American Idol – Paula: I’m Yours

Paula, I’m yours. So much so that I’ve devised my own little pet moniker for you and you alone: Pauler. I know, if I ever got the chance to meet you, you’d fall in love with it, wouldn’t you?

Oh, Pauler: I love the way your eyes glaze over whenever you see a fair face up on stage coaxing you, daring you not to get all wiggly. I love that cute seal flipper-flap of a clap you exult after contestants’ performances. I love the way you whap Simon in plain view of everyone watching when he says something you are obviously in disagreement with. I love the way you shimmy shamelessly right through an entire song when Adam Lambert is whaling away. I love the haltingly stuttered talk you talk in a vain attempt to come up with the right words to say to Danny post-performance. I love the semi-stern look of consternation you share with us when you’re at a loss for anything relevant to utter.

Pauler, others are out of breath when they’re dancing about on the Idol stage. Jamie Fox was a recent example of this a few weeks ago. Bouncing around during his performance, he gave it his all and came away panting as if he’d just run a marathon. But not you, dear Pauler. You flailed and extended and air punched and schwang with your partners up there on stage with the greatest of ease. You jumped and were thrown in the air and cavorted from one end of the Idol platform to the other with reckless abandon. All the while “singing” in electronic wonder. And with nary a deep breath to mar the over-tightness of your outfit. *sigh*

Wonderful Pauler: You have a new interview out in Ladies’ Home Journal giving us an inkling of your few of your flaws and gaffs, not the least of which is your admission into a California treatment center to rid your dependency on painkillers. Granted, the dependency was no doubt caused by a series of injuries beginning in high school when you were a cheerleader, culminating in an airplane crash leaving you partially paralyzed and in need of 15 (!!!) spinal surgeries. (And if that wasn’t enough, I really don’t blame you, Pauler, for your need for extra-curricular medications. If I had to sit by Kara DioGuardi week after week, I’d become dependent on painkillers, too.) There may be cracks in your demeanor, but your shining optimism is there for all to see.

I don’t care what “they” say, Pauler. I don’t care whether or not you think MC Skat Cat is real or simply a cartoon. I heed not the fact you were married to Emilio Estevez or Brad Beckerman, both for less than two years. (They were wrong for you, anyway … but it wasn’t your fault!) I pooh-poohed the continuous mystery surrounding your ever-present Coke cup on the judge’s table in front of you, year after year after year. You’re still tops in my book, Pauler.

With the fast-approaching conclusion of American Idol coming, I don’t know what I’m going to do without your glowing face on my television set Tuesday and Wednesday nights, Pauler. I guess I’ll just have to hurry up and wait for the midnight release of your new album due out in the fall and some word of your contract negotiations with Fox for another season of Idol. Until then, I’m right there beside you, Pauler, in Simon’s seat.

If not in the flesh, in dreamy spirit.

Clacked by Michael Noble
on May 11, 2009 @ 17:04 EST5EDT