I've added another blog to the BU section, that of Matt Couture, younger brother of Jon Couture. He's a BU frosh now, but I've had the pleasure of knowing him since that day years ago when he sat in my apartment on Mountfort Street and tried to draft Jim Rice for his fantasy football team. And to think that this season he beat me out for third place.

His addition is also a naked grab for broader demographics, as he's the youngest BU-related blogger by 4 years (to his brother, naturally).

Speaking of naked ratings grabs involving teenagers, I, like so many out there, tuned in for the first episode of the second season of American Idol. It was pretty much more of the same, but blessedly Dunkleman-free. Ryan Seacrest retained his hosting duty, apparently with more direction and maturity than last season (or new/better writers, or the benefit of being out of studio, who knows). The show followed our intrepid band of judges as they scoured the nation looking for talent- and rarely finding it.

Boggie makes the point that the vast majority of tryout victims seem singularly unable to sing. I have to imagine there are hundreds of hours of tape that have on them nothing but thin, bland voices that fall in the middle- not horrible enough to evince the reactions that make it on air, but nowhere near good enough to move on. Meaning that for every person on the blunt end of crushing criticism, there are probably hundreds who will gamely cling to their dream of stardom. God help us.

Making a cameo appearance last night was Kristin Holt, one of last year's semi-finalists who has more teeth and attitude than brains or talent. She is apparently the show's ambassador to the Land of Broken Dreams, as she was shown offering aid and comfort to the enemies of song. Thankfully, her camera time was short, and her microphone time even shorter.

It's hard to pick anyone out of the onslaught so far. Early favorites are probably a pair of singing twins (who will have to go it alone from here on out), a girl from Miami who the judges are already setting up as the anti-Christina, a passel of New Yorkers who got some quality camera time, and a woman whose name escapes me but who sung the hell out of "And I Am Telling You I Am Not Going" from Dreamgirls.

The last half hour of the show was a "where are they now" that caught up with last year's finalists. Not surprisingly, most are working on some sort of recorded music project. Others got precious little screen time (I don't even think they told us what EJay Day is up to, though I assume after the tour he went back to working at Six Flags). We got to see Christina work for the TV Guide channel, Nikki slogging away at her karaoke business, and Tamyra appear on Boston Public and mention her work with Babyface on an album that's out next month. Most frightening- the coverage of the upcoming From Justin to Kelly, starring the top two finishers from last season. The plot seems to involve two people who click, mostly because they spend their waking hours singing. Yes, it's a musical, or the 21st century analog.

It is sad that I'm spending this much time talking about this show. It is my one failing where the reality genre is concerned. I comfort myself with the notion that some of these people can actually sing, so I'm getting something (admittely a very little something) for doing this to myself. I know, it's an excuse. Please pray for me.