history.
And where do I even begin with the judges? I will miss Randy, Randy, Randy and his shameless ability to promote his own career, (did you know that he recorded with Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey?)
I will have to listen to “Opposites Attract” in order to get my weekly fill of Paula Abdul.
And good ole’ Simon, who is in a category by himself. Losing him will be the most difficult.
His brutal honesty, his British accent and his tight black shirts, lets admit it; Simon had mojo that none of the other judges possessed.
After the announcement of the winner, the fabulous Kelly Clarkson, with her girl-next-door charm and down home look, I have made a command decision that I too can be an American Idol.
I figure all I need to do is make it to the top 10 and then I am almost guaranteed stardom-except maybe if I were like Jim Verraros, who has no talent but thinks he is the greatest thing since sliced pie.
I mean honestly, if Nikki can make it all the was to the top three, I know I can work it to the top ten-or do I need to get knocked up to make it that far? Although I will admit that her rendition of “Black Velvet” was off the hook.
Maybe if I make my own clothes out of socks like Ryan Starr-can you say shirts, shorts and hair ties?-I could receive the male vote, although I will need a great push-up bra. Lets be real, she was as terrible as they get.
What the heck is Frim Fram Sauce anyway?
Or maybe it would take famous relatives to end up in the top 10 on “American Idol.”
Say my uncle was Samuel L. Jackson, or some other famous movie star. Maybe I would find the auditions slightly easier (like Justin). But lets be real, that boy can dance and I think that he might be the next Michael Jackson.
However, I pray the first thing that he has plastic surgery on is that bird nose of his, goodness that thing is ugly.
So whether it be Austin, Detroit, Kansas City, Los Angeles, Miami, Nashville or New York, you’d better believe that I will be in line for my five minutes of fame.
Amanda Stutevoss, a senior broadcasting and journalism major, is editor in chief of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at astute4@aol.com.
