The best description of Aiken may have come from Africana.com's J. Danielle Daniels, who dubbed him "technically perfect, emotionally empty." Accurate as that description may be, it's curious that such a statement would fit a man who states on the "American Idol" Web site that the last concert he attended was James Taylor's, and his favorite song is "Unchained Melody." None of the simply expressed yet poignant emotional resonance of Taylor's work is present from Aiken, who seems as free and comfortable moving onstage as a man playing the guitar tied to a chair.

Aiken had a hard time squeezing fun out of "Build Me Up Buttercup." Comparing the feeling in his rendition Tuesday night of "Unchained Melody" to the Righteous Brothers' classic is a task I won't dare undertake, and I can't begin to think of Aiken and Al Green's definitive cover of the song at the same time. But not to call him the odds-on favorite of this competition would make you a fool.

Just keep in mind last year. No matter how much Ruben sounds like a young Luther Vandross, his time is probably up. Incomprehensibly, he's already been in the bottom two of the voting. (Perhaps that was punishment for his bizarre decision to sing "Sweet Home Alabama" on country-rock night? Let's just hope Ruben doesn't really think the folks in Alabama "all did what they could do" about George Wallace.) The comparison to Vandross easily starts with his size -- reminiscent of Luther in the early '80s -- but the similarity runs deeper. Vandross was able to evoke a sweetness in his voice rarely heard in misery-laden R&B. Each note Luther sang rang with a sense of optimism, a rare and beautiful quality that helps set Ruben apart from the "A.I." field, just as it set Luther apart from every other singer of the past 20-plus years.

But there's a strong possibility that Wednesday could be his last night on the "American Idol" stage. Should that happen, déjà vu could set in with those who followed the show in both seasons. Kimberley Locke is biracial, making this nearly the same scenario from which Clarkson emerged last year. And Locke, who got back in Simon's good graces by relaxing her hair -- a suggestion that is curious at best and offensive at worst -- is not likely to win (like Justin Guarini before her), because of her inability to milk any passion out of the songs she sings.

This is where the human measurement comes into play. Those voting on the idol are future fans. And considering all the research done on the digital divide, there's little doubt who's stuffing the online ballot boxes. So it's not a stretch to predict Aiken will be the winner before he sings another note. That is a function of "A.I." reality. Would white teenagers have preferred to hear and see Elvis Presley or Jackie Wilson? Jerry Lee Lewis or Little Richard? New Kids or New Edition? A young John Lennon or Chuck Berry? History has shown us that the white star was preferred in each scenario. Yes, there's been some teen-idol exceptions -- Michael Jackson, Beyoncé Knowles and Lil' Bow Wow come to mind. But on a show as realistic as "American Idol," there's no reason to expect any difference.

That's not insidious in the way the precast reality shows are, where casting directors appear to follow a template, looking for people to fit certain roles, with "angry young black man" a perennial favorite. There's something strangely alluring about these contraptions, reality as conceived by television producers (and we all know how grounded they are) that pose interesting "what if" scenarios and allowing the world to watch them play out. They're experiments in human psychology, both for the "cast members" and viewers. Cast members are willing guinea pigs, thrust into situations that are typically different from their own lives. And viewers are prodded along by shows that tap into their predispositions and prejudices on a number of topics, including, invariably, race.

But all these shows help cement a perception of who would make a better pop idol, husband, even who would make a better roommate. And the actions on both sides of the tube indicate a grim reality, a country that still submits to its most visceral reactions more often than it would care to admit.

"American Idol" is no different. History gives me a hunch that Clay Aiken will soon be a millionaire with a recording contract. If for some reason if he's not, it wouldn't just be an upset. It would be unreal.

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