The Two Things American Idol Taught Me About Myself

Last night, just like a healthy chunk of our nation's population, I settled down with some fatty food and a stiff drink to watch the early days of American Idol: Season 7. We all know in our hearts that the audition episodes are the best part of the show; can't-miss TV if ever there was such a thing. It's got everything: Drama (manufactured or not), talent, freaks, deluded souls that make you feel much better about the way your own life is going, mean British and doofy Californian metrosexuals... it's the total entertainment package. And it also has, as it turns out, the power to shine a light on the dark corners of this man's soul. Yes, I learned a couple of irrefutable truths about myself last night... things I guess I always knew, but needed the aide of a popular reality show to really understand. Here's what I discovered:

I'm Nice - This was very surprising, especially when you consider that I initially wanted to watch the show solely to mock the parade of shameful sadness. But as each lumpy, atonal mess shuffled in front of the judges, I found myself saying, almost against my will, things like, "Oh, honey... no... stop before you get hurt!" And, "Simon, just be kind to him; he's clearly just a misguided person with a good heart!" And, "C'mon, give the kid a break, he tried really hard!" Seriously, where was this crap coming from? Girlfriend, who has a very healthy sense of schadenfreude (she's really looking forward to that lie detector show that starts next week), began to wonder just what exactly happened to her boyfriend; what turned him from a gruff, incredibly handsome wise ass into this cringing, bleeding-heart, sap who just wants everyone to not fight and get along? Hell, I'm wondering that myself. Apparently, the answer is quite simple: I'm nice. Ugh. Nice... like that's ever going to get me anywhere.

I'm Gay For Farmers - Maybe this was the real reason that I left Texas; maybe subconsciously I knew that I couldn't spend any more of my time around the polite, muscle-y hunks with soft, Southern accents or I'd eventually end up riding pillion on a horse through a field with my arms around the rock-hard abs of a stud named Tyler. I mean, did anyone else see this guy...

Jesus, he's like if Ashton Kutcher had to work for a living. I'm starting to think that I might have made the wrong decision with this whole moving-to-New-York thing. Girlfriend's great, of course, but she can't work a hay baler, nor can she rock a belt buckle like it was the grand prize in a Best Cuddler contest. And he sang George Strait! George Strait!!! It was all I could to keep myself from pointing at the TV and shouting, "I want you" like a pantsless Uncle Sam. Man, I bet he even makes you breakfast in the morning.

Anyway, so today is the first day of the rest of my enlightened life. It's scary, but it's exciting because I know now the true essence of myself. So if you need me, I'll be down at the feed store, winking at guys in roughed-up camo ball caps. Especially if they look as nice as I am!