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We finally made it! Last night was the first night of true American Idol singing competition, with the contestants finally turned toward us, the voting public, made to sing for our cruel amusement. It was the semifinals boys' night last night, a ragtag bunch of fellows who had a big task set out before them. So how they'd do? Eh.

First things first. It was funny how they ("they" meaning Ryan Seacrest, really) tried so hard to act like it was an actual live show, even though it was taped last week. Ryan kept saying "live studio audience!" and stuff and they made this big show of Steven Tyler having a card or some nonsense to cover his mouth in case he made a word oops, as if this was all happening at the very moment we were watching it, so anything could happen!! But it wasn't, and it couldn't. This was taped and carefully curated. I'm not sure why they decided to do the semifinals like this — maybe they were worried about Steven Tyler, maybe Tim wanted to watch the semifinals in person but wanted to be sure he could be edited out of the broadcast, maybe everyone's just tired — but I don't like it. I don't like it one bit!

Something I do like, or at least find interesting, is this wild card business. They've only done that intermittently over the past nine seasons, but it's always kind of fun, to see who the judges really liked and watch them do one last desperate tap dance for our love. Jennifer Hudson was a wild card. Just remember that! And now she's a successful weight loss commercial star. That could be you, someone currently on this show. I like the wild card. I welcome the wild card. Do I like that they're tacking on an extra week to semifinals? Not so much, but oh well. Anyway! Let's talk.

The Good
 Uh oh, guys. Uh ohhhhhh. Baby Lockthemdoors. AKA Scotty Boombotty. Guys, he's gonna win. Hahah! He is! Well, no, he might not win, but he's going to do pretty well, is my guess. Last night he sang a hilariously silly song that will nonetheless earn him lots of votes. It started out with him singing about his "dear son"? Haha. Scotty, you don't have a son! You're eleven years old! Don't be silly. And then he sang more about picking up his gun and going to work and for a second you got worried that he was singing about a murderer, but no he was a soldier. High school shortstop Scotty McReary was singing about being a soldier, which he is not. But it doesn't matter! Oh did the goils squeal and howl, and oh how surprisingly good was Scotty at playing into that! He's one of those nice "yes m'am" boys who's actually pretty sly about getting girls in the flatbed, isn't he? Of course this fool will completely tank when he can't sing his precious low-voice country music, I mean can you imagine him doing a Janet Jackson song (don't answer that), but for now he's coasting. He'll make the Top 10. I guarangoddamntee it. Just listen to the shrieks! (That are most definitely not coming from an apartment on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Most definitely not.)

Who else was good? Um... Oh, Fozzie Bear was decent. Fozzie is the guy who played the stand-up bass during Hollyweird Week? Remember? Yeah. Apparently he had a blood problem last week and almost had to drop out ("Colton!" Ryan yelled, awaking with a start in the middle of the night, not knowing why) but he rallied and did the taping and he was good! I mean, he sang some scratchy-patchy song that was right in his wheelhouse so it was sort of a gimme, but whatever. He was good. He is good. J.Lopes called him sexy, which made his too-close potato eyes do little sparkle jigs and that was funny. They aren't live taping this probably because of all the boners?

Speaking of boners, let's talk about Ryan's for the little smiletwink that is Stefano. You know, the one who sang that Bruno Derulo song or whatever about how girl you're amazing just the way you are. Yeah he wasn't that great, but as far as potentially marketable singers, he's got a leg up on most of the competition. And Ryan was snapping at his assistants like "New pair of jeans, for me, right now. Stat." After Stefano was done singing, Ryan walked up to him and was like "Was that to anyone in particular?" and Stefano said (unconvincingly) "That was to all the ladies" and then Ryan laughed darkly and said "You're gonna be trouble." !!!!! Tim just about fell over when that happened, probably stormed out of the studio, probably walked into the parking lot and angrily lit a cigarette and felt swollen with tears and wanted to scream but didn't, because here he was on a studio lot, here he was in the middle of the day, in California. So he just put on his big sunglasses and called Ryan's driver. "I need you to pick me up. No, I haven't been drinking! I'm just upset, goddamnit! Just come get me. Oh, and do you still know that guy who fixes things? Good. I have a name for you. Stefano. Yes, S-T-E-F-A-N-O. Tell him. Whatever he wants. Good. Now come get me."

The Bad
 Everyone else! I'm actually not kidding? I mean, who else, in your estimation, was "good" last night? There was that guy Tim Halperin? Is that his name? Yeah, ha. He's not a bad contestant, plus he had trimmed his beard and lost some weight since Hollywood, which made him a more viable crush candidate. But his performance? Janky. Full-on janky. Did you see when he started and he was standing with his legs like four feet apart? What the dickens was that! Welcome to Awkwardtowne, population: Jim Halpert. So, no, he was not good. And neither was that creepy whisperdemon I've taken to calling Floppy Giggles. You know, the guy who sang the song. Paul McDonald! That's his name. Oh gosh, isn't he a creppy Muppets: After Hours type person? Oh god. I was talking with Idol recapping colleague and all-around good gal Annie Barrett (whose wonderful recaps you should also be reading, because who has time to not read American Idol recaps all day these days?) and we decided that Paul McDonald is the guy you date for a bit and then find out is really weird and has three roommates who never leave the house and who only eats sandwiches ever. God he is so scary, with those blinding white teeth and his floppy thin arms that are held up by muppet wire. That's the face you see right before you die if you die in the worst way imaginable, at the hands of a "nice guy" who is so kind and generous that he wants to give you all the stabs and take none for himself. Have fun being murdered, someone in the live studio audience. This guy wants to eat your skin. (In a sandwich.)

Junebug was forgettable, so therefore NOT GOOD. I have decreed it. Same goes for tiny Robbie Rosen, or whatever his name is. Poor kid. Who knows what he's ever doing. He is so many kids I knew growing up. I just know that dude, and that dude is just a good kid who will end up being cool and nice but never terribly interesting. He'll sing at a couple friends' weddings in his late '20s, but not solo or anything, with his college a cappella group (it's at a fellow a cappella member's wedding, after all), and that'll be that. He won't be heartbroken about it, he just had other things in life to do. You know, it's just how things go. He lives in Philadelphia now, teaches English at a high school. Dating someone. Good life. Last night he sang "Angel." What is anyone thinking singing that as their first song out of the gate? Have a good life, Robbie.

Oh who cares about that shipyard guy, right? I mean, no one has ever cared. Goodbye. Jordan Dorsey! Oh heavens. That guy is already awful to begin with, and then he came out with this hideous rendition of an Ursher song and the judges just put their heads in their hands are were like "Jordan, what was that?" and then Jordan, surprisingly humble, was like "I don't know. I really don't know." And Ryan shrugged his shoulders and put up his hands and everyone in the audience shrugged their shoulders and put up their hands and then turned in unison to look at the camera and everyone at home shrugged their shoulders and put up their hands and then they looked out their windows and everyone in the world shrugged their shoulders and put up their hands and then everyone looked up into the sky and God shrugged his shoulders and put up his hands and then the rest of space did and then whatever's beyond space and then everything was just a marble in a collection of marbles that a big alien was playing with and that alien shrugged its shoulders and put up its hands. Oh well, Jordan. Better luck next week? (He will not be here next week.)

Crazy Frizzbo. It was just boring! A commenter last week said that Crazy Frizzbo is both too much and not enough, and I think that's pretty nail-on-the-head. He was fun for a few minutes earlier in the season and now it's like "That's all you've got?" He's not a good enough singer to support that character oddity. It's not the oddity I have a problem with necessarily, it's just that the narrative sort of demands that he's also an awesome singer, y'know? He can't just be Egon Spengler's gay nephew and sing OK. He has to be an improv character that Anne Heche does AND an amazing singer. Know what I'm sayin'?

The Adventures of Poopcloth
 Poopcloth is the guy who wears the scarf that hangs out of the back of his pants so it looks like he is pooping cloth. Hence the nickname. He is so tremendously awful and annoying that I can't even stand to look at him most of the time. Annie Barrett asked me last night if maybe people would like him if Adam Lambert hadn't already existed and I thought about it and decided that no, people (meaning me) wouldn't like him because at least Adam had some semblance of modesty this early in the game. (A semblance, mind you. Not much.) But Poopcloth is just full-on going for it, with his hideous shrieks and wails and his gut-tingling fashion and the way he said "You're the best audience in the world!!!" like he was playing Cleveland instead of a pre-taped American Idol semifinal performance. He's just the festering worst. It's good to have a villain this season, for sure. It's just too bad that villains are so annoying! Plus the judges want to fart all over him while having his babies, so he's gonna stick around I fear.

Five of these dudes, six actually, will be gooping into the finals, and I just still feel like so many of them are cannon fodder. Sure Jacob Lusk can blow it out the back of your head, but in what world would he be a viable candidate to win the whole thing? He is Slimer from Ghostbusters (meaning he's probably met Egon Spengler's gay nephew at some point? Small world!) and gay as a church hat. I just don't see it happening. This world, the one we live in, is a cruel, nasty, sad old place. Ah well. Tonight is the girls and it will be interesting to see what they come up with. This is their big chance, one of them all but has it in the bag. (If they can defeat the mighty Baby Lockthemdoors!) Who will it be? I can't wait to find out. (I sort of can.)

For now we'll just have to anxiously anticipate. Like Tim at home, pacing on the balcony, anger like hot bells in his ears, waiting for Ryan to come home so he can yell and pummel his chest with his fists, and break vases and wine glasses and scream and say things like you'll never leave me because I won't let you, and Ryan will shake his head and try to calm Tim down. But Tim won't be listening, Tim won't be calmable. Tim won't be anything but flailing and mad, because once you jump off a cliff there's no climbing back up, there's only falling in free air, gulping and grabbing at things that were never really there to begin with.