I am completely exhausted tonight. I spent all day walking around the city (seriously, all day) and then cooked dinner, and I am now collapsed on the couch awaiting the start of this fair show of ours. I am completely exhausted and I am worried. I am worried that this lineup of Top Ten performers will not be enough to keep me awake for two solid hours. There are just so many singers to get through. And this isn't American Idol, where you can expect the star-spangled pop numbers to keep you going. No, this is going to be a lot of ballads. And, contrary to popular opinion, I am not a crochety 87-year-old. I'm a crotchety 30-year-old, and I don't really like ballads. I like Nuttin' But Stringz. But even their fiery fiddlin' will be hard to sit through when sandwiched between two hours of chanteusing, tears, and whateverthefuck Kaitlyn does. Maybe I should make some coffee.
Live from Los Angeles (with portions pre-recorded) it's America's Got Talent! Oh hold that. It's Jerry sitting in the control room. Actually, on the control panel. He reminds us that there are ten finalists, one winner, and one great nation choosing that winner. I guess the segment is live, because as they cut away we hear someone shout, "Roll tape!" Said tape introduces our Top Ten. There is Paul Salos (Fake Frank) looking really Florida in a heavily-patterned shirt and George Hamilton tan. Kaitlyn claims to really want to make it to the finals. Donald Braswell knows America holds his future in their hands. Jessica Price can just feel Vegas. Joseph Hall wants to be Elvis. Neal E. Boyd manages not to cry. The Wright Kids are cute. Queen Emily also manages not to cry. Nuttin' But Stringz hangs tough. Eli Mattson still has his hat on. There are a lot of gratuitous shots of people singing into microphones. It's like geriatric American Idol. It's going to be a long night.
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