Dear American Idol:
We had some good times this summer, didn’t we?
I mean, just as Olivia Newton John enjoyed her PG-13 frolic in the salty-summer waves, splashing John Travolta as her blonde pony-tail bounced in the setting sun on the shores of Randall High - it was way fun spending a couple of warm summer nights with you, indulging in your Jiffy-Mom approved teevee moments as the contestants returned each week with sparklier highlights, fresh gobs of blinding lip gloss and increasingly sluttier outfits.
Good times, indeed.
But, you didn’t really expect this to go much further, did you? I mean, could you?
Why would you try to cheapen the guilty fun we had this summer by carrying on and touring city to city, setting up camp in various sterile arenas parading around your X-Factor like a sweaty Mountain Dew pheromone, charging 30+ bucks a pop [plus tickemaster fees] as you try to recreate these authentically-manufactured teevee moments to a hopeful young audience in pube-skimming hip huggers and imitation Justin mop-tops?
How could you?
Like any good summer crush, you were just a wistful diversion – meant to be left as a fond memory - only to be evoked like the faint scent of sea salt when hearing “Straight Up” playing overhead at The Gap or catching a glimpse of the smarmy British fellow (who has obviously sold his soul to Extra) in People Magazine.
The temperature has dropped, the leaves are starting to turn; it is time for you to go. Please, let’s not make this any uglier than it needs to be.