As the trend in over-hyped reality television wanes away into the bargain bins of liquidated pokemon dolls, some last few hits are desperately squeezed out the udders of the We Can Save Money On Writers phenomenon. American Idol is the latest reality tv hit of the vote people out genre. Because what is reality if voting is not involved?

If you're like me, you've never seen an episode of this television program. Also, you'd guess that this show is about potential pop singers who compete for a record deal. They're judged and slowly eliminated with a consolation prize involving videotaped afterthoughts of dramatic crying. I think spunky dancing is involved, too. And being girly. The first season's winner was a girl, I know that.

So Why am I Doing This?
I've recently escorted my kid sister to American Idol's second season auditions in New York and I thought that I might as well audition, too, just for a good story. The fun would be that I'm an ugly performer: according to one of newmoanyeah's many celebrated writers, Sweet & Sour Janet, I sing like Beck trying to sound like Elvis. I hardly move around voluntarily, too, and I'm painfully awkward around extrovert extremists. Therefore, it would be very worth your time if I embarrassed myself in front of semi to very skilled contestants and a panel of peon judges (who don't want their time wasted). I would be the embodiment of a "Christmas reel."

But then I looked at the line and I shuddered at its contents. I didn't want to be associated with a monstrosity composed of homeless-looking pretty people. The line was formed two days before the audition –– October 24th –– and by the time Kid Sister and I arrived –– with 12 hours to go before the doors to officially open -- the line was already snaking around blocks and threading through New York's financial district.

Contents of This Salami Log of Preppies is as Follows:
Frumpy Suburban Girls: These are the prospective amateurs who are embarrassing to watch, yet you admire their "I believe in myself" drive. Their persevering boldness is then squashed with their "plain old girl from no name town" aesthetics.

Prissy Socialitas: These princesses who are often classically trained were seen rolling around their carry-on luggage, and either had the air of being too good for you or were socially aggressive attention whores who wouldn't shut up.

Flaming Guys: If they weren't gay, they were at least posers. Lispy and flamboyant. Wrapped in scarves and nestling into their Tommy Hilfiger blankets. I just wanted to see one rummaging through trash -- looking for a cappuccino machine.

Bums: There weren't really any bums, but if I were to see one anywhere, I'd hope he'd at least give this contest a shot.

What unified these distinct generalizations was that they all seemed obnoxious in some way -- with their outgoingness bleeding off the nearby sea port. That must have been the main requirement for this audition. So where does the elimination begin?

Round 1: Being Homeless for a Day
The people in charge of this contest didn't expect these massive lines of thousands, and didn't apply for enough permits to cover their public loitering. They saw that this selection process would require more time than just the scheduled Thursday, so they expanded the first part of the auditions to cover Friday and Saturday as well. In order to get these people off the streets, they sent messages down the line saying they'd give out bracelets and will take down about 600 names for each of the three days. That way the homeless posers will leave and would be allowed entry to the auditions.

By around 3 in the morning the line started budging and the celebrations for bracelets were announced. At points rumors would sink into the preppy crowd, spreading the word that they handed out all the bracelets and that we were just waiting for nothing. People started leaving -- feeling defeated for being braceletless. The idea was insane: to camp out in icy air for a disposable bracelet, later finding out that in the end they were just good looking bums for an evening. Some people traveled long distances just to sleep in the streets.

But the line budged more, and we realized they were giving out the last batch of bracelets. Kid Sister made Saturday's 600. I was so tempted to stick my wrist out for bracelification, but that would mean I'd have to be with these people more.

Round 2: The Real Round 1
The rules of this phase: In groups of five, you take turns singing a song that you prepared in a-capella. Judges pick three out of the five contestants and cast the others away with blank expressions and a soul-less "thanks for coming."

By Saturday's morning, 600 people appeared in front of the audition building and leaked inside by 8 am. Having no bracelet meant I wasn't allowed in. And so I waited for three hours in a nearby cafeteria.

Interviewing The First Wave of Losers
Rejected contestants would float into the cafeteria to contemplate their losses while drowning themselves in pastries and coffee. I'm not much of a hard boiled reporter and with my soft boiledness I've developed an interviewing style that I call "eaves dropping."

"It's a joke!" said Sassy Girl with Funny Hat. I nodded from afar as she ranted to her co-sasser.

"I know!" Sass Girl #2 with Funny Pants agreed, "It's not even based on talent!"

I couldn't tell if I was in an atrium of sore losers.

In the world of entertainment you could only go so far with talent. The rest of the package generally involves what sort of edge you have. Sure, a funny hat or pants can separate you from a crowd, but I don't think attire is included in the uniqueness category. There needs to be a distinctive personality and an interesting look that goes beyond clothes and accessories.

For example, a girl who got a callback walked in looking for a drink. She had extremely large breasts. They were pretty interesting.

I interviewed another loser who sat at a table within earshot. Adorned with braces, he lisped into his cell phone, "I didn't get a callback. Ryan did, so I'm just waiting for him to be done. We promised we'd wait for each other."

How sweet.

Round 3: Guerilla Karaoke
Out of the 600 attemptees, Kid Sister became part of the 160 that were called back. For her, it meant she was special. For me, it meant three more hours of waiting.

This phase involved groups of ten who individually took turns singing their a-capella song again. Next, they would have to pick a song from a long list of radio hits -- from "Achy Breaky Heart" to "I Like Big Butts" –- and sing them with the aid of provided background music, and without the aid of given lyrics.

This time the judges were producers who gave constructive criticism to the losers. They were comments like "You have great potential, but there are signs of inexperience. Get vocal training and make sure to come back next year." and "You look like the girl next door. We don't want the girl next door."

To Be Callbackless
Of this round's 160, about 50 made it to the next phase. Although she had a good run, Kid Sister unfortunately did not get the callback. She left knowing that this wasn't the end and that she can still find a way to get a record deal.

I left knowing that I am a very good waiter.

Who knows what lies beyond the third round of American Idol's auditions. I'm guessing it involves spunky dancing.