Also, another apology: I'm sorry, Chris Daughtry, for I have sinned. I have loved another American Idol rocker. I did not mean to do it. When this new season brought us two "rockers," I scoffed. I wanted to know just who they thought they were. Did they think they were you? Did they think they could somehow come out on stage and level a look at the camera that would make me flop on the floor and scream, Make out with me!!!! Did they really think that? Because that's what you used to do. But you know who's doing that this season? Jason Castro, yes, but someone else, too. And that someone else is David Cook.
David Cook is cute in this horrifically elfin kind of way. He's got all sorts of pointy angles. His hair is awful. His clothes are awful. But, man, do those makeup people know what to do with him. I've never seen a boy strut out on stage in prettier eyeshadow.
David Cook is no beauty. Sometimes I look at his face and think it looks a little tight--you know, in the way celebrities' faces look tight after they've gotten a lift and tuck. There are times I look at him and think, You sort of look like a girl. I don't think this would make David Cook happy, since he's trying to be badass. But I think he's badass. I do. I'd totally let him buy me leather, take me to cruddy little bars, and pump me full of cheap beer before we make out over near the amps his band is setting up.
I love David Cook because he usually saves the night on Idol. Say what you will about this season being one of the most talented ever--there are an awful lot of bright-eyed hippies on it, and they like to sing songs about peace and love and holding hands and becoming one. Yuck. A girl can only take so much of that (I'm talking to you, Archuleta. I'm talking to you, White. I'm talking to you, Castro. And I actually like all of you. But grit it up, okay? Seriously.) But after all the kumbaya is done for the night, there's David Cook and his guitar and post-sex hairdo and razor blade of a voice. And everyone breathes a sigh of relief because--whew!--no more songs about all the planet's people being brothers and sisters forever and ever, amen! Suddenly there's a man onstage, and he's singing about stalking and sex and disillusionment and other titillating things. Bless you, David Cook. Bless you. Now come on over to my house and sing me that slow version of Lionel Ritchie's Hello. It freaks me out and excites me all at the same time. I couldn't ask for more.
David Cook has suddenly become the show's dark horse darling, and that makes me happy. That means he'll stick around for a while, and I'll get to keep watching him grab that microphone like a lover and put his mouth so close to it I feel like I'm inside his voice when he sings. I want to kiss his tightly-stretched mouth and pull on his stupid, stupid hair and tell him he's a beautiful badass elf-boy. And I hope he would take that as a compliment.
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