2004-08-11
It was Saturday night when Carolyn and I cruised downtown to the Edward Jones Dome to scope out the line for her "American Idol" audition, and we were pleasantly surprised. A spattering of people were huddled outside the entrance among a few sleeping bags and inflatable mattresses - a whimper compared to the roar of crowds that we were expecting. It was about then that the suggestion was made. I briefly pondered, and enthusiastically accepted, and on the trip home to get GQ-ed out, I went over my Elton John in my head, because sometime the next day, "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" would be my "American Idol" audition song.(Mind you, while I consider myself quite the pop culture aficionado, I’ve never seen an episode of "Idol." Never mind that it’s only the world’s highest rated TV program. So like Stephanie Tanner accepting the invitation to her friend’s make out party, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. (Wasn’t kidding about the pop culture thing.))
Staying up all night seemed like a really great idea, so we played True Crime on Gamecube and putzed around until 2:30 in the morning, when we got gussied up and headed out into the uncharacteristically chilly STL night. Amazingly, I parked on the street for free RIGHT in front of the door at...
4 AM: ...and we were inside, registered, and in our seats in the dome in only ten short minutes. It should be noted that en route to our seats, we learned the reason for the small line outside: A thousand hopefuls had all camped out in the hallways of the dome for the night. So eerie. It looked like Jonestown: the morning after, had Jonestown been populated entirely by teenage girls and gay men. We reached our seats in the then-nearly empty stadium, looked around, and realized that we were sitting in a football arena at four in the morning with several dozen other people, and we were actually whispering so as not to disturb the sleep of the scattered auditioners around us. It was unique, but far too, eh, post-apocalyptic to not give me the heebie-jeebies. And so we... sat there.
5 AM: Because you can only sleep so long with your head propped up by your arm before your arm gives way and you’re jolted awake, I decided to take a stroll around the grounds and scope out the competition. They were all sleeping, which, I concluded, wasn’t indicative of how well they could sing. You could tell which slumbering couples were married and which were dating, though. The married had their backs to each other and the daters were spooning. I saw a black couple where this humongous black man with many piercing was the "little spoon." At that point, that was arguably the highlight of my weekend. Went back and sat.
8 AM: The stadium area reserved for us was finally filled and Nigel, the big producer, came out to make greetings and get some stock crowd footage of us all dancing to some particularly insipid oldies. He also informed us that the doors to the stadium had been locked and nobody leaving could return. Period, not even for a smoke break. It was like prison, but with concessions and far better outfits.
8:10 AM: Instantaneously bored to tears and realizing just how very late we would be stuck in the dome, I phoned my mom to surprise her with news of my decision to try out for the show. Her positive reinforcement went something like this: "BWAHAHAHAHA! Can you sing?! Irish kids can’t sing!" That became the new highlight of my weekend.
ANYWAY, LONG STORY SHORT: Half dozing, staring at the same four Fox commercials in a row countless times, sleeping on the floor, walking around listening to people singing to themselves, wanting to put a pitchfork in my brain every time I heard "I Will Always Love You" coming from the hallways, chatting with our neighbors, singing Elton John and eating hot dogs until miraculously...
4:25 PM: ...our section was called to head down and audition. A few hundred of us walked across the field (so cool!) to a massive room under the seats where a long row of tables sat with several producers each. We stepped up a few at a time, sang our 16 bars or so, and... were all cut. Just like that. Only ONE person out of the hundreds in our section was given the sacred orange piece of paper that granted advancement to the next round of auditions, and he was wearing Pillsbury Doughboy pants and a t-shirt that said "It doesn’t get any whiter than this!" Also, he tap-danced. Asshole. But my singing was off-handedly praised by the producer, so at least it wasn't a total wash.
BUT, THE REAL HIGHLIGHT OF MY WEEKEND:
The next day, Carolyn and I went to the zoo. Upon walking in, we immediately veered right and headed by some crocodiles. Suddenly, I heard a noise that sounded like a foghorn being blown through an air filter. Kind of a 'NNNMMGGGHRRRRRR....' I though to myself, what a curious sound. So we went ahead to investigate. Around the corner were two giant tortoises mating. The foghorn, it turned out, was actually the enraptured love moan of a hundred year old giant reptile. It was coming from the male, by the way, and the female looked like she wasn't having such a hot time.
Now, considering the amount of children around us, we were really trying to be adults about the whole thing, and we were doing a really great job until the male, um, pulled out and - still on top of the female - started inching his way around her toward her head. Out of nowhere, he lets out a big gutteral GRAGHGHLARRRGH!! and blows his load ALL over the back of the female's shell. It was amazing so much sperm could come out of one tortoise. Poor guy, probably lost 20% of his body mass.
It was like the female said "Yeah baby, do it on my face," and the male was like, "...Really? Do I have to?!" And he's trying to shuffle all the way around to her head while holding his wad - and it was a BIG wad - and she was telling him to hurry and he was going, "I'm coming, I'm coming, oh shit I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm comingGRAGHGHLARRRGH!!"
We had to walk away after that one. Had to take a few minutes to act our ages. Or several years younger. Which is nice, when you think about it.
-Andy