American Idol

As I have said before, nothing makes me laugh like "American Idol". This past Tuesday was the best night of the first two weeks' worth.

Wow, Montgomery Clift is totally snapping right now in A Place in the Sun. Shelley Winters is really getting on his nerves.

And heaven knows I like a good Catholic who has their favorite saint that they like to call on when times get rough (I don't particularly have one myself, though I do keep a medal of Saint Benedict that a friend gave me in college). But Wednesday night they had on a guy who bothered me with something he said. He told the story of his mother, who for a long time couldn't have children. She prayed to a saint and finally had the contestant in question. So said saint became the son's favorite saint. He prayed to the saint and said that if the saint granted his wish and he got passed through on "American Idol", he would never ask for anything again.

My problem isn't in asking a saint for something. But he talked about the saint "granting wishes". Saints do not grant wishes. They're not genies, for crying out loud. Saint Sebastian didn't get shot full of arrows, survive, and then get beaten to death on the Emperor's orders in order to pass on to a new life appearing to losers rubbing on mysterious lamps. You can't catch him running around and make him lead you to a pot of gold. Saints do not grant wishes. We do not worship statues of saints. We ask saints to intercede with God on our behalf, not to grant wishes.

On a somewhat related note, the Church has a sort of morbid habit of taking a martyred saint's manner of death and making them the patron saint of said manner. Saint Sebastian was shot full of arrows. He is now the patron saint of archers, arrowsmiths, and fletchers (and, somewhat strangely, enemies of religion). Saint Adrian of Nicodemia was hacked to death and burned. He is now the patron saint of butchers. I suppose it's too much to hope for that I'll end up as the patron saint of chocolate-eating, college football-watching nymphomaniacs.

Back to AI. The blonde girl on Tuesday was great. Kellie Pickler. Cute, adorable, and she can sing. Tragic story of mom leaving when young, followed up by dad being in jail for drugs, being a waitress on rollerskates, and living with her grandfather. When she got through, she said she was going to write her dad and let him know, which made it all even more tragic. Endearing, but sad. The immediate thought when hearing that her dad is in jail is that he's a loser and she should have nothing to do with him. But she's a good daughter, and she wants her daddy to be part of her life. And the two people we saw later labeled as her "best friends" looked like they were at least 20 years older than her. They looked old enough to be her parents. I thought "Those are her best friends? How is this possible? Nobody her own age is her friend?" I hope for good things to happen to Kellie Pickler. She's got that great southern accent that seems rampant in North Carolina. I need to get over there one day.

Also impressing Tuesday was Paris Bennett, the granddaughter of Anne Nesby. She was really fantastic. She sang a Dixie Chicks song and was really good. Then she sang a Billie Holliday song and was stunningly amazing. She can sing like nobody's business. And then when she goes back to talking, she's got this little quiet voice. It's a remarkable contrast from one to the other.

The girl whose mother is a voice teacher ain't no slouch, either.