AI-iiiii!

    The new season of  American Idol has begun, and, as usual, I watched.  The field had been narrowed to the final 12, and one had to go.  None of the finalists appealed to me, but I am lightyears removed from their target audience.  I suspect complicity though, and I project that the winner will be a young African-American woman whose name ends in a vowel.  For some reason, most of the non-minorities who'd been previously selected for the final 12 seem a pretty talentless group.  The judges seemed mostly united in which contestants to criticize (gently), and on which to laud praise, and place in a distinctive category---a fair representation of "eccentric" performers, or crazies---selected for their entertainment value over their vocal ability.  But then, one of the judges has hit it big time with a song called, "Luh ya, Papi."