Monkee

My American Idol Post in Bullet Points

Is it possible to get hemorrhoids from a television show?

Is it possible to not get hemorrhoids from American Idol?

Is it possible that American Idol IS a hemorrhoid?

 

I don’t have enough tequila for this.

I wonder if you can get buzzed huffing air fresheners.

Smell…good…happy…spray…CHEEZ FJORDS!!

 

Is anyone here NOT painfully ugly?

It’s like they went out of their way to find people with horrible deformities.

I think that last guy just made me sterile.

 

Seacrest must be some sort of punishment for humanity’s sins.

Wouldn’t American Idol be one of those sins?

I should really look into Buddhism.

 

I have a sneaky suspicion that this is making the terrorists mad.

Terrorists can be very reasonable sometimes.

I wonder if they can make this stop.

 

I get the feeling that Randy Jackson really thinks he’s hot shit.

I can’t stand when people name drop and take themselves too seriously.

He’s the white bread to Simon’s sourdough and Paula’s nut loaf.

 

Well, it’s time to play good news/bad news.  The bad news is that I really struggled with this one and, as you may have noticed, I kind of failed.  The good news is that I didn’t start blogging American Idol last year until they got to the final twenty or so at which point the structure was much more conducive to blogging.  This stage with the montages and personal stories and the weird names that I can’t spell is less so.  Thus, I’ve decided to wait it out through the auditions and try again once the insanity has passed.  In the meantime, it’s been fun popping in for another visit.  We should do this again some time.

American Idol: Return of the Dead Eyes

I’ve thought really long and hard about whether or not I want to blog about American Idol this year and, in the end, I still don’t have any real answers.  The thing is – and I’m sure most of you had noticed this by now – I don’t actually like American Idol.  Don’t get me wrong; I’m not just a masochist.  I rather like the first few episodes when they’re auditioning contestants, but frankly, I think you would have to be both deaf and blind or a saint not to.  Even as snobbish as I can be about low-brow, pop culture swill, I will not deny my love for seeing truly ridiculous people being made to look ridiculous.  On the other hand, once we move past those few episodes, the entire thing becomes monotonous, repetitive, and inane and that was when I would traditionally turn to my most faithful and dearest friend, my DVR and happily fast-forward through approximately ninety percent of each episode.

I kid you not, prior to last year, I never heard more than a couple of bars of any song on the show before fast forwarding past Paula and Randy’s psychotically unbalanced ramblings to catch the first sentence or so of Simon’s critique and move on.  Having to sit through entire episodes, while actually paying attention last year was literally torture.  I would stay up into the wee small hours of the night rewinding, pausing, and fast forwarding as I tried desperately not to miss a single syllable of Ryan Seacrest’s effeminate bitchery as it spilled daintily forth from his overly made up face.  (Seriously, even typing that last sentence now compels me to take stock of my life and figure out where I went so terribly wrong.)  On the other hand, from a purely creative standpoint, the challenge of crafting quips and witticisms out of a show that’s as basally vile and unashamedly repugnant as our much beloved Idol was actually quite compelling.  There’s nothing more natural to the human condition than savoring a couple of pot shots taken at the weak of mind and in that regard, I’m as human as they come.

Still, I can’t help but shudder at the idea of more late nights spent staring into those vacant eyes and trying to figure out exactly what is wrong with Paula anyways and whether or not it could be in any way tied to Simon’s moobs and their hypnotic mind control powers.  In other words, I still don’t know and while I realize, as I glance over at the muted television and watch yet another member of the Future Fry Cooks of America come to terms with their blatant lack of talent…and, um, hygiene, that I am really cutting this decision a little close, I can’t help it.  I’m hopelessly deadlocked…and yet, oddly intrigued.  For now, I can only promise one thing.  This week I shall faithfully record every titillating second of this assault on the youth of America and, over the weekend, with an open mind, a waiting computer, and a very tall glass of bourbon I will make a valiant and concerted effort to reconnect with my inner bitchy gay man and blog American Idol.  We’ll just see how this goes.

American Idol: This. Ends. Now.

The Performance Show:

 

            I press play on the cable remote with considerably less enthusiasm than even I thought I would have.  It’s not the same without Melinda.  If I had voted, I would complain about people not voting.  I did not vote.  I will blame it on those who did.  I don’t really care who wins, although I’m pretty sure I know who it will be.  I’m pretty sure we all know who it will be.

 

            I’m genuinely taken aback by how Randy is dressed.  He appears to have dressed as an homage to…well, I don’t know who.  It’s kind of Michael Jackson, meets sea captain, meets straight-jacket.  Underneath his Captain Stubing jacket, I can see he’s wearing a t-shirt.  I’m confused.  It’s like being told to “dress up” and thinking that means to throw on a pair of chaps over your outfit.  Actually, I guess that is “dressing up.”  I just hadn’t thought of it that way.  Hmm…silly me.  Paula, on the other hand, looks remarkably good for someone who just broke her nose by “tripping over her Chihuahua.”  Um, yeah.  Speaking of things that aren’t true, Seacrest is SO funny.

 

            I didn’t realize that Blake and Jordin both came from Seattle.  Did anyone else notice that?  I’ve been watching this show, right?  Trippy.  Next thing I know, they’re going to say Seacrest is straight! 

 

Blake Lewis (You Give Love A Bad Name):

            I’m glad that he’s doing this song again.  I’m curious how well it will do on a second hearing.  It’s surprising how much this feels like a normal show.  I can hardly tell that it’s the final performances.  The singing isn’t great, but I’m not bored, so I guess it’s a win.  Meh.  Randy says, “There’s trouble off the starboard bow”.  Paula wants to know if anyone has seen her flask.  Simon seconds my opinion.  I’m a genius.

 

Jordin Sparks (Fighter):

            I’ve often wondered why no one sings Christina Aguilera songs on this show.  This season, Jordin has sang two of them.  I can only assume then, that she can hear me and is doing my bidding.  Therefore, the following is for Jordin.  SHAVE YOUR EYEBROWS.  Randy says, “Avast, ye lilly-livered scalliwags!”  Paula says she’s found her flask and everything is going to be O.K.  Simon speaks the truth:  Blake was better.  Constantine Maroulis would like to show you his junk.  (Don’t believe me?  Watch it again.)

 

Intermission for Paula to demonstrate the effects of an entire flask of bourbon on a four foot tall, ninety pound woman.  Way to speak in tongues, Paula.

 

Blake Lewis (She Will Be Loved) :

            I can’t say that I’m enjoying this performance.  The only Maroon 5 song I ever liked was the one he sang last week.  I wish he would just do a whole set of Sting songs this week and just get it over with.  You can fight all you want, but one day, very soon, you will have to face your inner Sting.  We all will.  Randy can’t talk right now because he’s swabbing the deck.  Paula can’t talk right now because, well, she can’t ever talk.  Simon is busy arguing with the audience…my opinion reigns supreme.

 

Flash to well-known deaf person in audience.  I’m left to wonder what this must be like for her.  Suddenly realize it’s probably not all that different than what it’s like for me…monotonous.

 

Jordin Sparks (Broken Wing):

            Jordin’s mom doesn’t look very old.  Of course, Jordin isn’t very old.  Her mom’s probably not even forty yet.  Oh.  My.  God.  I just realized that I’m seven years older than Jordin.  I feel like I should be yelling at kids to get off my lawn.  I’m so depressed.  Meanwhile Jordin just spent a couple of minutes reminding me why she’s going to win.  I forgot that there’s more to her than eyebrows and gigantism.  Yay for Jordin.  Randy says, “It shivered his timbers.”  Paula said that sounded dirty.  Simon said that it sounds like his last date with Seacrest.  Oh, SNAP!

 

Blake Lewis (This is My Now):

            I really had high hopes that this year’s final song thingy wasn’t going to be as craptacular as the previous years had been.  Oh well, just another dream crushed by the Idol machine.  It was boring: boring, predictable tripe.  Randy says, “There be monsters here.”  Paula says, “I also had a hash pipe!”  Simon says, “I’m not allowed to say that the song sucks giant, hairy, monkey butt.”  Maryam says, “I can and it did.”

 

Jordin Sparks (This is My Now):

            Predictably, Jordin is rocking this bloated, fetid, gasbag of a song.  I’m not surprised.  Even her eyebrows work with the song.  It’s like it was written FOR them.  Oh no.  Now she’s crying.  I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it.  You have lovely eyebrows.  They don’t in any way resemble angry caterpillars.  They’re very…subdued.  Randy wants her to sign his peg leg.  Paula wants to hug the world and buy it a puppy.  Simon is caught up in the joy of the moment.  Or maybe he’s just caught up in the fumes wafting over from Paula’s side of the table.  Either way, he’s happy with it.

 

Ryan would like to welcome someone back to the Idol stage.  My cable box would not.  It did not record anymore.

 

The Results Show:

 

It looks like all the stars (with children under 13) have come out for tonight’s show.  I expect there will be a number of awkward exchanges between Seacrest and various celebrities tonight.  I’m afraid.

 

Randy is still rocking the costumes tonight.  This time in a smoking jacket, but at least it’s appropriate seeing as he’s sitting next to Paula who I’m sure has brought enough for everyone.

 

I always feel a twinge of…well, of homicidal rage when I hear a Beatles song performed by someone else, but I’m willing to overlook it tonight because it brought with it Blake’s gayest moment yet: trying to dance with a girl.  He’s going to need to hear a lot of Village People to get over this one.

 

I had heard bad things about Kelly Clarkson’s new song, but she was the only Idol I had ever actually liked anything from so I was kind of in denial.  Prior to this evening, I had made a concerted effort to avoid it at all costs and keep clinging to the false dream that she was different from all the rest.  But now I’ve heard it.  It was not good.  Damn.

 

The Golden Idols?  If they need filler that bad, why don’t they just give us a close up of Simon’s furry moobs for ten minutes.  I never thought I’d say this, but I think they would be LESS horrifying than whatever the hell this is.  What (now unemployed) lackey thought that was a good idea?  Whoever it was, I hope they’re suffering.  I’M suffering.

 

Okay, you gotta follow me on this one.  Smokey Robinson looks like Martin Short, dressed up as Jiminy Glick, if he had lost some weight and gotten a face lift, the horrible side effect of which was turning into a black man.  Everybody still with me?  Good.  Smokey Robinson may be a deformed freak, but I actually really like the music and the boys as backup singers/dancers are very entertaining.  Now, if they were just that entertaining when they were on their own, maybe they would have done better.

 

Um…the beat-boxing…is…AMAZING.  I’m going to let The Husband sum it up for me.  “He’s better than he got to be.”  I totally agree.  This whole time I thought he beat boxed too much.  I was completely wrong.  He needed to beat box more, better, longer, faster.  I would have LOVED to hear one of these every week.  I feel like I missed out.  Damn.

 

I’m going to quote myself here. “Oh God, there’s more!”  Why are they doing more Golden Idols?  They’re SO unpleasant.  No, unpleasant isn’t strong enough a word.  They’re worse than unpleasant, they’re repulsive.  No, that’s not strong enough either.  How about atrocious?  Vile?  Abhorrent?  The incarnation of all that is depraved and evil in this world?  Oh, yeah, that was the one.  And now, onto the girls!

 

There’s something…wrong with Gladys Knight.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s…wrong.  I can’t quite tell….is it her lip?  I think her upper lip on her left side?  Did she have a stroke?  Is she having a stroke now?  Oh.  My.  God.  Gladys Knight is having a stroke!  Melinda and Lakisha are trying to cover it up by singing with her.  This is SO surreal.  Why couldn’t it have been Seacrest!?!

 

Hey, Tony Bennett is singing!  It’s interesting really.  He called in sick when he was supposed to sing during his mentoring week and now here he is in the finale singing.  Yup, here he is, contractually obligated to perform something, anything, on American Idol before the season is over.  Good old American Idol.  Come hell or high water, pain or sickness, even the cold face of death standing just off stage, they always get their man.

 

Best Buddies?  Who are we kidding here?  This is ridiculous.  And bringing up Antonella after all this time?  I had just forgotten here.  I’m going to need so much therapy after this show…  Or, a thirty second montage of all of Simon and Ryan’s little marital problems!  Yes, that’ll do nicely.  It’s just so wonderfully delicious, I could live off of nothing but these little clips and a dollop of whipped cream for a week and be a happy camper.  I never realized just how much Ryan and Seacrest remind me of The Husband and I.  Nor did I realize how much the “best buddies” winners remind me of Ren and Stimpy.  It’s an evening of enlightenment.

 

Who are BB and CC?  Which one is which?  Why are they so weird?  Where’s AA?  Why don’t they bring back Ren and Stimpy?

 

Oprah gives away cars and everyone freaks out.  Idol gives out cars and before there’s time for so much as a reaction shot, they throw it to Carrie Underwood.  They have time to fill!  Why aren’t they doing more with this instead of giving out ridiculous awards?  Haven’t they learned anything from watching Oprah?

 

Clive Davis thinks he’s giving a speech to a board of directors or a group of investors.  If I’m still awake in a minute, I expect I’ll here him talking about the quarterly budget reports and this fiscal years projected earnings.  If he’s going to be this boring he at least needs to be wearing a clown nose or something.  I’m going to slip into a coma before I find out who wins.  Damn you, Idol!

 

I used to think that there was no way that I could hate Sanjaya more than I already did, but now Idol has gone and compared him to Martin Luther King and Ghandi, thrown him back on stage to butcher another song, and trotted out the crying girl again to top it all off.  Tomorrow I’ll be putting a hit out on the bunny.  It’s time to take him down.

 

I heard recently that Taylor Hicks lost like twenty pounds.  I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but when the pounds left, they took a few years with them.  He looks, at least, ten years younger.  Now he’s not pudgy George Clooney; he’s just goofy George Clooney.  I think I speak for all women when I say that we’ll take ANY George Clooney however we can get it.

 

You know, when Clive Davis was up there talking interminably about song writers and the importance of song writers so he could make his not so subtle point to Kelly Clarkson, I  find it interesting that he failed to point out some of the major song writing flops in American Idol history.  Take for example, Reuben Studdard and his glorious first single, “I’m sorry for 2004.”  That was a real winner.  It was so awful that I actually forgot that Reuben could sing.  And I LOVE Reuben.

 

I love Bette Midler as much as anyone, maybe more so.  In fact, I’d bet the only people in the world that love Bette Midler more than I do are all middle aged gay men, but I wish she would be more raucous.  I miss bathhouse Bette.  On the bright side, Randy and Paula treating the performance like a school dance is darn near priceless.  The only thing that could make it better would be Simon and Ryan dancing along with them.

 

Now, I’ve not been quiet about my distaste for people remaking Beatles music.  If I were being honest, I’d say I’ve been rather vocal in my anger.  Understandably then, listening to Kelly forget the words to Sgt. Pepper, Taylor squeal through A Day in the Life, Carrie country up She’s Leaving Home, Reuben suck the life out of Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds, and the top twelve bastardize A Little Help From My Friends has left me on the verge of tears.  It’s a good thing this is the last show of the season, because it’s going to take time for me to forgive them for this.

 

Um, WOW.  Apparently, the cable box feels the same way I do because my recording just ended.  Um, I hate to tell ya’ll, but I don’t know what happens next.  I can only assume that Jordin wins, but for all I know, crying girl will take the crown. 

 

So, um, I guess that’s it for American Idol.

 

Um, and now your baby of Zen…I guess.

 

American Idol: A Little Hot Wax Will Clear This Right Up

The Performance Show:

 

So, we’re down to the final three and each of the finalists get to sing three different songs to try and win us over.  Personally, I hate that.  It drives me up a wall that instead of doing two full length songs they do three little sound bites instead.  It’s like the producers think that the audience is incapable of sitting through three minutes of the same song and they need to keep skipping around like we’re channel flipping to keep out attention…oh, actually, I guess that’s exactly the point.  Never mind…I wonder what’s on my alternate channel…

 

Jordin Sparks (Wishing On a Star):

            The judges always pick better songs for them than the finalists ever do, so it’s no surprise that Simon’s song was a good choice for Jordin.  Nor was it a surprise that Jordin’s eyebrows tried to ascend to the top of her during the performance.  Nor was it a surprise that Simon and Ryan had a little bitch fit.  Nor was it a surprise that there was nothing surprising.  Maybe it’s just me, but I’m getting very, VERY bored with Jordin’s performances.  They just all seem to be the same.  I know some people would call it consistent and applaud her for it.  I would call it Ambien and warn of its risk of dependency.

 

Blake Lewis (Roxanne):

            I really hate to say it, but Paula’s choice of song was BRILLIANT…and now, I need to go cleanse myself.  Blake was like Mini-Sting, but gay and I’ve never loved him more!  Not even when he slid on his knees to the front of the stage and then hurled his microphone into the audience.  Well, MAYBE I liked that more, but honestly, I didn’t agree with Simon.  I really thought it was wonderful and I was THRILLED that he didn’t do any beat boxing, which I love, but don’t want to hear in every song.  (I can has CAPSLOCK)

 

Melinda Doolitte (I Believe In You and Me):

            I can’t even start talking about her performance yet, because there were too many things about the mayor segment to point out.  First, it was hilarious that he pointed out that Randy is completely insane and writes just like he talks (that is to say, unintelligibly).  Second, I can’t believe that Randy is even name-dropping in his fax.  That man would name-drop about anything.  “Dawg, I totally cut in front of Marvin Gay for the urinal.”  Third, I haven’t heard Melinda sing it yet, but don’t they always tell the contestants not to try Whitney Houston songs?  I know Melinda is good, but there’s an awful lot on the line here to be experimenting with her.  That’s why Randy should consider himself extremely fortunate that she rocked it!

 

I’m curious, does anyone like the banter between Ryan and Simon?  I find it strained and awkward.  Of course, I feel that way because I find Ryan strained and awkward, so I guess I’m basically asking if anyone else hates Ryan as much as I do?  Do you?  Because seriously, he’s starting to creep me out.

 

Jordin Sparks (She Works Hard For The Money):

            Have you ever wondered what a constipated bobble-head would look like if it was trying to sing and emote?  Well, wonder no more.  I don’t know what to say anymore.  I’m just SOOOOOOOOO bored.  If Paula hadn’t insinuated that Jordin was a streetwalker then I don’t think I would even have managed to stay awake.

 

Blake Lewis (This Love):

            See!  Now, this is the kind of song that benefits from beat boxing.  It’s all about good things in moderation.  For example:  I love chocolate, but if I ate a pound of chocolate every day, then I would get tired of it and not like it anymore…Okay, that’s just stupid and wrong, but you get the idea.

 

Melinda Doolittle (Nut Bush City Limits?):

            Is that a real song?  Is that really what it’s called?  I think I have to get my hearing checked.  Exactly how much crack where the producers smoking when they chose this one?  Seriously, I want to know.  On the other hand, I LOVE that Ryan had to say “nut bush” a couple of times.  You know he’s just pretending to be awkward about it because he doesn’t want to let on that it’s a phrase he’s rather familiar with.  Although, he usually just calls it the Friday Night special.  (God, I’m so immature.)  Meanwhile, I know she sang it well, but I’m still too busy mulling over the “nut bush” thing.

 

Jordin Sparks (I Who Have Nothing):

            As far as I’m concerned, this is just about the worst song she could possibly sing.  Not because she doesn’t sing it well, because she would sing anything well.  Rather, it’s because it exaggerates her eyebrow issues so much that I just want to reach through the screen and pluck them off of her face.  She’s abused them and she’s not allowed to have them anymore.

 

Blake Lewis (When I Get You Alone):

            I’m not going to lie.  I thought the song was really odd and I think this is a perfect example of a song where the beat boxing was a bit unnecessary.  All in all, though, I liked it and I actually think I might prefer Blake joining Melinda in the final two instead of Jordin.  Weird, huh?

 

Melinda Doolittle (I’m a Woman):

This is going to be a bit scattered.  LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!  Melinda is my favorite person ever.  Simon is the sleaziest person ever and that wasn’t a striptease because she was never wearing the jacket.  Of course, I don’t know why you would bother to bring the jacket on stage with you just to sling it over your shoulder and then throw it on the floor.  What did it ever do to deserve that?  I really wish I could vote Randy and Paula off, but I guess I’ll settle for eyebrows, I mean, Jordin.

 

The Results Show:

 

             I hardly know how to react to the opening with Homer Simpson.  On the one hand, I found it to be a little bit of a weird pairing.  On the other hand, I think he did a better job than Seacrest.

            Maybe it’s just the cynic in me, but when Seacrest said that Maroon 5 would be performing tonight I had to wonder.  Which came first, booking Maroon 5 or assigning Blake a Maroon 5 song to sing this week?  Granted, he did sing it well, but if the producers chose that song for him because they were going to book the band to perform, isn’t that kinda wrong?

 

            Did anyone see Simon wink at Ryan?  They must have made up after last night’s show.

 

            Jordin acts like being surrounded by elementary school kids is equivalent to being surrounded by toxic sludge.  Icky.  Icky.

 

            Elliot Yamin’s song is giving me flashbacks of high school slow dances…it’s not a good feeling.  It feels like awkward silences and sore feet.  And why won’t he shut up?  I’ve never seen someone who was worse at taking a hint.  Doesn’t he know how this show works?  Seacrest is going to scratch his eyes out.

 

            It’s pretty obvious that Maroon 5’s song dropped the F-Bomb a couple of times.  Perhaps, if he had substituted a word or simply omitted the offending word, it wouldn’t be so obvious, but when you move the microphone aside and cover your mouth it pretty much serves as a giant flashing beacon that you’re skipping something.  What a tool.

           

            You know, I didn’t think it could get any worse after they said that Jordin had made it to the final two.  Well, what the hell do I know, eh?  It turns out, it could totally get worse.  WAY worse.  Then I thought it couldn’t get worse after Melinda was voted off, but then the recording ended before I got to hear what Simon had to say and after I had already sat through Paula’s ramblings.  Now I’m afraid my Television is going to burst into flames.  So sad.

 

And now, your baby of Zen.

 

American Idol: Ish the Lasht Leg

The Performance Show:

 

Barry Gibb has made a lot of records with ladies and that’s why it’s perfect for him to be mentoring this fine young group of women….Yup, ALL women.  Nothin’ but women…no boys here…  Anyway, it’s not like any of us had the slightest idea what he was really saying anyways, what with his lovely speech impediment and all.  Let me quote here for you the conversation The Husband I had:

 

The Husband:  “Why ish he talshing lish shish?”

 

Me:  “Becaush he hash new denshursh.”

The Husband:  “Osh.”

 

Me:  “Yeash.”

 

Moving on.

 

Melinda Doolittle (Love You Inside and Out):

            Barry Gibb points out that he’s confused as to why Melinda would choose a song that’s falsetto.  I would like to point out that ALL BeeGees songs are falsetto and that Barry Gibb sounds like he’s doing a bad Sean Connery impersonation.  I would also like to point out that Randy and Paula have gotten SO generic that they could easily be replaced with a sack of potatoes and a bottle of Valium, respectively.  So, disregarding the human detritus to the left of the screen, we move on to Simon who would like to point out that Ryan is a massive tool and that Melinda’s performance wasn’t particularly striking.  I second that motion and on we go!

 

Blake Lewis (You Should Be Dancing):

            Barry says, “My name ish Bond.  Jamesh Bond.” Or, at least that’s what he should have said.  I say that Blake could have sung it better if he was being lowered into a tank full of sharks with laser beams on their heads and Simon says that if they have time to for Seacrest to talk, then they not only have time for Simon’s diatribes, but also for a half hour of dead air.

 

Lakisha Jones (Staying Alive):

            I am just thrilled to death that Lakisha ignored Barry when he tried to convince her to do the song falsetto.  Just because for one brief, drug-addled decade, people enjoyed the ear-piercing wails of a castrated wolverine caught in a bear trap, doesn’t mean that American Idol viewing audience wants to relive that moment…unless there are actual drugs involved…are there?  Of course, Simon is so upset that Lakisha didn’t help him relive his hazy youth, that he dumps her.  And after last week’s gropefest and everything.  I guess luscious boobage can’t always save you.  One of life’s cruel lessons.

 

Jordin Sparks (You Don’t Know What It’s Like):

            I was going to make a joke about Barry Gibb saying that Jordin’s version of this song is the best he’s ever heard, but frankly that is too cool of a thing to say for me to belittle it by making a joke about her rampaging eyebrows.  So, yay for Jordin.  You get a free pass on this song.

 

Hey, did you know typing is surprisingly difficult when you’re trying to eat hot wings?  I’m just saying.

Melinda Doolittle (How Can You Mend a Broken Heart):

            I’ve decided that the judges have been spoiled by Melinda and I no longer intend to listen to them when they critique her.  Instead I will spend that time imagining Simon inflating his moobs with a manual air pump…Yes, that’s much better.

 

Blake Lewis (This Is Where I Came In):

            I think Barry Gibb calling Blake’s various noises his “extra little gifts” may be my favorite part of tonight’s show.  Maybe I’m reading too much into this, but it strikes me that Barry doesn’t have the slightest idea what beat boxing is and why Blake is doing it.  “Extra little gifts” conjures up images of beat boxing recitals by eight year olds in their Sunday best.  Not that that wouldn’t be AWESOME, but still.  Meanwhile, I hate to say it, but I agree with Randy, I’m a little tired of all the beat boxing.  If it really adds something to the song like it did last week, then by all means have at it, but this week it was just tiresome.  I think it may be time for Blake to hit that big techno-funk party in the sky.

 

Lakisha Jones (Run To Me):

             While I suppose I should be talking about her singing (really not that great) or the judges’ comments (really not that interesting), what I’d rather talk about is how rushed they suddenly got and how ridiculously unfair it is to Lakisha to be rushed off the stage to make up for time wasted on that stupid and awkward Judge Judy moment.  If I were Lakisha, I’d be seriously peeved.  She should totally grab Seacrest by his pencil neck and use him to bludgeon Judge Judy to death.  My GOD, that would be a FANTASTIC show.

 

Jordin Sparks (Woman In Love):

            Good lord, Barry is completely infatuated with Jordin.  He’s done everything short of declaring her the winner or, at least, clubbing her and carting her off to his cave to show us how much he adores her.  As for me, I once again have to side with cantankerous old British moob, I mean, man and declare her singing to be a wee bit over the top on this one, but still I think she stands a much better chance of sticking around this week than either Lakisha or Blake.

 

The Results Show:

           

For reasons I cannot understand, Simon and Paula swapped seats tonight.  I’m not saying that they didn’t explain it, it’s just that I have no earthly clue what either of them was talking about.  Honestly, I’ve had dirty socks that are more coherent than Paula.

 

You know, I wasn’t going to mention it.  I was NOT going to bring it up, no matter how badly I wanted to… but then Seacrest did it for me and now I’m free to complain one more time….WHERE THE HELL WAS BONO!?!?!  How can Seacrest mention that the Idols met Bono when none of us got to see it?  It’s a conspiracy I tells ya!

 

Pink?  Huh?  You know who would have made more sense to be there tonight?  Bono.

 

After a few various interruptions for a crappy group number, Seacrest pretending to be attracted to Jessica Alba, and Jordin to be declared safe, we get to what can only be described as an “extra little gift” from Barry Gibb to me.  I could die a happy woman tonight after listening to Barry Gibb sing with ill fitting dentures.  It’s like it’s my birthday!

 

Hmmm… I don’t know what to think now that Lakisha is gone and Blake is staying.  I guess I’m surprised.  I knew that Lakisha would be in the bottom two, but I didn’t think she would go home tonight.  On the other hand, I figured she would go home next week and I KNOW that Blake is going to go home next week.  For some reason, though, I’m pretty broken up about it.  I think it might be because there won’t be any more Lakisha/Simon kisses.  How can I go on?

 

And now, your baby of Zen.

 

American Idol: My Own Private Christmas

The Performance Show:

 

After a week of charity and goodwill, comes this week’s welcome return to American Idol’s ruthless, dream-crushing roots.  Oh, and speaking of roots, tonight’s theme, if you can call it that, is Bon Jovi.  You know that sensation you’re feeling, like a rock in your stomach making you contort in pain?  Yeah, that’s dread.

 

So, my first impression of Bon Jovi was that he was conspicuously present.  He was totally, like, there, you know?  I mean, his visage was oddly visible and, like, tangible and stuff.  Normally, I suppose I wouldn’t really bother to point this out, but after last week, when, in all THREE HOURS of American Idol, there wasn’t even so much as a picture of Bono, I wasn’t expecting great things.  I thought for sure that tonight was going to feature a Bon Jovi bobble head or maybe a potato with a mop of golden locks.  So, you can imagine my surprise when a real person showed up.  Dude, Trippy.

 

Phil Stacey (Blaze of Glory):

            I’m probably just being picky here, but I HATE when the contestants enter from the back, it’s sooo been done.  I wonder if they like it or if they’re being forced to do it just to spice up the show…  Actually, no I don’t.  Never mind.  So the singing; I’ve made no bones about the fact that I’m about as fond of Phil Stacey as I am about anal probes, but I will admit that he did a good job… kinda.  As far as I’m concerned, the main problem with Phil is that he is unwatchable and so, even though the singing was commendable, there is no amount of talent that can hide the fact that he is a pasty alien with a double chin.

 

Jordin Sparks (Livin’ on a Prayer):

            Oh, Jordin, Jordin, Jordin.  My darling little child.  So young, so sweet, so about to take a boot to the head from Bon Jovi.  I don’t care how young you are, you could be a fetus and this would still apply, you NEVER tell someone that your Mom is/was a big fan.  EVER.  Did you see the polite laugh?  Did you see the dead look in his eyes?  Did you see him shoot a glance over to his band mate?  Oh, little one, consider this a lesson learned and watch your back on the way out.  Now, onto the real issue:  the hair!  I guess Sanjaya’s extremely timely passing left a void that Jordin felt needed to be filled by her massive head…I mean, hair…no, I mean head.  Honestly, she’s like a giant.  Not only is she incredibly tall, but her body is well in proportion to her height.  Now, normally, this isn’t that easy to see, but then they put these skinny little guitar players on stage and suddenly she looks like the Jolly Green Giant.  It’s as though she went in and asked for a hairstyle that would accentuate her massiveness.  Oh, and I like Jordin well enough, but seriously, the singing was horrendous…

 

Lakisha Jones (Ain’t a Love Song):

            Wow!  Lakisha really got into it tonight!  At the risk of sounding like Randy, that was hot!  Especially at the end of the song when she did that snarly, angry face thing.  Of course, all of that fantastic-ness pales under the weight of the “OHMYGOD, Simon is kissing Lakisha, that’s the first sign of the apocalypse”ness of it all.  That’s okay though, my life is now complete.

 

Blake Lewis (You Give Love a Bad Name):

            Blake wants to play around with the song and Bon Jovi is kind enough to point out that “a lot of people don’t want [the song] messed with.”  Of course by “a lot of people” he means “people from Jersey” and by “don’t want” he means “will cut you,” but I suppose there’s no need for him to be direct.  Meanwhile, about the performance itself, I have three questions:

            First, did he dye his hair just for this song?

            Second, is he aware that all the weird noises and stuff that he’s doing are normally added in post processing?

            Third, and I think that I speak for both myself and The Husband when I ask this, Blake, will you marry us?

 

Chris Richardson (Wanted Dead or Alive):

            While it was certainly nice of Chris to demonstrate the second “don’t” with a musician by forgetting the words, it won’t make up for the relentless tedium that was his singing.  Now, I know it’s not his style of music and I know that the song isn’t particularly easy to customize, but honestly, I’d be more qualified to tell you about the cute thing my cat was doing while Chris was singing than about this song, because after the first couple of notes, I stopped listening.  Meanwhile, you should have seen the cute thing that Schmooey was doing!

 

Melinda Doolittle (Have a Nice Day):

            Melinda is too sweet for her own good.  Between choosing a song called “Have a Nice Day” and responding to Bon Jovi’s church remark by innocently proclaiming “I like church,” I half expected her to dawn an orange toga and pass out flowers during her performance.  Fortunately – or unfortunately – that was not the case.  Honestly, though, it was fantastic.  I don’t know exactly how Bon Jovi was so easily translated into Tina Turner, but I’ve learned by now not to ask too many questions.

 

The Results Show:

 

            You know, I all but forgot that there were going to be two executions, I mean, evictions tonight.  If I’m not rid of at least Chris by the end of the evening, I’ll know for sure that there is no God… or that he’s gay.  (Hehe, I’m so blasphemous!)

 

            Now, I was going to comment on the whole “puppet” banter thing between Simon, Paula, and Ryan, but all I could say was, and I’ll quote myself here “What?  Puppet?  What did he think was…Wait, did he think…I mean does he know what they’re talking about…What?  I mean, is there a real…wouldn’t that be referring to…”  And trust me, I still haven’t figured out where to start on that one.

 

            Quick viewers’ poll:  Does anyone else hate the Seacrest on the streets segments?  Because they make ME want to lobotomize myself with a shrimp fork.

 

            Also, did anyone else notice that Simon laughed WAY too long and WAY to hard when Seacrest said that Simon and his girlfriend were “VERY serious?”  Methinks the Simon doth protest too much!

 

            Okay, I wasn’t going to write about the little conversation The Husband and I had about “Robin Thicke.”  And I certainly wasn’t going to admit that I had no idea who this person was.  That is, until he began “singing” and I realized that this must be a joke…good one, AI.  (Yes, I’m aware that it’s not really a joke.  No, I don’t know who this person is.  Yes, I do feel like I’ve been molested.)

 

            Once I realized that I had already forgotten that two people are going home tonight and stopped trying to figure out how I had lost half an hour of show, I was just tickled pink to see the alien go home.  One down, one to go…I’m keeping my fingers crossed!

           

            I’m also pleased to report that, after last week’s debacle, Jordin was spared the pain of waiting for results and was told immediately that she would be allowed to stay.  Yay for Jordin!  I am also pleased to report that, not only was Bon Jovi present and accounted for during the mentoring, but he is actually performing tonight, too.  Suck it, Bono!

 

            As for the final results, it turns out there is a God.  Neat.  Meanwhile, I’m batting a thousand tonight so I guess it’s time for me to start playing the ponies!  Woohoo!  I can’t lose!

 

 

And now, your baby of Zen.

 

American Idol: Nothing Is Sacred

The Performance Show:

 

            Being that I tend to be a little bit, well, harsh in my commentary, I am going to forego mentioning anything about the actual charity stuff so as not to sound like a soulless harpy.  Instead, I will restrict all my comments to Seacrest’s flaming gayness, Melinda’s lack of neck, and Simon and Lakisha’s respective boobies.  So, let’s begin.

 

Chris Richardson (Change the World):

            Maybe it’s just because the song is SO good, that you can’t really screw it up or maybe it’s the sweet mojo of the evening’s “giving back” theme, but I really liked C-Fed tonight.  Not once did I feel the need to find my happy place or, perhaps less serenely, throw small, furry, house pets at the television.  However, though I am going to try my best not to be TOO snarky, I can’t help but take a moment to point out that he was not singing nasally tonight and since nasally is a no more acceptable style of singing than say badly, painfully, or rectally, that was a vast improvement.

 

Melinda Doolittle (There Will Come A Day):

            First of all, I don’t know why it took me this long to notice, but what the hell happened to Bono?  I thought he was supposed to be mentoring?  I feel so cheated!  As for Melinda, I suppose she was fantastic.  I suppose she made my heart sing.  I SUPPOSE she was the highlight of the evening.  But I don’t know, now do I?  I mean, for all I know, Bono thought she was crap.

 

Intermission for Ryan to point out Simon’s exposed moob fluff.  Not that he’s looking…much.

 

Blake Lewis (Imagine):

            Maybe it’s just me.  Maybe it’s just because I love The Beatles with a fiery passion.  Maybe it’s because John Lennon is, was, and always will be a GOD.  Maybe it’s because Blake makes faces like a platypus with Down syndrome when he sings, but I hate him with a hot, hateful, hate for singing Imagine.  Sincerity aside, I hope he dies in a fire….you know, figuratively.

 

Lakisha Jones (I Believe):

            You know, honestly, I hated that song when Fantasia sang it and I hate it now.  As such, I’m going to blame the song instead of Lakisha for the incredible suckitude that was that last two and a half minutes.  Meanwhile, can I just say…luscious boobage.  And, on that note…still no Bono!

 

Phil Stacey (The Change):

            Hero is a word that is extremely overused in our society and, frankly, I find that incredibly bothersome.  I can’t help but feel that, with each misuse of the word “hero,” the real meaning of the word and thus real acts of heroism are diluted just a little bit.  To call someone a hero for sitting at home, voting for American Idol because their phone call will result in a major corporation (that is gaining millions of dollars worth of advertising in the process) donating ten cents to a worthy cause is asinine.  On that note, let’s see if Phil can do anything to overcome my already poor opinion of him. … Nope.  Song was nice though.

 

Jordin Sparks (You’ll Never Walk Alone):

            I know it’s just because the muscles in her forehead were preoccupied with maintaining the frown of seriousness – the frown that says “I really, really, really care about, like, stuff…you know?” – but I am so grateful that she didn’t pull that damn eyebrow thing tonight.  Why, I might just shed a tear.  Oh, and the song was very moving too… Maybe Bono would like to tell us what he thought of it…

 

The Results Show:

 

Ah, leave it to Seacrest to make a complete ass of himself on the most watched show on television… well done.  I mean, I don’t want to dwell on this but he knows that he’s live right?  I mean he’s been live every week…twice a week…for the last six years.  This can’t be news to him…Oh well.

 

“The most shocking result in our history.”  Did Seacrest just tell us that Melinda is going home?  I mean, I can’t really think of anything else that would qualify as the most shocking result.  I guess if somehow Simon got voted off or there was a phone mix up and a tap-dancing giraffe named Archibald was voted ON then I would be shocked… I guess we’ll just have to see.

 

HOLY HELL!!!  Ellen just stole my joke!  I…I feel so violated.

 

So, Quincy Jones wrote a song for the Idols to sing.  Aside from the obvious question about Quincy’s hat, I have several questions about the group performance tonight.

1)       Who is Quincy Jones conducting?

2)       Did anyone else hear jungle noises?

3)       Where the hell is BONO!?!?!?!

 

Okay, wait a minute!  At the beginning of the show, Seacrest claimed that the results of are going to be shocking.  Now that we know Melinda isn’t voted off, then I can only assume that either Simon is going home or we will be adding the very talented Mr. Archibald Tiddliwinks to the roster next week.  Since we know that Simon isn’t going anywhere, I, for one, would like to welcome Archibald with open arms.  We’re all rooting for you, you tap dancing fiend!

 

Um, Il Divo, huh?  Well…I guess it’s pretty easy to tell that these guys are Simon’s little pet project…you know, what with all the exposed chest fur and what not.  Meanwhile, Did anyone else catch the super-duper slimy fellow that started the song off?  That eyebrow has a total mind of it’s own and it LOVES the ladies.

 

Intermission for more famous people that aren’t Bono to show up.

 

I want to take a moment to acknowledge that there are large portions of this show that I’m not commenting on.  There are a few reasons for this.  Some have to do with the organization of this post and not wanting to fill it with a bunch of random bits and pieces and some have to do with not wanting to express some of the less favorable opinions I have about what is supposed to be a charitable and positive event.  Either way, I did the best I could to keep paying attention and commenting up until about the halfway mark when I officially freaked out, turned the TV off, and ranted and raved to the cats, the walls, The Husband, and anything that would hear me.  While next week I hope to return to normal AI commentary, this week, I’m going to just here and bite my tongue until they get to the results.

 

HOLY SHIT!!!  The results WERE shocking!!!  Bono finally showed up!

 

And now, your baby of zen!

 

American Idol: The Premonition Comes True

The Performance Show:

 

I gotta warn everybody here.  I’m not feeling it tonight.  I have just about as much interest in country music as I have in plucking out my own eye with a shrimp fork and twirling it around my head while yodeling so, as you can imagine, I wasn’t exactly on pins and needles about this show.  On the other hand, I know Simon hates country music, so the knowledge that he’s suffering more than I am, should get me through this.

 

Phil Stacey (Where the Blacktop Ends):

            You know what just screams country to me?  Bald, pudgy faced aliens in shiny shirts, of course.  Obviously, Phil did a very good job, but let’s not kid ourselves here, he’s the physical manifestation of boredom and that does not an American Idol make.

 

Jordin Sparks (Broken Wing):

            Jordin thinks Martina gave her some good advice and I totally agree.  Telling Jordin to just stand still and sing instead of trouncing about the stage like a rhinoceros on crack – like I’ve often noticed she does – is the best advice Jordin will ever get.  So for tranquilizing the rhino, I forgive Martina her country-ness.  Now, if someone could just paralyze the muscles over Jordin’s left eyebrow then I could go on with my life in peace.  Meanwhile, on a much friendlier note, she sang well and looked pretty…not like that’s what this show is about…GAWD!

 

Sanjaya Malakar (Something To Talk About):

            Okay, first reactions to the hair.  Right off the bat, I immediately thought of Rico Suave.  Does anyone else remember Rico Suave?  (Rico!!!  Suave!!! Sooo Suave!)  Oh well, never mind.  After that I went on to suburban mom spring cleaning and when I had recovered from that, I settled on conehead in disguise.  Meanwhile, Sanjaya is handed the opportunity to be witty and fun on a silver platter and instead he’s just awkward and boring again.  If I could have any of the judges sing any song I wanted I would have Simon singing “Like a Virgin” in a veil and silk teddy before Seacrest could even finish asking the question, throw aside his cheat sheets, don his lace gloves and fake beauty mark, and shriek “Madonna, I want to have your children!”  Meanwhile, I’ve decided I’m not going to let Sanjaya give me something to talk about because, frankly, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.  Instead, I’ll talk about the dream I had the other night that Sanjaya was voted off…it was beautiful.

 

Intermission for Schmooey to express his opinion about Sanjaya by peeing on top of the refrigerator.  Welcome to the Sanjaya universe.

 

LaKisha Jones (Jesus Take the Wheel):

            You know what I HATE?  I hate when the audience boos the judges for giving an honest critique, but not as much as I hate it when Paula decides to pander to the crowd by throwing in a “who cares what we have to say” or a “what does it all really matter in the end” after her comments.  It’s like voting for president and then setting your ballot on fire.  Wouldn’t it have made more sense to just go do something else with your time?  Like count the number of times Simon reaches over to grope you under the table? Of course Simon is fantastically helpful in his critique…you know, it’s like cooking bacon in your underpants…oddly exhilarating.

 

Chris Richardson (Mayberry):

            I think Chris is so versatile that he should consider creating his own genre of music.  What would you call music that’s sung by a guy who looks like K-Fed, sounds like he has beans shoved up his nose, and dresses like Michael Jackson circa 1982?  Maybe NasoJacko-zao?  By the way, you know what’s another style of singing besides nasally?  Badly.

 

Melinda Doolittle (Trouble is a Woman):

            I LOVE Melinda’s look today.  Between the longer hair (Oh the miracles of Hollywood!) and the low neckline, I almost didn’t recognize her.  She must NEVER go back…EVER.  Honestly, I spent at least five minutes typing this stuff, talking to the husband about it, and just genuinely soaking in the wonderfulness of it all.  So much so, in fact, that I haven’t the slightest idea what she sang or how she sang it and I don’t care.  This was far more important.

 

Blake Lewis (When the Stars Go Blue):

            I just realized that Blake puts on a fake British accent when he sings.  Had anyone else noticed that?  I mean I know he has that little improv thing he claims to do and that terrifying Deliverance-esque retarded hillbilly character, (What was his name?  Bucky Convington?  Foghorn Leghorn?  Howdy Doody?) but faking an accent when you’re singing?  That’s just so Madonna…

 

 

The Results Show:

 

            There are two things I don’t believe about this whole Simon shebang.  First is that Simon is a human being with feelings.  I think we all know very well that Simon is an evil little swamp creature that feeds on the tears of small children.  Second, that Paula has ever explained anything to anyone besides perhaps a very slow hamster.

 

            Blah Blah Blah, group singing, Sanjaya is only worse in a group, Chris Richardson should really consider gluing his mouth shut because I think that would totally help his singing…blah blah blah

 

            Maybe I’m tired or dehydrated or just deeply in denial, but WHY is Fergie there?  Did I miss something?  I know she’s got skin the texture of well worn boots, but other than that I can’t tell why she’s country.  Anybody?

 

            Yay for Melinda!  Fight the good fight!  Don’t let the powers that be make you stray from the path of righteousness!  Nothing is as powerful as a display of civil disobedience!  Seriously, though, you’re a shining ray of hope in the black hole of morality that is American Idol.  It’ll be sad to watch them crush you.

 

            Then Martina McBride sang, but not only had I had more than enough country music at this point, but I was bored so I skipped it.  If something important happened, then someone can tell me about it later.  Otherwise, that’s a couple of minutes of my life that I will happily hold onto.

 

            So, between Sanjaya and LaKisha who do you think will go home?  Well, let’s put it this way, I hear bunnies are delicious… Damn it!  See, I wrote that when they were still doing the little recap thing so I didn’t know that he was all crying and pathetic.  God damn it!  Now I feel like such an ass… I really think he needed to go, though.  Seriously, he couldn’t stay forever.  He wasn’t even very good.  I mean he was entertaining and cute and all, but that can’t keep him there forever.  I guess I could definitely have done away with Phil first.  Oh, and Chris… Crap!  I’ve changed my mind!  I want the bunny back!  I made a mistake!  I wasn’t thinking!  I’m so sorry little bunny!  Come back to me!  NOOOOOOOOO!!!!

 

And now, your baby of zen.

 

American Idol: More Than Words Can Say

The Performance Show:

 

I thought I’d experienced the worst of what American Idol’s themes and guests could bring.  I’ve heard show tunes, swing, and disco.  I’ve twitched and blubbered with the likes of Diana Ross, Barry Manilow, and Stevie Wonder.  So, after all that, what two words can still strike fear into the heart of even the most cynical and jaded American Idol watcher?  Why, “Latin Night”, of course.  And, after being stricken by these words, what other two words could cause that same world-weary American Idol watcher to convulse in fear and disgust?  What two words could make even the most hardened and stoic person soil themselves in horror?  Jennifer.  Lopez.  Brace yourselves, people!

 

            Before I even get into the singing, the J.Lo, and the Sanjaya, I have to take a moment to point out the unspeakable atrocity that is Seacrest throwing down the occasional Spanish pronunciations.  Please, Seacrest, think of the children.

 

            Now, J to the L-O, let me address you personally here.  I don’t want to be a stickler, but…there ain’t no way in HELL that you’re going to make me believe for a single moment that you watch American Idol, that you have the slightest idea who these people are, or that you care even a tiny bit about this motley crew of nobodies.  You are far, FAR too wrapped up in your own little world with your gelatinous rear and that cadaver you call a husband to be taking time out to see what Sanjaya did to his hair.  So, just CAN IT!  Jenny from the block, my gelatinous rear end!

 

Melinda Doolittle (Sway) :

            So, J.Lo told Melinda to be sexy.  First off, this is very easily said coming from someone that looks like Jennifer Lopez, who would probably look sexy picking a wedgie, but perhaps isn’t so simple for a woman who struggles each week just trying to maintain the appearance of a neck.  On that front, however, she did succeed with flying colors.  With the neck thing that is.  I’m relatively sure that she has never looked less like a giant torso with appendages than she did tonight and for that I applaud her.  On top of which, the singing was fantastic, the tone of her voice perfectly capturing all that sex appeal that she was aiming for.  Sadly, however, while she excelled in so many ways, there was something altogether less alluring about her tonight than I think she would have liked.  Something decidedly, um, hippopotamus like.  A lovely hippopotamus with pearls and an adorable dress, though….perhaps a fifties, housewife hippopotamus, but still….probably not what she was aiming for.

 

LaKisha Jones (Conga) :

            Now, don’t get me wrong.  I love LaKisha.  I think she’s got a beautiful face, a voluptuous and rockin’ bod, and a sweet and gentle personality.  However, those clothes!  Good LORD!  She has never looked more like a street walker and, while I’m sure that every inch of exposed cleavage is improving her standing in Simon’s little fantasy world in which he is the rugged and mysterious boobie rustler that just blew into town to wrangle the wild and woolly, feral jigglies, it’s not exactly leaving much to the imagination for the rest of us that would rather appreciate a little more… um… containment.  Speaking of which, the movement?  So.  Much.  Movement.  So much…jiggly movement.  So much jostling, wiggling, quivering movement… I don’t think I’m ready for that jelly.  I’m going to say it again; I love you LaKisha, but I HATE you J.Lo.

 

Chris Richardson (Smooth) :

            Right off the bat, I am totally shocked when J.Lo actually manages to say something useful.  Good for her.  (Now rest, little one.)  Of course, C-Fed, our favorite future fry cook, isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer so he promptly forgets that she told him to sing it in a higher key.  Not only does that mean that he is riding a wave of suck like nobody’s business, but he’s actually doing it in such a way that even the music, which he is not singing with, can’t help him.  Brilliant!  No worries, though, it only took about five seconds before I became so distracted by the pigeon head bobs, the members only jacket and the prolific use of the “white man’s overbite” as his predominant dance move that I totally forgot about the fact that he was torturing those poor bongos who dreamed of one day sharing the stage with Santana and who have had to settle for Mini-Fed.  Sigh…another dream crushed by the American Idol machine.

 

Haley Scarnato (Turn the Beat Around) :

            I don’t know if anybody else has noticed this before, but I’m relatively certain that Simon tends not to turn around to see the contestants when they’re on the stand behind the judges.  I’m not particularly opposed to this because what they’re doing back there is usually either embarrassingly awkward or, at the very least, not particularly flattering from that angle.  Seeing as this particular contestant happens to have a few of Simon’s favorite ASSets however, it wasn’t exactly surprising to me to notice that Simon had very casually turned around to take in the performance.  You know, just ‘cause.  I’m betting he changed his mind about her ASSets a bit later though when she raised her hand for all to see her glorious… undergrowth.  That’s attractive.  All in all, I really hated this again.  She sounds the same every week, she never listens to the advice she’s given, and if I have to watch Simon drool over her stick legs for one more week, I’m going to totally go Sanjaya on his ass.

 

Phil Stacey (Maria, Maria) :

            Phil had a little trouble concentrating while he was standing next to J.Lo.  This is understandable, seeing as she would be a perfect specimen to take back to his overlords and he was probably trying to figure out how he could sneak her out of the studio in his hat.  Perhaps, if he sucked out her essence first, he could just fold whatever was left up and tuck it away when no one was looking.  Meanwhile, I don’t think I’ve mentioned it much before, but I happen to play the guitar relatively well and have a tremendous amount of respect for Carlos Santana.  So I was understandably vomiting throughout this ridiculous early nineties, alternatingly nasal and squeaky abomination of a performance.  Go back to the mothership…and take Paula with you.

 

Jordin Sparks (Rhythm is Gonna Get You) :

            Honestly, J.Lo has got to stop trying to get these people to dance.  Doesn’t she understand what kind of carnage she is unleashing on the American Idol watching public?  It’s just mean.  Speaking of being mean, SO many reasons that this is a bad outfit choice for Jordin that I’m just not even going to get into it.  I’m just going to say no neck and humongous ass and leave it at that.  As for the singing, once again, Simon is the creepy voice of reason and hits the nail on the head with his assessment of the performance.  It was boring.

 

Blake Lewis (I Need To Know) :

            OH MY GOD!!!  I’ve wanted to bitch about this song since high school and not only do I have a perfectly fantastic reason to do it today, I have an audience to listen to it!  Blake, you’ve made me the happiest woman in the whole world!  I don’t care what you do tonight; I will tell everybody that you are a GOD!  Okay, this song is the most inane snarl of childish rhyming and contrived sentimental baloney that I have ever had the grave misfortune of being bored into a fitful comatose state by.  Hearing this song compels me to seek out sharp objects with which I might puncture my own eardrums to save what little sanity I have managed to retain after being subjected to the opening bars and the chorus alone is so intolerably abhorrent and loathsome as to fell even the most robust and vigorous of men.  I sincerely hope that Marc Anthony dies a painful and prolonged death for the malevolent evil he has wrought on humanity… Okay, deep breaths… So anywho, the performance. There were only three things of note about this performance.  First of all, I just realized that Blake is probably gay, second, I just realized the he has really short legs, and third, when told to think about trying to pick someone up, he improved significantly.  My inferred conclusion after these three realizations is that Blake was probably thinking about Seacrest who is also flamingly gay and pocket sized.  They’re a perfect match.  Mazel tov, boys!

 

I just had a small stroke when I realized that I was about to witness Sanjaya’s interpretation of Latin passion.  This is, arguably, the worst moment of my life.

 

Sanjaya Malakar (Besame Mucho) :

            Ya’ll remember that toy with the drawing of a face and the magnet pen that you pulled the metal shavings around with to make it look like the face had a beard or a mohawk or whatever?  I think it was called Wooly Willy.  I think I will call Sanjaya Wooly Willy.  Yes, that feels right.  So, Besame Mucho, huh?  Julio Iglesias would be so proud of little DubyaDubya here, who seemed to be channeling his inner, slimy, latin lover…wait a minute, I just threw up in my mouth a little.  Seriously, I can’t go on.  I feel ill.  Sanjaya is starting to creep me out.  He’s like an evil genius or something.  There’s a distinct possibility that he’s plotting to take over the world. 

 

The Results Show:

 

So, the show starts and within three minutes it becomes completely obvious that Paula has spent the entire day marinating in a bottle of tequila and will not be saying anything helpful tonight. Simon is amused by this to no end, because the more out of it she is, the easier it is for him to cop a feel under the table so we know he’ll be in high spirits all evening and Seacrest is getting ready to have a major bitch fit because he’s losing his death grip on the show.  Poor, Seacrest, what you need is a long night with a good man.

 

Okay, before I start talking about the group number I’m going to need a moment to breathe and find my happy place.  I am exactly three minutes and forty-one seconds into this show and the rage?  It is building.  So, happy place, happy place, happy place…I’m on a tropical beach, the wind is blowing in my hair, the sun is warming my skin, Sanjaya is being dismembered by a swarm of sharks….alright, back to the show…

 

I’m going to take this one person at time:

 

            C-Fed – not singing in the right key, drowned out by the music

 

            Melinda – sounding like a man

 

            Haley – forgot the words

 

            Sanjaya – excused since he’s currently bleeding out in a tropic lagoon

           

            Phil – hitting the Xanax again

 

            Jordin – making really smarmy faces

 

            Blake and Lakisha – can’t sing together to save their lives (but very cute)

 

            Group – Oh God, this is the worst.  pain.  ever.

 

So, this week Seacrest decided to take his little show on the road and showed up at the LA farmer’s market to have a friendly little chat with the people.  Now, I started typing that sentence just after they started this little segment and for the SECOND time in the thirteen minutes that this how has been on I had to stop mid-sentence because I was being bombarded by one horror after another and not only couldn’t I keep up with the typing, but I needed to have a little breather.  I’m going to bypass all the other insane atrocities (and believe me there were many of them) that came from this asinine outing and focus solely on the one that made me start shouting obscenities and throwing cats at the screen.  The big girl!?!?!  THE BIG GIRL!?!?!  I realize that Ryan got in a rare zinger on that one, but (and I’m going to yell again here) SHE’S SITTING RIGHT THERE, ON THAT GOD DAMNED STAGE, IN FRONT OF A LIVE AUDIENCE, AND MILLIONS OF PEOPLE, AND YOU AIRED A CLIP OF SOMEONE CALLING HER A BIG GIRL!?!?!?!  You heartless, soulless, greedy, scum-sucking ass wipes!  I genuinely believe you should all die in a fire… Okay, I’m better now.

 

            Then Akon sang.

 

            Then Simon told us about the school in a box.  There’s a school in a box.  All of these things make a school in a box.  In case, you were wondering there is a school in that box.  Are you listening?  This is important.  I have moobs.

 

            Yada, yada, yada….recap, recap, recap…boring question, boring question, boring question…Seacrest tells Blake to “shut up, you love it,” which we all know is exactly what he said to him last night!…awkward chatter…and so on…

 

            Like overripe and rotting fruit from the vine, Ryan plucks the bottom three (Phil, Haley, and Chris) and then asks the audience if they’re surprised.  How the hell could they be, except for Sanjaya, these are the bottom three and if there is even one person in the audience that hasn’t figured out that Sanjaya isn’t leaving, then they’re probably way too distracted  by their navel lint to even be listening at this point.

 

            Now, back to J. Lo.  Jenny, darling, the expression is “cop a squat” not “pop a squat.”  Telling someone to cop a squat is an invitation to take a seat on the floor.  Telling someone to pop a squat is inviting them to take a dump on the floor or, as The Husband so readily chimed in, “Can we just pinch a loaf right here. Do you guys wanna lay some cable?” 

 

            After The Husband had finally stopped peppering the conversation with colorful metaphors, I started the show up again only to be almost immediately confronted with Jennifer Lopez in the worst makeup with the worst lighting ever.  She has never looked older, less attractive, or more tired and drawn than she did at that moment.  When she does watch this performance back, I can assure you that she is going to put a contract out on someone.  Hopefully, it will be Sanjaya.  Fingers crossed!

 

            So, the results!  Haley’s gone.  Poor Simon.  On a happier note, though, YAY ME!

 

Alright, this is definitely not a good picture, but can you say Best.  Office.  Ever!?!?!  Oh yeah!

 

 

           

American Idol: The Stuff of Nightmares

The Performance Show:

 

 It’s American Idol night!!  Woohoo!! Yeah!!  They’re going to butcher No Doubt songs!!! Rock On!!! Hoorah!!…Wait a minute.  What?  Oh, okay.  They can sing songs from bands that inspired No Doubt.  Odd, but significantly less scarring.  Hehe, for a minute there Idol, you really had me going.  I’ll be right back after I change my pants.

 

LaKisha Jones (Last Dance) :

              Not even Gwen Stefani is immune to the luscious boobage that is Lakisha Jones.  After informing the viewers at home that Lakisha’s performance had gotten her all hot and bothered, she then admitted that she should be the one asking for advice and, frankly, I couldn’t agree more.  LaKisha, how do you do it?  How do you come out on that stage every week and wow us all with your tremendous, voluptuous, and heaving talents?  Is there some sort of winch or pulley system involved?  Enquiring minds want to know.  So, the singing.  It was great…again.  Blew me away…again.  Titillated me with it’s tantalizing ta-tas…AGAIN, but at this point, I’m a little tired of it.  Where’s the fun in perfection and consistency?  I don’t watch American Idol for good singing; I watch it for the blood sport!  Now get back out there and make that song sorry it was ever written.  Anyway, Randy loves her “boots.”  He loves their suppleness and their alluring curves.  Paula has a rabid wombat clinging to her head and Simon is once again lured the short distance back to sleazyland where he can be the slimy old coot he was born to be.  The one who wants nothing more than to put his face between a couple of really “big notes” and blow raspberries in their ample fleshy parts.

 

Intermission for Ryan Seacrest to pretend that he doesn’t play the bongos naked, while crocheting toaster cozies for his life partner.  You can deny it all you want Seacrest, but those luxurious lashes don’t lie.

 

Chris Sligh (Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic) :

            Gwen Stefani is so nice and sweet and diplomatic that I’m going to have to translate her comments here into the Queen’s English so we can all understand.  And by the Queen, naturally, I mean RuPaul.  “Girl you can rock my world anytime, but I bet you couldn’t find a drum beat with two butch lesbians and a post op transsexual shemale.  You need to concentrate on that conga beat, honky child, and work it like the divine diva herself, Miss Tina Turner.  Mmmm hmmmm!” So, now that we’re all on the same page, wasn’t it The Police that sang that song about stalking?  Did Sting have an epiphany that twenty years in the future, a pudgy chia pet was going to try and impersonate him in an internationally televised talent competition?  Spooky.  So Chris did his best (Worst?) impression of Sting and if there was ever a performance worthy of being called a copy cat, this was it.  So, did the judges mention it?  No, of course.  Randy was distracted by the fact that, once again, Chris couldn’t find the beat, but in his defense, I can imagine that the lesbians and the transsexual were very distracting.  Paula had a sore eye sitting nicely in her pocket or something like that and Simon thought everything was dreadful, positively dreadful.  It was messy and it didn’t feel right, seemed unnatural somehow, made him very uncomfortable in a homoerotic way, wasn’t sanctioned by God, and what not…

 

Gina Glocksen (I’ll Stand By You) :

                        Gina sobbed like a sloppy drunk at the sight of Gwen Stefani and, frankly, I don’t blame her.  I mean, I openly bawl when I see Gwen Stefani, too.  Mostly because she makes normal, HUMAN, women look like swollen swamp beasts, but you know, whatever.  Meanwhile, Gwen likes that Gina was so emotional…Gwen likes to see people cry…Gwen likes to make people cry…Gwen is mean…I hope Gwen gets liverspots.  Well, I feel better.  So, anyway, is Gina’s voice changing?  She appears to be going through puberty right before my very, um, ears.  Between the yodeling and the voice cracking and the plain fact that she is completely drowned out by the music at some points, thus turning the performance into the single worst example of mime that I’ve ever borne unfortunate witness too, I just don’t know what to complain about first.  Maybe I’ll start with the outfit.  (Way to streetwalk, Tranny.)  So, either Randy is deaf or the camera adds ten pounds…of SUCK, because he thought it was good and I thought I was being raped in the ear.  Paula’s smoking the Ganja.  And Simon?  Simon tricked me and broke my heart!  How could you, you randy old perv?  I thought we had an understanding! You were supposed to break them down and I was supposed to kick them before they could get up.  How could you betray me like that?  “It wasn’t ONE of your best performances, it was your BEST performance?”  I just don’t know you anymore.

 

Sanjaya Malakar (Bathwater) :

            Leave it to Sanjaya to take a pass on an opportunity NOT to make an ass of himself and, instead, bludgeon a No Doubt song in front of the band’s frontman.  Maybe later, he’d like to slap her baby around and castrate her husband.  That is, of course, after he shaves her head and vomits all over her lovely clothes.  That’s a little thing I like to call, R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  After not only heartlessly murdering her song, dismembering it, frying it up, and feeding it to wild dogs, (and not even having the decency to remember the words in the process) Gwen is much less interested in sugar coating her criticism and states very plainly that Sanjaya is obviously one step up the intelligence scale from a common garden radish and should thank his lucky stars if he’s not booed off the stage in a hail gunfire.  After taking this warning to heart, Sanjaya then decides that if he’s going to face the executioners, he’s going to at least try and throw them off by doing so undercover.  Undercover, of course, meaning as a ROCKING cockatiel!  Not only that, but a cockatiel that is so amused by it’s own crown of feathers that it insists on shaking it for the lady birds, who will no doubt see it as a sign of virility.  Meanwhile, while “love to wash in your old bathwater” may have sounded sweet and endearing from petite and adorable Gwennie, from Sanjaya it sounds a hell of a lot like he intends to sneak into your apartment, wash in your bathwater, collect your toenail clippings and the hair from your comb, and steal your dirty underwear before heading home to add the new trophies to his voodoo shrine.  By the way, does anyone else have the urge to scalp him?  I know it’s not just me.

 

Haley Scarnato (True Colors) :

            I don’t know.  She sang a song about rainbow bright or something and while under normal circumstances I would have found it interminably boring, after Sanjaya’s soul crushing performance I found it downright refreshing.  Granted, most of the refreshment came from the nap I took during the song, but I don’t feel the need to split hairs about it.  A win is a win….Alright, I can’t resist one more little jab.  Did anyone else notice that there were NO/ZIP/ZERO boos during the critiques?  There was some very loud hooting and hollering by the three people in her cheering section, but other than that you could hear every little drop of drool sneaking out of the corner of Simon’s mouth and plopping on the floor.  Drip…Drip…Drip.

 

Intermission for Ryan Seacrest to take a few pot shots at The Alien.  Now Ryan, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones…especially at Alien beings that can easily summon the mothership to replace you with a pod person and NO ONE would be any the wiser…wait a minute, maybe that’s already happened!

 

Phil Stacey (Every Breath You Take) :

            Gwen was extremely surprised that an Alien could sing a song about watching people from afar…um, hello?  This week, Phil, decides to cover the cranial surgery scars from where he swapped his brain for Sting’s with an extremely effeminate knit cap.  A wise choice I would say, and I might not have suspected a thing if I hadn’t caught him trying to Vulcan mindmeld me with his eyes during the performance.  You almost fooled me you impish little extraterrestrial!  Better luck next time.  I would tell you what the judges had to say about him, but since his kind will have enslaved the human race by the weekend, it doesn’t really matter.

 

Melinda Doolittle (Heaven Knows) :

            Damn it people!  How many times do I have to tell you?  Small hair, V-necks, thin straps, and no shoulder pads!!!!  Do I have to tattoo it onto your face?  Because I will.  Yeah, yeah, she sang well, but what the hell do I care?  I can’t concentrate with this bullshit.  I’m so mad I could just spit.  On the other hand, I nearly plotzed when Simon decided that he too was fed up and casually brushed aside the mastery of her performance in order to take a jab at her clothing selection.  Geez, Simon, this is a SINGING competition!  Save the bitch fit for your sleepovers with Ryan.  Seacrest OUT!

 

Blake Lewis (Love Song) :

            I’m sorry, was somebody singing?  I dozed off again.  What happened to the beat boxing?  What the hell is the point of a Blake Lewis performance if the front two rows of audience don’t end up with a light smattering of spittle?  For that matter, what’s the point in telling him that he’s the “front running guy” when we all know that the best of the guys is still worse than the top three girls?  Not to mention, what kind of honor is that to be the leader in a field consisting entirely of an alien, a chia pet, a cockatiel, and a bastardized Kevin Federline?  It’s like being the absolute best chewy toddler booger you can be.  In the end, you’re still just a preschooler’s snack.

 

Jordin Sparks (Hey Baby) :

            What.  The.  Hell?  Gwen is shocked.  I am shocked.  Even the TV paused itself and was all liked, “Say WHAT?”  Honestly, it was better than I thought it would be, but still violently disturbing.  I just can’t talk about it.

 

Chris Richardson (Don’t Speak) :

            NONONONONONONONONO!  No.  NO!  Haven’t I been through enough tonight?  Come on!  Leave it alone, man.   Put the microphone down and just walk away.  Think of the children!!  Ya’ll remember a couple of weeks ago when I did my first American Idol post and I came to the realization that this show is virtually unwatchable if you can’t fast forward through the painful parts?  I had no idea what I was talking about.  This was so much worse than the most intense pain imaginable.  Think searing hot daggers being driven directly into your spleen and you might be able to imagine what the first verse felt like for me.  After that, you could add being hung upside down by my toenails, while being skinned alive and periodically dipped into a vat of scalding lemon juice, but you’d still only know the pain of the chorus.  There aren’t words to describe the kind of pain I was in by the end of the song, unless, of course, you’ve experienced giving birth to a five hundred pound hedgehog.  Backwards.  Through your left nostril.  I’d tell you what Randy, Paula, and Simon said, but honestly, you’d be much better off visualizing the hedgehog.  Can you feel the burn?

           

            I want to take a moment to apologize to Melinda and LaKisha.  I’m SO sorry.  I didn’t know a good thing when I had it.  Please, take me back and keep singing your perfect little songs at me.  I promise to be good!  I’ll never stray again!  I didn’t know what real pain was, but now I do.  I’ve grown.  Oh GOD, the agony!!!

 

The Results Show :

           

            Oh, rapturous day!  The Seacrest is modeling his drag look for us tonight!  You can almost make out the boning of his lacy corset underneath his suit.  (hehe, boning)  When is he just going to come out in a ballgown and heels like we all know he so desperately wants?  Come on, Seacrest, be the raging queen you know you are!

 

            Yay, Ford commercial time!  C-Fed as a bad guy and washing windows on a car?  Um, typecast much?  All he needed to complete the effect was a cardboard sign that said, will fertilize eggs for bling.

 

            Phil Stacey looked genuinely shocked by the news that he was in the bottom three.  He is going to have some serious explaining to do to his alien overlords.  Of course he wasn’t nearly as surprised as I was when Sanjaya didn’t even make it to the bottom three.  I’m not so naïve as to think he would be voted off, but I hadn’t realized his powers were growing.  When I have the aneurysm, I want you to avenge me, internet.  Shave Sanjaya!  His hair is the source of his power!  You must stop him before it’s too late!

 

            As I sit here watching Gwen Stefani teach a master class in AWESOMENESS while at the same time ushering American Idol into a new age in which their guest hosts are decidedly non geriatric, I find myself taken aback by the idea that Sanjaya and his ridiculous hair are being allowed to share space on the stage with her.  He should be asked to make himself scarce for a while.  Perhaps, to make himself useful by mopping something up with his coiffure backstage.

 

            Once again, no big shockers tonight!  In fact, short of the sudden abduction and subsequent shearing of Sanjaya, I couldn’t have asked for a happier outcome.  In fact, I believe my reaction to the announcement that I was no longer going to have to listen to an unruly chia pet’s backtalk could best be described as squealing in girlish delight.  Now, about that shearing…