Another one bit the glorious glitter dust last night, amid all the usual pomp and questionable circumstance. It was actually a somewhat scary bottom three, which will be a more and more frequent occurrence as the weeks wear on and our tributes begin to suffer from exposure. It's a grim business!
I regret to inform you that there was no group number last night. Nope, sorry. I know how much you love it when these wobble monsters all get together to sing one of their jamboree songs, it always sounds so good and pure and sweet and true, but they did not do one last night. Instead they showed us a video reel of the kids moving from their hotel, which was an America's Best Value Inn out by the Long Beach airport, into a swank mansion up in the Herllywerd Herlls. The video was kind of sad because at one point one of the kids was like "Oh, look, the Chinese theater," and you realized that though these song dumps have been living in Los Angeles for weeks now, they have not seen a single stitch of it. They're just herded around with black sacks over their heads from one shitty press event to another and then back to the Econo Lodge in Calabasas for a few fraught hours of sleep before they have to do it all over again. So the mansion, and the ride to the mansion, was nice for them. Even if all they drove past was the Chinese theater, even if the house they moved into was clearly just very recently seized by the IRS from a gay Azerbaijani "film producer." There was still cocaine dust crusting the edges of the place and a strange smell emanating from a crawlspace (what's worse then a dead rentboy? A dead rentboy three weeks later), but they were excited anyway because they were finally out of that terrible haunted Hampton Inn out by Heartbreak Beach, and plus they got to see some of this fabled Hollytown they're supposedly living in.
Once that was over, it was time for some musical performances. Again, not from our kids. They did not jam out with their respective clams out (all have clams) last night, not once. Instead we were forced to hear from Nicki Minaj, who, like, what? I don't even. Sure that Boom Be Doom Boom Doom song is fun (you need to read how those lyrics are written in the songwriting article in last week's New Yorker — the article should be called "White People"), but what else about her is fun? She's just this really trying-too-hard gal who wants to seem all weird and creative but instead just comes across all forced and uncomfortable. I did respect that she didn't even try to front one bit about the fact that she was singing to a track last night, that was proper of her. She was just like "Yeah, I'm going to rap right here for you guys but any time I'm 'singing' I'm clearly not singing so let's just go ahead and deal right with it." That was decent of her. I wonder what our children will think of Nicki Minaj. Probably what we think of Lisa Lisa and the Cult Jam now. You know? I don't think we think anything bad about Lisa Lisa and her Cult Jam, but we also don't think much of anything about LL and the CJ. I predict the same for Nicki Minaj, I fear. Just a big "Who?" when our kids are teenagers and we're old sacks of uselessness.