Well, summer has closed its books for the year and fall is now upon us. Of course, since I live in Southern California, I'm only aware of the seasonal change because catalog models are now wearing scarves instead of cargo pants, but still. And as we harvest the last of our corn, wheat and gourds in preparation for the Great Feast, two big questions are sweeping the American landscape: One, How is it that Elf – a Christmas movie – came out a full three weeks before The Haunted Mansion – ostensibly a Halloween flick – and Two, what has the Jaded Journalist been up to all summer? Besides learning how to refer to himself in the third person?

For starters, I got married in July on a day women across the country are now referring to as "Black Friday."; Interestingly, I got married in Hawai'i and only a few months later American Idol held auditions there. Coincidence? Yes. By the way, for those of you who don't know, Hawai'i is nice. So what's it like being married? Pretty much the same except more boring and my back hurts from cleaning out the rain gutters every Saturday.

Now, at this point, many of you are probably wondering why somebody as fascinating as myself isn't currently starring in a Newlyweds-style show on MTV. Well, I am, but on MTV Europe. I can't even look at a tapas bar in Barcelona without being mobbed. I draw like the Pope over there. And we had our embarrassing ditz moment when my wife mentioned – on TV mind you! – that Grevenmacher is in Belgium. In fact, it is in Luxembourg. I was soooooo humiliated!

This brings me to another interesting point about myself. Although the EU now knows what I like, folks stateside are still asking what's behind the blur. My pet answer lately has been "Bill Bixby with better hair,"; and while that usually lands a few chuckles at cocktail parties, it's not the most accurate description ever. So what do I look like? Well, if you close your eyes and imagine what a man is supposed to look like, that.

Finally, some news about the show that I'm a part of... On the far, far fringes. Auditions for the third offering of Idol went down this summer and I swung by the L.A. version because it was the easiest and cheapest. One thing I quickly noticed – and this happens with all reality shows that go around more than once – is that all of the new contestants fit the archetypes set up by the originals. The American Idol galaxy now has about ten different types of person in the show, and every auditioner fits into one of the categories. You have your excessively outgoing "punk"; girl with colorful hair, the pretty blonde who can only sorta sing, the preppy kid, the white guy who wants to be black, the highly energetic and super optimistic boy or girl, the g-fabulous chick and all the rest.

And with each successive season, the contestants become more and more aware about how to act, what to expect, how to retort Simon's jibes, what to wear and which camera is the hot one. It can only be a matter of time before a contestant is asked who their favorite singer is and instead of replying Madonna or Eddie Grant or the bald guy from Midnight Oil that looks like Sloth from The Goonies, their answer is Clay Aiken or Kelly Clarkson. At which point we will officially descend into hyper meta-irony and the universe will collapse upon itself.

After Idol Audition Tour 2003 wrapped up, ("Hello, Honolulu! Are you ready to rock?!!) the good ones moved on to Pasadena while the bad ones slinked back home to a life of convincing themselves they could've been something great if Randy didn't suck as a judge. As expected – by whom I'm not sure – I dropped by the Pasadena auditions and took some mental notes - which I promptly forgot. It's better that way, since all Idol news and information is being protected much more fervently than Valerie Plame's W2 forms. I can tell you that I completely scorched Seacrest during an interview and Simon and I spent some time discussing how awesome we each were. I can also tell you that I ran into Clay backstage and he gave me the ol' blowoff. I guess now that he's on the cover of TV Guide every other week, he doesn't need the guy that made him. Made him! He should be sending me checks!

Speaking of Seacrest, I've been counting down the days until his syndicated daytime talker (that's Hollywood parlance for talk show) debuts. I lost count back around July, but I think it's around 119 days to go. And 120 until Jillian Barberie has her first sit-down with Ryan and I try to rip my ears off.

So that is about that. Um...I guess columns as great as this one will return in January with Idol. Maybe by then I can work on closing an article like a pro.