Before there was “American Idol,” “America’s Got Talent,” “So You Think You Can Dance” – heck, before there was even “America’s Funniest Home Videos” – there was “Star Search.” Do you remember it? We used to watch it relentlessly as a child. If you were lucky, you might have caught Christina Aguilera before she was on “The Mickey Mouse Club,” or Alanis Morisette before “You Can’t Do That On Television” made her (and slime) a star. You may have even seen Britney Spears before she forgot how to sing!
“Star Search” set off a lot of conflicting emotions for us. We desperately wanted to be on the show. What could be more exhilarating than pulling on some jazz pants and belting out a soulful classic like “If You Don’t Know Me By Now”? But the problem was, we had no talent. We still don’t, frankly. We couldn’t sing, we couldn’t play an instrument, and we certainly weren’t part of any plucky four-person youth dance teams.
If you were un-gifted like us, you had to make yourself content with watching the show, and dreaming of holding that microphone. You’d practice numbers in the mirror in your room (only mouthing them, of course. You didn’t want anyone to hear, and plus, weren’t the pained facial expressions the most important part anyway?). You’d imagine what outfits you’d wear on stage. You’d gripe about the lame kids who won (that fag that beat Britney was a joke. WHERE YOU AT NOW, BITCH?).
It was a very sad thing being an effeminate child without musical performance talent. Those of us who were lacking had no way of channeling all of these urges. You never once got to sing a solo in a school musical, let alone enter a nationally syndicated talent show. You never got to wave your hand in the air as you hit the high note, as if to say, “Alas! I’m about to be crushed by the awesomeness of my own voice!” (but oh, how you practiced that move).
Still, somehow, you managed to grow up into a big fag. You were totally gypped.