I am writing this column on the night that the American Idol finals are taking place and, you guessed it, I won’t be watching the show which will have millions on the edge of their seats. Everything about Idol is nauseating from start to finish.

In this year’s final of amazing, original talent, the finalists are Diana DeGarmo, and Fantasia Barrino. This is just so stimulating! It excites me as about as much as the next traffic jam I have to endure on I-75. Week after week the contestants sing renditions of dated songs which barely anybody under the age of 40 remembers. It just seems unnatural for a 16 year old (DeGarmo) and a 19 year old (Barrino) to be singing anything from 1981. Do I really care if they want to sing “Son Of A Preacher Man” for the 800th time? Of course not!

This is a situation where the producers peg songs for the contestants to sing that the majority of the television audience will relate to. Meanwhile, younger children that are fans of the show will have to listen to their parents tell them a history about the particular song that goes something like… “When I was your age, this was a big song” or “You’re too young to remember that song”.

The scary part about Idol is the fact that once the seasons are over a few of them have become stars outside the show; to the level where they are playing arenas, as evident by the Kelly Clarkson/ Clay Aiken arena tour (try saying that three times without throwing up) earlier this year. Have you seen Aiken? I think he looks like Poindexter from Revenge of the Nerds; his popularity makes me sick. But, Aiken and Clarkson have sold 2 million copies of their debut albums while second season winner Ruben Studdard has sold 1.6 million copies of his banal debut album. Even the rejected and talent-less William Hung has sold 124,000 copies of his god awful horrible cover album Inspiration. The only thing William Hung inspires me to do is to ponder how he ever got a record deal.

This season of Idol has been marred with conversional incidents, mostly contestants being voted out that the judges thought should have remained; people even spend hours posting on the internet, crying over who got eliminated the night before. With wars and bloodshed going on in the world and being held at gunpoint almost literally to pay $2 a gallon for gas, all people can think about is who is still left on American Idol. WHO CARES!!! People should be wondering how in God’s name did Paula Abdul get back on TV! Maybe she’s feeding her prescription drug habit that the tabloids have been screaming about. I would take pills too if I slept with Emilio Estevez, let alone married him. And don’t even get me going on that metrosexual Ryan Seacrest! Maybe if we give him a lifetime gift card to Express for Men he won’t come back either. Simon Cowell, the acid tongued judge, is about the only person I can look at on that show and not cringe.

American Idol is an unoriginal idea and its flaws show up more and more every week. I don’t even watch the show but I feel like I know every intricate detail about it because morning talk shows along with the general public have nothing to do but talk about it. That and I usually have to flick it on for a few minutes before my favorite TV show (I am being dead serious) 24 comes on. You have to ask yourself how long this show can retain its popularity. The show airs two, and sometimes three, nights a week, causing a Who Wants to be a Millionaire type burnout for viewers. Hopefully for us, and Fox, we won’t have to see “Who Wants to Marry a Little Person” next year. What? Oh, they already did that. Anyways, I am done talking about this abysmal show.
Michalski, out!

If you couldn’t tell, Art Michalski thinks Ryan Seacrest is a total tool; that the Stanley Cup Finals will be a terrible finale to the hockey season; and guarantees on the front and back page that the Pistons-Pacers series will go seven games. If you think Diana DeGarmo is a bad Hilary Duff knock off, or love Fantasia’s singing voice and two kids; send him your hate mail at arthatesyou@detroitbuzz.com