Remember? Remember Witch Baby? Remember Jordan doing the Kid N Play? Remember Karen Rodriguez of many ages? Remember Casey Abrams and his tummy? Remember Durbin crying and crying and crying? Remember Randy Jackson calling everybody baby? And that chair that went flying? Remember Tourette’s and Asperger’s? Remember Brett’s hair-shaking weirdness? Remember the feather in Steven Tyler’s hair? Remember Jacob Lusk? Remember? Remember?
Well, forget all that. You no longer have to care about any of that. The Semifinals are ending and a new life has begun. Out in the audience they have signs for Peaches; up on stage he’s excited because there will be twists and turns and the biggest cut ever at this stage of the game: We will have America-Decided on our five Guys and five Ladies, and then the Judgery will fix our wagon by saving some number of more people.
I don’t care to list the Top 24 again, and frankly I have goddamn nothing to say about them at this point, except that watching the wind slowly leak out of Junebug’s sails has been the greatest part of the last week. He’s like Oz the Great and Terrible, only it’s just like a sweet little terrified kid back there behind the curtain. A little weird guy with big dreams and tiny silly glasses. Also, I still can’t believe Scotty and Robbie are the crowd favorites, or that Paul McDonald — wearing once again that awful white jacket with the big acrylic roses on it — exists.