[There was a video here]

Last night we bore witness to the yearly tradition of miserable, fearsome Group Night, a tableau of horror and agony reminiscent of Picasso's Guernica. No one is ever prepared, everyone is unhappy, the judges put large Coke cups (or in last night's case, Vitamin Water cups) under their faces to collect all the blood, and we at home spasm into strange positions on the couch, issuing strange barks and guttural hoots, pupils the dinner plate size of the computer cleaner girl from Intervention. It's quite a night! It's actually kind of fun.

Oh my, where to even begin with this mondo two-hour episode! So much unpleasantness happened. OK, so at the beginning of the episode everyone was told that they had to divide up into groups of at least three, composing of at least one member from the second day of Hollywood Week's initial round of auditions. Basically this was so all the smug little Day 1ers who had formed groups and had been practicing since their auditions wouldn't have an unfair advantage over the sad Day 2ers. There was so much grumbling and anger! There is perhaps no more annoying force on Earth than a tired, cranky performer. Especially the kind of performer that really wants to be on American Idol, so covered in a thick glaze of plastic cheese as they are. But all the whining and blubbering in the world could not change facts. They'd have to reengineer their groups to be more fair, so everyone scrambled.

Most folks seemed to figure it out pretty quickly, but of course there were Divas and Divos (really there were just Divas) who had to go and make it difficult. Remember that horrible girl from New Jersey who brings great shame to her state? She wears those stupid huge sunglasses and has an annoying little purse and I'm sure wears Juicy and Uggs and during the first round of H'wood Week she said "I gotta be honest, I'm tired of seeing people try to do what I know I can do," or something equally annoying. And the problem is she said this in front of half of the other contestants, so when it came time to find a group, nobody wanted to be her friend. It was so sad and embarrassing to watch her trundle around, desperately. (I mean, I use the world "trundle" a lot because it sounds pleasing in my head, but this girl really trundled, I mean if she were a bed she would not be a bunk bed, she'd be a trundle bed, you know? She is a trundler, without a trundling doubt.) She kept going up to groups and asking them "Are you my mother?" and they kept saying no, and eventually she started getting mad and when they'd give her a withering "Sorry..." she'd be like "No, I'm not going to be that person, I guess you're going to be though," which doesn't really mean anything, but I know what she was trying to get at. She's going to be the better person by not excluding herself from a group? OK.

While Trundler did her sad little search, other group nunsense was happening all around her. There was this horrible tall guy who I don't think we've seen before who was being suuuuper diva-y about who could be in his group. People kept coming up and singing well and he'd be like "No, nunh unh, that isn't going to work." You know who one of those people was? That cute little baseball player kid with the really deep country voice. How can you be mean to him! I mean, yeah, his verrry particular, niche-y voice is a problem, but still. Not good, tall guy. Not good at all. Eventually they found some fool that met this guy's high standards, but it didn't matter in the end because he ended up abandoning his original group later in the night. Nice guy, that one! Meanwhile poor Alan Jackson had to wander around some more looking for a family. Well, OK, to be fair, he was being a bit demanding, asking people to sing for him and not the other way around, and he DID turn down a generous invitation from the group that was spearheaded by Crazy Frizzbo, you know the little lostling creature who Ms. Frizzle gave birth to while her magic schoolbus soared through space? Him. So that was a little crappy of Alan Jackson to do, but oh well.

Anyway, people wandered and moaned and tried sadly to do sad choreography and everyone, absolutely everyone, was miserable. Remember the poor little kid who is probably Jonah Hill's brother, Augustus Hill? Well he was in a group with that Junebug kid who is the karaoke host who I thought I liked but it turns out I do not like at all. Because he kicked poor Augustus out of the group in the middle of the night! And Alan Jackson, who had ended up with that crew, stood idly by! Not good, everyone. Not good at all. So little Augustus roamed the conference center, whimpering weirdly, and finally he ended up with... Crazy Frizzbo's group!! Yeah, they'd been abandoned or something too, so they formed a group and it was nice, even though Augustus didn't know the song they were singing at all.

Perhaps the craziest of all the group tragedies last night involved that weeeeird girl from I forget where, the one who J.Lo initially said was too musical theatery (she is) and who blubbed and squealed enough that they sent her through anyway. She has kiiiiiiiind of a methy face (sorry!) and is just all around binky-bonkers. So she was in a group with three other very kind young ladies who had no idea what they were getting into. While they were practicing she slowly ended up balled in a corner, crying hot tears of desperation, saying she wanted to go home. It's all she wanted! The pressure was too much, she was folding like a cheap card table. (Cheap card tables are actually harder to fold than well-made ones, so this makes no sense, but it's OK.) And she just seemed so frayed and needy and always-on-the-edge-of-a-breakdown that it was uncomfortable to watch. But of course in the end she decided she wanted to stay and she went up and sang with her group and was completely crazy, playing a character singing a song instead of herself, aspiring pop star, singing a song. There were props and everything! Her eyes were fiery little beads of insanity and the judges scooted back a little in their chairs and then had to make a decision: do they eliminate her as they should have, only to face inevitable murder attempts (likely involving her driving a biplane into one of their houses or trying to shoot poison blowdarts at them), or just let her through and hopefully let America do their dirty work for them later on? They folded like very expensive, hand-crafted card tables and put her through to the next round. And ohhh was there much flailing and wailing! She flipped her switch to Berserker Mode and nothing could stop her. Limbs akimbo, translucent skin vibrating, red-ringed eyes pulsating. It was an unsettling sight to behold and I'm a little nervous about seeing more of her.

But yes, now we are on to the actual performances, most of which stank. There were these littluns who were coached by their annoying stage moms and everyone loved them and gave them a standing ovation and everything but I didn't think they were that good. I mean, they were definitely among the best, but if that's the best, no thanks. Irritatingly, the tall awful kid and his whole group were sent through. Though Augustus Hill couldn't remember any of his lyrics, he was given a pass. Crazy Frizzbo will of course continue in the competition. That awful, terrible, no good guy who tries to wail like Adam Lambert and seems to be getting diva-y-er (oof) by the minute was sent through, even though his group stank balls. And, miraculously, Alan Jackson was advanced to the next round, even though he barely contributed anything to the performance beyond charmingly crying afterward, partly because of the way his group had treated poor little Augustus, which I'm sure will get him a ribbing from his baseball teammates, but whatever. There is no crying in baseball, but there is LOTS of crying in Idolball. Just so much crying.

Speaking of crying! Who was eliminated? Many satisfying people! The awful Jersey girl was cut and she said "But isn't there another way you can see me sing and send me through? I mean, isn't there?" Uh, no, that's not how the show works, my love. Sorry! Ten points from Hufflepuff. Ryan's cowboy boyfriend from preliminary auditions was executed, which made Timmy sigh with relief as he watched the show last night, wrapped in a fur shawl and nothing else, drinking gin and lemon juice. (Ryan worries about his increased drinking, but figures it's just nerves, just the painful fraughtness of being in love.) That girl who works at Ellen's Stardust Diner was the only person in her group not to make it through, which is awful for her and she didn't seem that bad, but when she went outside to talk to Ryan she was like "There is no way I'm going home today, I will find a way to sing again and go through," and then immediately after she said that Ryan's narration came on and was like "Unfortunately..." Hahaha. "There is no way. NO WAY I'm going home today." [beat] "UNNNNNFORTUNATELY...." Haha. Poor girl. Brutes.

Um, who else? Oh, ha, at one point the crabby old felt-witch put on her moon-shaped reading glasses to look at the names of people in a group and in garbled witch-speak told them three of them were going through but then J.Lo (who was just grand all evening, honestly, it's the shock of my life) was like "Um... I think you..." and the old witch was like "Cripple crapple wolfsbane babble, I mean just two of you are safe," and it was so sad for the person who thought they'd made it but actually hadn't. Oh well! WHO ELSE. Oh, eeeek, we didn't see them perform, but remember the Gutierrez brothers, the ones who were a little... off? Well, apparently one of them was eliminated! Yiiiiiiiiikes. It's going to be an awkward summer at camp this year. Lots of loaded silences and pained looks, for sure.

That awful girl who said she had a crush on Ryan during prelims was blessedly sent home. As were several girls who annoyingly brought the old witch onstage and sang a ditty to her. Presumptuous, girls! Only one of you can stay. You are the weakest links, goodbye! And then of course there was the couple that were now an ex-couple that formed a group with the girl whose a cappella boyfriend was sent home last week, and the guy was just being so annoying and like "I don't want to be a male dancer." As opposed to just... a dancer? You'd be a female dancer, though? OK, cool. Good. And he was just like "I don't sing in groups, I'm a musician." Uh huh. It's true. No musician has ever sang in a group before. Good music history. He was just awful and doughy and being a real pisshead so it was very satisfying to see him biff his audition so spectacularly hard (see above). The other two in his group were also pretty bad, especially the blondie with the a cappella boyfriend sitting at home on his roommate's lap, hugging him tight out of stress (or something...). She was actually very bad! And yet, she was given a ticket to Next Roundtowne. She'll be gone soon enough, but for now she survives.

There was probably a lot else that I am forgetting, but this is getting a bit long now and we have even more of this glorious gunk to watch tonight. Apparently they're getting whittled down to fifty tonight, which means next week will be... more Hollywood Week? I mean, they can't be doing 50 semifinalists, can they? That would be kind of too much, I think. Just a bit in the way too much department. But we'll see! I'm excited. I really am. Guys, I hate to say it, but I just love American Idol. I feel like the energy is back in the show somehow. I just feel it. Don't you?

"Don't you? Don't you feel it?" Ryan says as he strokes Tim's hair, Tim who is looking away, lost in a fog of booze and tiredness, Tim who hasn't left the house in days. "Don't you feel that I love you?" Tim laughs, a sort of froggy throaty chuckle that's new for him, it seems old and weary in a way that Tim shouldn't seem old and weary. "I don't know. The cowboy's gone, I guess. That helps. Who knows." He wanders out to the balcony and stares off into the valley. Ryan looks at him, silhouetted in the doorway, and he wonders. He wonders how something can suddenly be going so wrong when everything else is going so right. It's just the pain and weight of years, he guesses. Just that. Just that he's starting something new and here Tim is, just frozen in time. Ryan sees the orange flicker and glow of Tim lighting a cigarette, another new habit, one that Ryan actually likes a bit, makes Tim seem a little more... French, but still one that worries him. But oh well. He's tired. And there's always tomorrow. Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow belongs to them.