For the last hour, I have been alternately staring at my blank blog entry screen and watching American Idol. Then it dawned on me that I should write about this strange television phenomenon. I say strange because, while watching it, I am entertained. Afterword, I realize very quickly that I have just wasted an hour of my life on a bit of television rubbish. The judges have annoyed me, or in Paula Abdul's case, has made me feel embarrassed. Also, I know that if I heard the performances on the radio, I would change the station to stop the assault on my already failing eardrums. So what is it that draws me to this show? The only reason I can think of is that it is the television equivalent of watching a train wreck. You know it will be a disaster, but you cannot avert your eyes. I anticipate the inevitable vocal crack when the singer tries to reach a note that they were not meant to sing. I anticipate Paula Abdul's nutty remarks and gestures. I also anticipate Simon Cowell's blunt criticisms of the poor schmuck who provoked them. These anticipations would suggest that I enjoy watching the failures of others, but there is one other thing I look forward to seeing. Once in a rare while, a singer happens to choose the exact song that applies to their level of talent, and they turn in a remarkable, memorable performance. That somehow seems to make the waste of time worthwhile.