I never ever thought that I, of all people, would find myself camped out in the line for American Idol auditions with 10,000 stardom hopefuls. But thanks to my overly optimistic friend Mackenzie, I somehow ended up spending two nights on the blacktop outside of Rose Bowl stadium in Pasadena. I didn't get much sleep.

Not that the constant attempts at diva-dom by those people practicing for their auditions had anything to do with it. Little did they know that Simon, Paula and Randy would not be around to astound with their amazing diva talents.

They would be auditioning for the show's producers, who are way harsher and hastier than Simon Cowell could ever be.

The organizers opened up Rose Bowl stadium to campers on Friday at noon, (auditions began Sunday morning at 8). And the divas began to arrive.

They waited for two days and two nights for their 20 seconds in front of a judge (if they were even given that much time) only to be dismissed as quickly as Bea Arthur at a Playboy shoot.

Isn't there a better way?

Well, yes.

They could have handed out numbers to people in order of arrival and called people back to audition at a specified time. They could have had more auditions, in smaller cities (Auditions are held only in L.A., New York, Houston, Atlanta, and Honolulu). There are plenty of solutions for a thinker.

But pragmatism is at the bottom of the list for American Idol producers. It is all about show. Making the evening news three nights in a row on all of the West Coast's biggest networks. Getting thirteen-year-old girls and grouchy old men alike worked up enough to schedule an hour of American Idol time every week.

So after two days, two nights, and a terribly long morning outside Rose Bowl stadium we were ushered into the stadium by folks in American Idol t-shirts and stylish sunglasses, so that Mackenzie could have her big 20-second chance. I was there for moral support.

Mackenzie and I had primo seats for Ryan Seacrest's introduction (look for us tonight on America Juniors, she is the cute tiny blonde one on his right). We smiled and cheered for the cameras take after take. And finally, once my face had a second-degree sunburn, the auditions began.

The hopefuls sang three at a time for one of 12 producers located at various tents situated on the Rose Bowl field. If they were passed the first audition they were given a sticker and sent to the right. If they failed, their wristbands were cut and they were sent to the left.

It was quick and impersonal, that is unless the Idol hopeful was so bad that the producers thought it would entertain the American public to hear Simon tell them how bad they were. In the latter situation the hopeful would be pushed through three or four rounds of auditions before they would be cut down to size.

In Mackenzie's case, the producer dismissed her, albeit accidentally, before he even heard her sing (he forgot that he had not listened to her before the other two women in her group).

In essence, her voice was not what mattered. It was a look that they were going for, and Mackenzie, even though she is cute as a button, did not have that look.

I don't know why I felt so upset about the whole fiasco; I shouldn't be surprised that Fox television network is all about show. I guess that after two nights in my sleeping bag I had just gotten my hopes up too high.