Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

American Idol Recap, Wednesday, February 28: Girls Gone Mild? Sorry Guys, Not A Chance

OK, I realize that the last two recap intros have dealt with and dissected the Antonella Barba scrapbook scandal. You all know I come down on the side of "live and learn" and hope that the lesson Barby is enduring is one that can be internalized and heeded by millions of other young people out there before they find themselves on the receiving end of some rather unflattering publicity.

I had not intended to bring it up again, unless the story shifted to her being quietly jettisoned, a la Frenchie Davis, from the ratings juggernaut.

However, my inbox continues to fill up with emails from readers wanting to know what I think is most likely going on behind the scenes, do I think she will be kicked to the streetcorner, er, curb, etc?

So at the risk of beating a dead whorse, here is what some subtle looking around has uncovered. Draw your own conclusions…

American Idol does appear to be, at the very least, protecting Antonella from feeling the burn at the official site. While the internet boards, blogs, and gossip rags invite every comment – the worse, the more profane, the better, it would seem - the American Idol discussion boards are being quickly censored – deleting any post referring to being offended or outraged by Barba’s behavior. The posts and/or entire threads are taken down in a matter of minutes, and some visitors there have stated that leaving a posting that you think Antonella has tarnished the AI show will likely get you banned.

OK – very gallant of American Idol. And it is entirely up to them what remains on their site – that’s the beauty of ownership. I think it is actually good of them to take down the more vibrant postings – believe me, I have read enough out on other internet sites to know that the key demographic at the AI site (young kids like my daughters, 10, 13, & 14) don’t need to be exposed to the really profane vitriol being set in type.

But being a card carrying cynic, I daresay their Gestapost tactics have more to do with maintaining the image of the show and the G-PG rating of the website (which at peak times sees visitors in numbers that approach the million mark) than defending the honor of the 20 year old. Barba’s just one dispensible cog in a huge money making machine.

A little additional inquiring to a variety of celebrity news webmasters finds that their webhosts have received threats from either the Barba camp or official American Idol representatives to take down recent illicit pictures (as I said, they seem to be growing exponentially.)

That doesn’t surprise me either. The pictures are embarrassing, and in some cases pornographic.

If I had to say what I think is going on? My best guess is that even though the pictures all show Antonella cavorting, with full knowledge of being photographed, she did not sanction their widespread use, nor is she profiting from their rabbit-like multiplication in cyberspace, so American Idol is not holding her personally responsible.

Plus, let’s be honest. Her days are numbered anyway by the mere fact she cannot hold a vocal candle to contestants like Melinda Doolittle or Lakisha Jones. The producers know she is not long for their world and are leaving it to the outraged, puritanical, or simply bored-by-Barba public to do the dirty work for them.

So, there are my answers. American Idol and FOX are well within their rights to censor their own website, and Barby Girl, despite the best efforts of VFTW.com, is going to move out quickly, where she will immediately be courted by Playboy and Maxim, or end up as a correspondent for the TV Guide channel alongside Kimberley Caldwell.

Either way, her 15 minutes are far from over.

Now, how about a recap?

Since that intro went long, I’ll condense the beginning of the show for those of you who haven’t yet mastered Evelyn Woods’ speed reading course…

Dim lights, Ryan – JEANS, tie, jacket – menacing words, then T.I.A.I. (you figure it out), Idolbot, Barbie townhouse elevator, neon slinky…

As the girls did the Howdy-do tunnel run, is it very apparent that they have something over the boys besides some stellar vocal cords – they are not afraid of color. Greens, oranges, yellows... Compare that to the shot of the guys in the audience – they looked like a still from an old black and white movie.

Another person obviously in touch with his inner Crayola 64 box is Randy Jackson, decked out in an LSD flashback ; Paula looked more like a PTA mom than a Frederick’s of Hollywood stockholder tonight – the extra hair was still on hiatus and she was wearing a white blouse and blazer. No cleavage – is that at the dry cleaners too?; Simon was still wearing last night’s black sweater – no wait – I take that back – it was dark gray. Of course he changed his clothes…

Without much preamble, Ryan went straight into an intro of Gina Glockson’s video dedication – to her boyfriend Joe – her rock.

Our edgy girl switched things up again tonight by eschewing the dark colors, chains, and leather we have come to expect for a stunning (although slightly ill fitting) red satin number, perfectly matched to her hair dye. That takes talent – seriously, do you know how hard it is to get shoes to match that well?

The only thing that was truly distracting from her outfit was her decision to wear everything from my kitchen junk drawer around her neck. Balls, the odd fake gemstone, I swear I saw an old Duracell battery…

Her choice of Alone started out pretty solid, and she truly put her Heart into it, but in the end was no match for the memory of Ann and Nancy Wilson. And when she hit the chorus, it was the backup singers who carried the song more than she did. Her voice sounded weak against theirs.

Randy said it was a "good song choice", albeit a bit pitchy; Paula said it was "an excellent job"; Simon agreed it was a good choice of song, but that the "vocals felt forced" and that he’s "confused" about who she is – meaning edgy rocker girl, or Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

Coming back from the break, Alaina Alexander dedicated her performance 100% to her mom, her "strength" – a woman who has at times worked four jobs to provide for her children. Alaina wants to do well to be able to support her mom – I thought it was a really nice video, made even sweeter by Mom crying in the audience.

But as Simon said last night, "this is a singing competition", not a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie…

Alaina took the stage looking beautiful in a navy, empire waisted, babydoll dress, tastefully accented with paillettes (look it up people, or set your Tivo for the next season of Project Runway). She started fairly strong on Not Ready To Make Nice, but as it progressed, it became apparent that Natalie Maines won’t be losing sleep anytime soon.

She definitely seemed more confident on the stage than last week, but like Gina, her vocals were so reed-thin on the chorus that she was drowned out by the backup singers (can we vote for them because they are kicking ass tonight). And she must have forgotten her contacts because she was squinting throughout the entire song.

Randy summed it up with "not good" and "a mess"; Paula was a little kinder, only noting her "pitch problems"; but Simon likened her performance to Randy running a 100 meter dash – he would run out of steam three fourths of the way through, which is exactly what happened to her.

Next up was my girl Lakisha Jones, sending out her love to her grandmother, Ruth Morris, who we met very briefly during Lakisha’s original audition. Apparently Ruth L-U-Vs her some Ryan Seacrest – poor woman – she IS pushing 90 and must be losing some of her faculties…

Lakisha took the stage singing Midnight Train To Georgia, with wavy hair, a bright orange blouse, gold bullion around her neck, and a black mini skirt. Now, you know I always advocate for dark colors on the bottom when someone is on the large side, but the skirt was just a tad too short and tight to work as tastefully as I think Lakisha had hoped.

No matter, I was more entranced with her singing and her Taylor Hicks-esque dance moves to much care about her outfit anyway. I L-U-V HER. No dementia or fading vision here.

Randy declared. "That was hot!"; Paula kept it brief with "I loved it, I love you."; and Simon called her a "phenomenally good singer", but that she was "not as good as last week". He also encouraged her to begin acting "like a star".

I don’t agree with that. Maybe some Diva action will be warranted when it comes down to the wire, but part of her appeal is that she doesn’t seem to know just how good she is. (And for the record, I had that written in my notes long before Simon used those same words to describe Melinda – get out of my head, Simon.)

Melinda was up next, dedicating her song to her "Gayles" as in Gayle King to her Oprah Winfrey. They are her vocal coach and her stylist, without whom, she says she would be lost. They help with everything from song selection to exactly what she should wear – wouldn’t it be great if you woke up each day to a book that detailed each item of clothing you needed to put on for that day’s task?

Tuesday: Clean toilets. Wear religious sweatpants (the holey ones), stained t-shirt, and bust out new pair of rubber gloves. NO flip flops – things might splash over the rim or drip from the brush)

With the lights low, Melinda emerged wearing a dark suit, red tank, and the logo from Overstock.com around her neck. It IS all about the "O", isn’t it?

Her rendition of My Funny Valentine was flawless. Infused with emotion, it did not matter whether you knew the song or not. I will echo my own sentiment from last week’s recap: She could sing the directions off a suppository box and we would all be so enchanted, we’d grab our ankles with a smile.

Randy called her "unbelievable" (she is); Paula added "astounding" and "out of this world"; Simon summed it all up with "That was incredible." then bogarted my notes and stated, "you don’t know how good you are." (Neither does LaKisha)

I swear – it really is not a stretch, even at this early date, to predict a girl-girl showdown in the finale.

Another break brings us back to Ryan and Antonella above the stage. She definitely went the "stand out route" in a green patterned minidress from the last Austin Powers movie, and a ring made from Jurassic Park amber. Ryan asked her, "Are you nervous this week?" to which she replied, "a little", but that she had picked a song that would "show me off better."

(I won’t touch that with a 10 foot mouse cord – waaaay too easy.)

She dedicated her performance to her brother, Vincenzo, who she misses now that they are at different schools. She got choked up in her video and it was very sweet.

Standing at the mike, her beginning to Because You Loved Me was so weak and wobbly, I almost felt sorry for her – almost – but the tacky yellow heels prevented it.

Question: Anyone else find a tad of irony in her singing a song from a movie called Up Close And Personal? Just curious.

You know, it would have been great if she had come out and completely dominated the stage with a powerhouse vocal, but this performance simply reinforced that a lion's share of why she got to this stage to begin with is that she is hot. She does not have even one fourth of the voice to take on a Celine Dion song. It was not good at all, although I will give her credit for sticking the landing on her one high note.

Randy began his critique with the kind of comment that portends bad things: "You are a drop dead gorgeous girl." He then declared the song "all wrong", "pitchy all over", "bad"; Paula did not specifically comment on the performance (as was her tact in many instances this week), instead opting for "you made leaps and bounds from last week"; Simon was merciless, but correct, "the vocals weren’t there" and "worse than last week."

I know I’m not the only one to catch Antonella rolling her eyes during the critiques. She then responded with the cocky (and totally deluded, I might add), "I’m going to listen to Paula’s criticism (uh, psst, Barby, she didn’t give you any) because Simon was wrong about Jennifer Hudson."

Love that Simon shot her down with the facts: He didn’t kick Jennifer Hudson out, America did.

I would like to add - Jennifer Hudson can sing, has class, and is holding an Oscar, Antonella. Humility would have served you much better tonight than copping an attitude with no talent to back it up.

Thank God, the innocence of Jordin Sparks was up next to clear away the cloud of ICK left behind by Antonella.

Dedicating her performance to her younger brother nearly brought her to tears in her video, unfortunately, it also made her well up on stage, resulting in a slightly weakened start to Reflection.

She looked suitably 17 with her hair pulled back from her sweet face and million dollar smile, and dressed in a teal, sleeveless dress, accessorized by Olympic logo earrings.

Her strong spots were REALLY strong – the girl has a fabulous voice – but her emotions got the best of her in many spots, her eyes glistening with tears, her vocal cords squeezed tight by her feelings, but overall, it was a beautiful, strong showing.

Bless her heart, she full on cried when she was done. Yes, I realize that turned off some of you, but the majority of viewers wanted to hug her with votes.

Randy called her "unbelievable" and said as a producer, he is "so, so impressed"; Paula said "There’s something about you that’s infectious." (Yes, there is, but it’s the kind that’s good to spread around – so pass the Jordin Virus please.); Simon called her "excellent" and praised her "massive potential".

Before Stephanie Edwards took the stage, Ryan treated us to the news that the filler in Thursday night’s bloated burrito of a results show will be Kellie Pickler. Now, I have never been a fan, I admit it. I am highly allergic to stupidity and she just makes my brain itch, but I have to say that, having caught her song, Red High Heels, while out shopping this past weekend, when in the hands of good producers, the girl really can sing well. It was a good, fun, well done country ditty.

But Stephanie Edwards could care less because she is ready to dedicate her song to her mom and dad who pushed her to audition for AI. Smart people, we parents.

Radiant in a long gold and ivory evening gown, cut up to there, and Christmas tinsel earrings, Stephanie took on a highly stylized Beyonce tune. The combination of skillful vocals with that gorgeous dress insured than many voters are now Dangerously In Love with her.

Randy said she "sang her face off" and that she proved she should be there, but he also warned her against copying someone like Beyonce too closely; Paula just thought she was "fantastic, brilliant"; Simon agreed with Paula (isn’t that a sign of the Apocalypse?!?) and called it a "terrific performance".

Up next, Leslie Hunt’s video tears were for her late Grandpa Bob. Having sworn to Ryan that she was not going to "flap around" this time, she walked out dressed in a brown tanked, retro 60’s mini (she and Barba must have shopped at the same store this week – Flashbacks ‘R Us), which would have been fine if she had also put on some Go Go boots, but she ruined the look with calf length leggings, short boots, and an odd red belt, none of which was really complimented by her decision to wear a whole set of those doorway blocking love beads around her neck.

Now, that being said, Leslie really did so much better than last week, I have to give her credit for paying attention to everything she did wrong then and correcting it. She returned to her smooth sound, infusing Feeling Good with some good feeling jazz, and really sounded quite nice. She still completely lacks that elusive "it" factor, but if she leaves Thursday night (which I think may well be the case), she will have left on a good note – several in fact.

Randy lauded her "nice beginning" but warned it was on the "pitchy side"; Paula was again nonspecific with "you’re being you"; Simon broke it down to "you’ve just been wacked by 3 or 4 bigger voices" and that she was "not very memorable."

WELL, HALEY SCARNATO WAS DETERMINED TO BE AS MEMORABLE AS POSSIBLE. (I’M SHOUTING BECAUSE THIS WAS HER STRATEGY TONIGHT – BE AS BIG AS POSSIBLE!!) AFTER DEDICATING HER SONG TO HER FIANCE, BOBBY, SHE STORMED THE STAGE WITH WHITNEY HOUSTON’S QUEEN OF THE NIGHT.

SHE BROUGHT HIGH ENERGY IN HER TIGHT BLACK PANTS, BOOTS AND BOTANICAL GARDEN HALTER TOP – EVEN THE FLOWERS SEEMED TO BE SHOUTING.

Ok, I have to stop that. My throat is sore and your ears must hurt.

She definitely brought a sense of youth, fun, and upbeatedness (yes, I believe my Spellcheck is going to have a stroke over that one). It was a far cry from her mellow, almost sleep inducing showing last week. Personally, I found myself carried along and smiling – even though her vocals are no match for Whitney Houston’s. And I have to give her credit for not doing the obvious on "drop to your knees" and dropping to her knees.

Randy didn’t like it so much, citing "more background vocals than lead vocals"; Paula stayed out of it again choosing to look backwards with "you were leaps and bounds better than last week" (yes, because she was LEAPING AND BOUNDING AROUND!), and I can't believe I just noticed this - there must some extra hair going on tonight - is she wearing bird perches in her ears?  I swear those hoops with the horizontal bars were big enough for parrots to sit inside - Paula is a quacker, Paula is a quacker; Simon gave her "an A for effort", but said it was a "bit manic verging on insane at one point".

I actually think that tonight’s excessive personality, coupled with going second to last, will insure she sticks around another week.

Last, but for anyone who heard her in week one, certainly not least – Sabrina Sloan dedicated her performance to her Grammy – 86, hilarious, and a wearer of "fierce hats".

The music started and what do you know?, another Whitney song, All The Man That I Need – only this time I didn’t inwardly cringe at what would have been another musical blood letting in a lesser vocalist’s throat – Sabrina can sing, and then some.

Opting for understatement in basic black (but honestly, who needs – oh, I don’t know - a loud green minidress and yellow heels when they can belt?), Sabrina kept the focus on her considerable talent – dressed in dark pants, a black halter top and Grammy’s church fans hanging from her ears.

She also pulled her hair back from her face, and she really is a beautiful, beautiful girl – I don’t think I realized it until now, hidden as she was behind all those curls.

As for her singing, all I wrote down was "WOW" – I was too caught up in her talent to take notes.

Randy likes her "big old voice"; Paula called her a "fantastic, big contender"; and while Simon cautioned her to not "confuse power with shouting", he also stated that she "will be back next week" and that she is " a great singer."

So that’s it – another ladies' night that really can be summed up in their clothing choices: Guys: Dull, blah, dark, boring. Girls: Bright, energetic, and lively. (Not that I relish the thought of Chris Sligh performing in some Liberace-Elton-John neon spangled, feather boa-ed jumpsuit…great..now I'm going to have nightmares.).

Who goes home depends largely on the power of VoteForTheWorst.com – if they truly wield as much as they say, then Antonella may just squeak through another week. I would definitely say that Alaina is on the bubble due to singing so early, and Leslie, simply because she just reeks of the "eh" factor.

Tune in Thursday night – remember Pickler’s coming! – you bring the sal-mon, I’ll pick up some caalamaaari, and I’ll meet you right back here, ok?

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, February 27: Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do? – Sing Better This Week, That's What

Scandal. We’re titillated by it – admit it, seeing Britney Spears cue balling herself was much better than just reading that she had done it.

We’re intrigued by it. Can the person survive the sordidness? The rumor mill? The gossip mongers?

And we’re fairly inured to it. Not a day goes by that one celebrity, politician, public figure, or another, doesn’t get outed for some type of behavior that is, at most, reprehensible, and at least, embarrassingly questionable.

But most of these stories fade from the spotlight just as quickly as they entered it, making room for the new Gaffe du jour.

So it is a little surprising to me that Antonella Barba and the search for her racy photos is still threatening to take down the Google servers.

As I mentioned in this space last week, some people in Barba’s circle have tried to jump the fame train with her, or maybe it would be better to saying they have been trying to derail her from the tracks completely.

The pictures I addressed last week were enough to make any parent hang their heads, questioning what they did or did not teach their child, and enough to make every other young lady out there become camera shy in the blink of a high speed shutter.

Half naked, all naked – save for some American Beauty rose petals -, bottomless on the toilet – etc. All showcasing Antonella’s big gummy smile and her enviable figure.

Would American Idol producers stand behind her or drop her at the Frenchie Davis Home For The Overexposed? That was my question as we entered the weekend.

At that point, Nigel Lythgow’s comments were that he had only become aware of the pictures through Entertainment Weekly asking him about them, and that it was sad that her "friends" were posting them.

Fast forward three days and we are now waiting to see, in light of the newer, much more damning photos of Antonella being posted all over the web, what new verdict may be handed down by the AI powers-that-be.

The new batch of photos - and word is there are more coming, taken from a nude calendar Antonella made for an ex – include her frolicking in a War Memorial fountain (again, classy choice Barby), and vamping in various states of undress. The worst, purport to show her engaging in a sex act with an unknown male. Note: they are being scrutinized as to whether the brown haired, brown eyed girl is actually Barba. I’ve seen them, and methinks not.

BFF Sko has been telling all interview outlets that, "The really bad ones aren't her. I've studied them. It's not her nose. She's never had (acrylic nail) tips in her life. She's the least slutty person I know."

"Slutty" is in the eye of the beholder, I guess, Sko.

The bottom line is this: the story has legs as long as Antonella’s and does not look to be fading anytime soon.

Unfortunate for her? Yes. Obviously the girl is embarrassed and horrified that her personal moments of bad judgment are now wallpapered onto the Desktops of millions of horny males. But I stick to what I said last week – I do not feel sorry for her. She is completely aware of the camera in each and every shot. She is not an unwilling participant.

I just hope that more and more young people are learning a lesson from this: Going wild may seem like a fun, harmless thing to do when you’re out drinking and carousing with your friends, but the images won’t fade nearly as easy as the memories. And they will come back to bite you in your rose petal covered rump.

Now, onto the recap…

Ryan opened with the ominous warning that "every vote is vital" and that "the guys are back and this time it’s personal." I have to pause here to ask, what the hell was it last week? Whatever it was, it had better be better this evening because the guys were thoroughly taken to musical task by the talents of the ladies last week.

A quick congrats to Jennifer Hudson – of course American Idol has to shamelessly take credit for her Oscar win – and then the guys ran the Howdy-do arch revealing a couple very questionable chapeau choices: Sanjaya channeling Dirty Diana-era Michael Jackson in a ponytail and fedora, and Blake – sweet Blake – with all his pokey hair mushroomed under a too tight newsboy cap. Seriously, he looked one step removed from Mushmouth on Fat Albert.

Randy stated that he expected the boys "to be a lot better this week" (I would hope that being scared poo-less would do it); Paula – who looked rather normal this evening – her extra hair must have been at the dry cleaners, and her cleavage was modest by Paula standards (three inches of crack vs five), encouraged them to "have fun, own the song" and sundry other clichés from the book, Fallback Phrases For American Idol Judges; Simon was actually working more cleavage than Paula tonight in his deeply V’d black sweater, and offered "no comment" to the guys.

Ryan explained that this evening the guys would be singing songs dedicated to the people who inspire them.

Collective "awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww", please

First to feel the love? Phil Stacey’s buddies in Naval Band Southeast. Phil, old enough to definitely know how to play the audience, explained his patriotism in his video footage – joined after 9/11, wanted to do his part, insert favorite Josh Gracin excerpts here… They then showed clips of Phil rocking out with the other Band guys, decked out in Navy whites, but jamming like they were in Black Sabbath. ( I always knew Uncle Sam was hiding a big old tattoo under that beard of his – and that he looks too much like ZZ Top to just be coincidence…)

Dressed in a simple white long sleeved shirt (easily made $100 more expensive by the shoestring lacing at the shoulder), JEANS, and a freshly waxed pate, Phil came out strong with I Ain’t Missin’ You.

I confess, I missed much of the song, hypnotized as I was by his very pronounced ears and my mental comparisons to last season’s intentionally bald rocker, Chris Daughtry. The difference is this, Chris has ears made for baldness. They lay flat against his head. Poor Phil looks like he’s waiting for a feather to be stuck in his trunk so he can fly.

But I digress…

I thought he sounded fine – a bit "eh" to be going in the forgettable first spot – but he did have that big note at the end.

Randy declared "that was hot"; Paula believes she can hear him on the radio already; Simon was more subdued stating, "I’m not jumping out of my chair" and "I’m still not hearing anything unique." He did concede, however, that Phil’s nice guy image and patriotic video will definitely insure he won’t be going home.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, we joined the guys in the Red Room relaxing on the Coke Bottle couch – tell me, have those Coke silhouettes always been there? Talk about product placement, the toilet paper in that place must be emblazoned with "It’s the real thing."

It was Jarod’s turn and he explained to Ryan that he was going to try to be a bit more "adventurous", channeling Marvin Gaye through his choice of "wearing a suit".

Oooooo-kayyyy. Let me think about Mr. Gaye for a moment and see what comes to mind…

Great singer…Grammy Hall of Fame…Dad shot him to death…suit wearer…

Yeah , I guess you’re right, Jared. That’s one of the first things I think of too.

Jared explained in his video that he was dedicating his song to his mom and dad – immediately I knew it surely could not be Sexual Healing because, well , that would just be gross.

Thank goodness he went with the much more appropriate parental homage, Let’s Get It On.

I like Jared – he has a really smooth sound and a great smile – and he had me almost till the end, but then he went and dropped to his knees and crawled towards the camera. Then he upped Smarmstantine Maroulis by letting his hand melt down over his face.

I actually got shivers. Not in an oooh-isn’t-he-sexy way, but in an oh-no-my-mouth-is-pooling-with-saliva-can-I-make-it-to-the-toilet way. Maybe I’m just old, but it was so over the top bad, that any sexy JT brought back, quickly exited the building again.

Randy "kinda liked it" and tried to copy the face melting move (more saliva, stop please); Paula began with "you’re a good looking kid", then wandered off into her own land of filth with "It’s the kind of song you don’t have to push…" She stopped, embarrassed, but I have no idea why. It was the farthest thing from a true witty double entendre. But then, when you are perpetually in heat the way dear Ms. Abdul seems to be, every thought must seem sordid. Simon cut her off and told Jared that it all reminded him of "the Love Boat if they had a caberet singer."

I just needed the commercial break to wipe down my TV screen.

Next up was sweet AJ Tabaldo – I like him a lot. He’s unpretentious, not cocky, a cute little guy. Do I think he can win this thing? Umm, nooooo. But as long as he is around, I’m going to enjoy him.

Dedicating his song choice of Feeling Good to his parents, he started off slowly, then ramped up the tempo and had everyone swaying along. Decked out in a green shirt and vest, with the requisite JEANS, he lit up as he sang the words "and I’m feeling good" – and everyone was feeling good with him. It was a solid, solid performance.

Randy acknowledged that he was "so much better than last week" (although I truly think he was one of the few unsucky moments from Week 1); Paula got stuck in a mental loop, "real, real, real, real, real, real good voice"; Simon, obviously sickened, like a cat horking up a hairball, by having to praise him, managed, "actually, nearly, very good."

Another break and we return to Sanjaya Malakar dedicating his song to his deceased grandfather, whose wedding band Sanjaya wears for luck.

Singing Steppin’ Out With My Baby, Sanjaya must have thought he was capturing the bygone, suave, Broadway smoothness of Irving Berlin in his fedora, burgundy shirt and dress pants, complete with a shiny subway token around his neck, but all I got was tepid Michael Jackson.

He’s a sweet kid, but it was such a boring performance, even Sanjaya seemed to snooze through most of it. There was not a single compelling thing about it, and the fedora hid his trademark Rembrandt smile and bouncy Pantene locks.

Randy called it "weird", like a "high school talent show", and "weak"; Paula tried to help him with "you sang on pitch" and encouraged him to "celebrate his youth"; but Simon went for the musical jugular with "ghastly, very weak, a little weird" and "no impact".

All of which was the perfect platform for Chris Sligh to land on – no where to go but up from that, right?

Chris dedicated his song choice to his beautiful wife Sarah (yes, we ALL looked at her, then him, then her again, and went "Huh??"), his inspiration and biggest supporter. Note to all you guys out there: Never underestimate the seductive power of a killer sense of humor. It will beat bulging biceps and a ripped six pack any day of the week.

With his hair on full helium, Chris was dressed in a black tshirt, gray suit, Converse tennis shoes, and the identical subway token necklace as Sanjaya Jackson. Methinks we are seeing Paula’s yearly gift of bling to her young charges. I wonder what they are engraved with this time? New York Transit Authority?

Singing Trouble against a white blood cell screensaver, Chris proved he does indeed have the chops to stick around to the end. His voice is smooth, fabulous, ready for radio – he has a distinctive sound.

Randy said he, too, was "even better than last week"; Paula called him "awesome" but warned him to watch his "pitch"; Simon called him a "very good singer".

Small insight into Simon’s obviously not completely icebergian heart – echoing Chris’s lyrical sentiments, he added that he, too, has been saved by a woman. Hear that Terri? It’s not a proposal, but coming from Simon? Bank it, girlfriend.

Nick Pedro has a girlfriend he says is "fun to be around" and "very giving" – not exactly "saved by a woman", but nice enough, Nick.

He came out to sing Fever, dressed in a lukewarm combo of blue dress shirt, boring blazer and dark pants. Not even the LSD screensaver behind him could turn the heat up past 98.6. Seriously, he made Smurfette Bennett’s performance of this number last season seem sultry, and we all know that the 17 year old Princess P was anything but.

Poor Nick, he just looks like a guy at an insurance sales seminar. There is nothing about him that makes you go "Oooo, superstar!" "Ooooo, I need to up my collision coverage", maybe… He’s a decent singer, but just an OK to look at guy. In fact the only interesting thing about his look is that I’m interested to know who tweezed his eyebrows into such a Mommy Dearest arch of death?

The biggest highlights of the song were the cutaways to the drummer. What number do we dial to vote for him?

Randy continued to echo the "so much better than last week" sentiment; Paula called it "kind of smoky, kind of nice"; Simon nailed it though with "lacked charisma".

The extended commercial break gave FOX time to once again promote the new gameshow, Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?, hosted by everyone’s favorite redneck, Jeff Foxworthy. You know, I may not be smarter than my 10 year old when it comes to trapezoids, but I am smart enough to know when a certain blue collar comedian has had some serious plastic surgery. No, not in a Burt-Reynolds-Kenny-Rogers type of way, but enough to make him look a little more than "well rested".

What would Larry The Cable guy say? Got ‘r done?

Blake Lewis, one of the few highlights in last week’s poor male showing, was up next. Gone was the sweet sweater vest, replaced with a white hoodie cover by a green Tshirt emblazoned with what looked like a girl strumming guitar and a flying phallus behind her in the sky. His pants were gray plaid? And he also still had on the hat. I hate the hat with a passion. It covered Blake's adorable spiked, blond locks.  Bad hat. Bad, bad hat.

Against a rings of Saturn screensaver, Blake took off into musical orbit singing the song Virtual Insanity by Jamiroquai – apparently someone very famous everywhere but here in the States. I had no idea what he was singing, but he was obviously into it, even including some scatting and scratching – which he wisely kept to a minimum.  I think he will continue to be judicious in when and where he drops the beatboxing into songs - he really seems to be aware of how easily it would be to get pigeonholed by it.

Randy seemed excited with "That’s what I’m talk’ ‘bout!"; Paula applauded his "smart choices"; Simon however, brought us back down from Saturn by pointing out what none of us mere carbon lifeforms would know, that Blake's beginning was a carbon copy of Jamiroquai’s video. He did praise the unique middle, however.

Blake then added to the musical vernacular with "vocal turn table-ism". I’ll remember that next time I hork into a microphone…It’s not a hairball, dammit! I’m an artist!

Brandon Rogers got his chance to dedicate something to his deceased grandmother, Rosa Mae Williams – Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time.

Dressed in a rose colored tshirt and Blake’s plaid trousers – surely the stylist budget is bigger than two guys having to share one pair of pants?, I will give him this much – following so closely on the heels of his heartfelt video remembrance of her, his phrasing and emotion helped carry the song. Good thing because there was precious little else to pay attention to. It was a tad boring and I want to hear superstar vocals from this backup singer.

Randy called it "boring" too and said that "it didn’t do enough" for Brandon; Paula, weepy Paula, disagreed and said she felt his "heart"; Simon, who obviously peaked with the quick "saved by a woman" comment, seemed more than a little irked, reminding him that "this is a singing competition" and that he needs to "make a WOW impact".

Then ensued a near fistfight between Paula and Simon, the revelation that Simon’s mother has a birthday in November, Randy likes dawgs (collective DUH from the pound, please), and that Simon likes puppies.

Moving on…

Chris Richardson, who seems intent on copying every thing Justin Timberlake does, from the head stubble to the 5 o’clock shadow, to wearing clothes from JT’s new line, dedicated his song to Big Mama, his grandmother. She’s a spunky, feisty, opinionated little cuss of a woman and Chris loves her.

Why then did he pick something called Geek In The Pink?

I know, I know – I’m old. Well, I’m not near as ancient as Big Mama and I had no clue what he was singing. But away he went, singing, bouncing, and rapping in his striped cardigan and JEANS, and I had a very hard time imagining Big Mama doing the same. I realize there is some talent in warbling 250 words per minute, but my ears don't work that fast.

But what do I know? Randy declared it "hotter than the original"; Paula clapped like a seal on crack laced sardines; Simon even called him "the best tonight by a mile."

OK, I admit it. I’m just not feeling Chris. Sue me.  That's the beauty of this show - there's someone for everyone.  Chris just isn't for me.

Loved it when Ryan asked Chris what he thought Big Mama was thinking? Simon copped a southern accent and quipped, "What the hell’s that song?"

Bravo, Simon, Bravo.

Drawing the best performance straw this evening was Sundance Head, who, after many weeks of how-the-hell-did-he-get-this-far singing, needed to hit one out of the park.

He dedicated his song to his not quite three month old baby, Levi. And he completely touched my heart when he choked on his own tears in his video moment while talking about missing the first smiles, etc, by being on AI.

Seriously, he just got the entire minivan vote with that.

His rendition of Mustang Sally almost made up for the dirge-like Knights In White Satin debacle-horror-show-nightmare of last week. It was upbeat, he commanded the stage, his range was back and he had everyone in the audience and at home rooting again for the unlikely looking guy with the brillo pad chin.

Randy gave him "wow, wow, wow" and a "You dropped da bomb on it."; Paula announced it was the "best vocal ever" (maybe not that good, Paula, you just suck on that pink straw some more and be quiet now, ok?); Simon said he was "glad Sundance is back" but said that he still thinks he "can do better".

Ryan then proceeded to tug at Sundance’s heartstrings just a bit more with a Photoshopped picture of baby Levi, complete with Dad’s chin pubes.

Awww, nothing sweeter than a baby with a goatee.

And that does it for Boys’ Night Out. If I had to guess, I would say no one is going to Vote For Pedro tonight and Nick will be leaving come Thursday. As for the other guy sucking hind voter tit? I think Sanjaya will slide through on the little girl / grandma vote for at least one more week – after all, look how many weeks they forgave Kevin Covais, but sweet AJ may suffer from singing too early tonight.

Tune in Wednesday night as the ladies once again take the stage to dish out some more vocal "shrinkage" to the guys.

Will Antonella be among the performers? I’m thinking, yes. The producers can justify anything, as long as it keeps the viewer numbers growing as fast the hits on Google…

Give Me A Big, Fat Break

The human interest story making the news rounds today comes out of England, North Tyneside, to be exact.

It concerns an eight year old child, Connor McCreaddie, and the proposal by British childcare workers to have him removed from his mother’s "care" on the grounds of neglect.

I put the word "care" in quotation marks because under Nicola McKeown’s – the boy’s mother - stellar parenting, he weighs over 200 pounds.

Eight years old and he weighs twice as much as me at 40.  In fact, he weighs more than my three children combined.

With studies showing Britain has the worst rate of obesity among children in Europe, social workers were prepared to intervene in an attempt to save his life. According to healthcare officials, at the rate the child is going, his life expectancy currently stands at 30 years.

To those of you who emailed this morning asking if I have an opinion, I reply: "Duh."

Of course I have an opinion. Actually I have quite a few on this story.

1. Nicola is worthless as a parent.

But then, she belongs to a large club. The Society of Parents Who Let Their Children Call The Shots.

She claims she cannot stop him from eating all the junk food and that he spits out fruits and vegetables.

Hey, Nicola. If you don’t buy it, he can’t eat it. And if he spits out the good stuff? Let him starve. And when he begins to whine, as has been his main method of thwarting any attempts to curb his every-20-minutes-cookie-binging? Buy yourself some earplugs and tell him to shut the *(&@ up.

Once he realizes his only option is the "good stuff", he'll eat it.

A normal breakfast for Connor has been a large bowl of chocolate cereal with a toast and processed lunchmeat chaser. Snacks abound as he awaits the noon chime for lunch which is made up of four hamburgers, fries, sausages, and sometimes a whole pizza. Dinner is routinely more take out junk food, four bags of potato chips and ice cream. Snacking continues till bedtime.

Lather, rinse, repeat the next day.

Speaking of lathering, poor Connor is so large he has trouble bathing himself.

I simply cannot understand the number of parents in this world who give birth and simultaneously pushed out all vestiges of a spine. Saying "no" to your child may not be the easiest thing in the world, but it’s your job. Children need guidance, they need expectations, they need consequences for their actions, and they need rules.

And if they want a continuous stream of McDonald’s and Oreos? Shove some broccoli in their mouth and drive past the drive thru.

2. The government cannot adopt every obese child.

An unidentified health official was quoted as telling The Sunday Times that taking custody of Connor would be a last resort, but said the family had repeatedly failed to attend appointments with nurses, nutritionists and social workers.

That social workers were attempting to remove Connor is laughable to me. Look around – in Britain, in America – obese children are everywhere. And chances are their parents are not exactly at the Paris Hilton end of the weight spectrum. (Connor’s mother is certainly not setting herself up as a role model for good health.)

For those of you ready to pounce on me for "hatin' on the chubby people" - STOP. I have complete sympathy for those people who struggle with real, physiological issues which contribute to excess weight. I do not, however, shed any tears for those who choose their supersized lot by refusing to stop supersizing their meals. And Connor's weight is completely self-inflicted, and parent sanctioned.

The fat apple does not fall far from the girthy tree, but as irresponsible as it is to raise children who turn out so overweight, it is not any government’s job to police this issue.

At some point, personal responsibility has to kick in. People have to take a good long look at what they are doing to contribute to this problem. But it’s hard for an adult to truly see themselves for how big they are, let alone take off the lard colored glasses and see their children.

That’s truly the only way to change the problem, however.

Dr. Colin Waine, the director of the National Obesity Forum in Nottingham, England, called Connor's lifestyle "extremely dangerous," adding he is at risk of developing diabetes in his early teens, and cardiovascular and nervous system problems in his 20s.

"He's really at risk of dying by the time he's 30," Waine said.

Dr. Michael Markiewicz, a pediatrician, agreed.

"I'm not saying they can't care for him, but what they are doing is, through the way they are treating him and feeding him, they are slowly killing him," he said.

And if that information cannot open the eyes of Nicola and every other parent on this planet who equate love with Twinkies, I don’t know what else can be done.

Seriously, if a doctor told me that I was threatening the health and life expectancy of my child, I would certainly hope that would be enough of an ass-kick to force a quick and dramatic course correction.

Bottom line? No government can even begin to think they can successfully intervene in the case of childhood obesity.

Only the parents can make the changes necessary to break the obesity cycle and give their children a shot at a healthy life.

But until the doctors figure out how to regrow spines, I have one last opinion to share:

3. FAT CHANCE

A Child Goes Missing, A Parent Goes Directly To Hell

Hell /hel/ n. 1. place regarded in some religions as the abode of the dead or of devils and condemned sinners 2. place or state of misery or wickedness

That may be how Webster’s defines "hell". But for hundreds of millions of decent, caring, loving human beings on this planet, "hell" is not confined to a murky afterlife state, and it has no religious component whatsoever.

These people are parents.

Those who have brought forth life and have reveled in the glories and joys, the strains and the pains of raising a child.

Those who have found themselves trapped in an emotional web so sweetly sinister, that while their very survival depends on the breaths of another person – their child – they would not free themselves for anything in the world.

Loving a child is a religion all its own.  Forget Christianity, Islam, Buddahism,  Judaism, Taoism, Hinduism, or any other -ism out there.  Worshipping at the innocent alter of a child crosses all ethnic, religious, economic, cultural, and geographical borders.

For us – yes, I am a card carrying member of the Fraternal Order of Emotional Hostages – ‘hell’ is always standing by – too close by – we experience it when our child is ill, when one of our children’s hopes gets dashed by this big, cruel world (or a particularly difficult word in a spelling bee). We feel the flames in our faces when we watch our child’s first heartbreak.

But perhaps, it would be more accurate to refer to those instances as Purgatory – the interim, bus stop of Hell – the place you briefly pass through while waiting for Jet Blue to get its schedule corrected and whisk you back off into emotional normalcy.

Personally, having three children of my own, three children whose every breath means I, too, am able to breath; three children who, as long as I know their whereabouts, enable me to go about the daily minutia of my life – I believe that Sartre had it right when he uttered these words long ago:

Hell is other people.

Because other people steal children.

Which brings me to the reason for today’s entry.

There is a one year old missing from Georgia.

His name is Ezekiel Brown and he was last seen with his father, 38-year-old William Brown on January 31. Ezekial’s mother, Lois, had custody, but William, in the wake of a judge’s order that his visitation with the toddler be supervised, decided to flaut the order, and abducted the child.

Yes, he is now Billy the Kidnapper.

The fact that Ezekial was abducted by a parent does not make his absence more bearable for Lois. The judge handed down the supervision orders for a reason, and not because William was being considered for Father of the Year.

Nearly four weeks have now passed, and as a mother I can tell you, "time heals all wounds" does not apply. Lois is in hell, consigned there by the spite, hatred, and animosity of another person.

If you’re asking why I am choosing to highlight Ezekial’s case, when there are so many other children missing in this country, the answers are simple.

1. I was asked to. A regular reader of this blog asked that I help get the word out that this child is missing.  Information is power and enough people read this blog daily to make it worth my effort to open some eyes.

2. No Amber Alert was ever issued, and that is a glaring flaw in a system set up to immediately publicize a missing child.

Yes, Ezekial is ONE. One of far too may. According to "National Estimates of Missing Children: An Overview" in National Incidence Studies of Missing, Abducted, Runaway, and Thrownaway Children, commissioned by the US Justice Department, nearly 796,000 children under 18 are reported missing each year – do the math – that’s over 2,000 a day.

Of those, over 203,000 are classified as "family abductions".

The problem with the Amber Alert system – and don’t get me wrong, even a flawed program is better than none when it comes to missing children – is this: It does not give enough weight or credence to a "family abduction".

According to the Amber Alert website, these criteria must be met in order for the Amber flag to be waved:

~ There is reasonable belief by law enforcement an abduction has occurred. (Ezekial went missing, there is no debate about this fact.  Unfortunately, the justice system always wants to give a "parent" the benefit of the doubt - surely no parent would ever hurt their own child, right?  Yeah, right.  Children are beaten to death, drowned, thrown off bridges, sexually abused, and horribly neglected every day by parents - whose only parenting skill is that they had the unprotected sex required for making a child.)

~ The abduction is of a child age 17 years or younger (Ezekial definitely fulfills this requirement)

~ There is enough descriptive information about the victim and abduction for law enforcement to issue an AMBER Alert to assist in the recovery of the child (This part stymies me – they knew who took Ezekial, his car description, and have been tracing his ATM withdrawals.)

~ The child’s name and other critical data elements, including the Child Abduction flag, have been entered into the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) computer (They have been now.)

Unfortunately, the public-at-large never really got the lowdown on Ezekial’s disappearance in the precious hours after it occurred. (A far too common scenario) Yes, the local Georgia TV station gave it some coverage. Yes, the mother took it upon herself to set up a website with details and updates. And yes, now the FBI is involved, but four weeks is an awful long time for someone who does not wish to be caught, to run far afield of the original area where the crime occurred.

The lastest information available is not encouraging. William’s car was found abandoned in San Antonio, and his ATM transactions now include some in Mexico.

And Lois is walking through a nightmare, trapped in the hell only another parent can understand.

I encourage everyone to stop by the BringZekeHome.com website. And I ask that you all take a good long look at the picture of William the Asshole below. And whenever a child goes missing in your area – CARE.

You may not have children of your own, but chances are you do love someone with a big enough passion that you can tap into how you would feel if they went missing. You would feel helpless. You would feel paralyzed. You would feel "hell".

Hell may indeed be other people, Sartre. But when a child is missing, "other people" and their willingness to care and keep their eyes open, may well be the ticket back to heaven.

You are not alone, Lois. 

 

Note: William has made his living as a golf pro on the courses in Georgia, so there is the potential for him to be found in those environs, whether within the USA or outside the country. More details are available at BringZekeHome.com.

If you have any information, please contact the Columbia County Sheriff's Dept, Teresa Charney, (706)541-2800 or FBI, Augusta Office, (706)722-3702 or National Center for Missing & Exploited Children (800)843-5678

American Idol Results Recap, Thursday, February 22: The First Cut Really Isn't The Deepest. It's More Of A Flesh Wound

Season six, and you would think, after consistently watching early contestants fall victim to their own pasts via The Smoking Gun, inappropriate web material, and open public records laws, that many of these kids would know better than to even audition.

But then – the lure of potential fame and fortune is a lot like those carrot fumes that would always pick Bugs Bunny up off his feet and sweep him through the air…

But where carrots improve one’s vision, fame tends to obliterate it.

The bottom line is that we live in a digital world where everything you do is either documented, photographed, or blogged about in excruciating detail which lives on in a pixilated state of forever.

Semi-sort-of-too-close-for-comfort pornish pics on a website? Au revoir, Frenchie Davis. Pour sugar into your boyfriend’s gas tank? Hasta la vista, Ashlyn Carr. Steal someone’s identity to buy a car? Grand Theft Fraudo, Brittenum twins. Got ganja? Enjoy your life with Mary Jane, Akron Watson. Pose for Maxim with your hot twin sister? Smile for the cameras, O’Donohue twosome.

These things always come out. It may not be discovered in the loose vetting process practiced by the American Idol machine, but the folks out here in the real world have more than enough free time to request records, find unflattering mug shots, talk to media whoring relatives, and pay so called friends for any happy snaps they may have in their scrapbooks.

Which brings us to Antonella Barba and those compromising – ah, screw it – I’ll call them what they are – STUPID – pictures of her being sold, posted, passed around, and promoted by "friends" and former party mates of the Legs from Long Island.

I’ve seen them. And at the risk of sounding like a farty old parent, if she were my daughter, I would be more than ashamed of the behavior they display. And if she were still under 18, I would all but slap an ankle monitor around her leg and insert a GPS chip in her ass.

Shown topless in one shot with other girls, teasingly cupping one another’s breasts; topless yet again in another on the beach; bottomless and ready to take a whiz on the toilet; shown practicing underage drinking in nearly every shot; and being either the feeler or feelee upper with any number of female friends.

Classy, classy young ladies.

Now, while I’m sure that the internet is going wild today as news of these shots gets passed around, and I fear Google may have to add that new server sooner rather than later, my bigger concern is this: What the hell is wrong with so many young girls these days?

And before someone gets their panties in a knot – that is not a homophobic query. I could care less what someone’s sexual orientation happens to be or what they do in the privacy of their own, well, privacy. That is their business, every bit as much as my sex life is my business.

My question has to do with the obvious poor choices, lack of common sense, and completely slutty behavior girls seem to think is cool to flaunt for the cameras.

I mean, I attended more than my share of parties as a teen, but at no time did we girls indulge in what is apparently de rigeur at today’s soirees – Sapphic sideshows for the pleasure of the idiot guys in attendance.

Yes, I realize I sound like I’m moralizing, but I truly am stymied at the obvious self esteem blight in today’s young landscape. One quick surf around MySpace will bear me out – the overwhelming belief seems to be that "if I show my boobs, ass, thong, or touch myself there, then people will look at me and I’ll be popular!"

No, you’ll just be another in a long line of girls who will have their pictures come back to bite them in the bare ass.

I realize underage drinking goes on everywhere. Hell, I did my part to keep Budweiser and Captain Morgan in business when I was in college. And yes, I probably attended more parties than most, but if clothes were coming off, it was by frat boys streaking in the snow or one-on-one make out sessions in the dorm.

As for Ms. Barba? She’s fully aware of, and playing to, the camera in every one of these pictures. And she was fully aware of their existence when she chose to go after the limelight.

So, call it heartless, callous, or the tough love of a parent raising daughters, but she’s getting what she deserves by these pictures making the internet rounds. And maybe, just maybe, she will not only learn a huge lesson, but also serve as a cautionary tale to other girls thinking of going "wild" anytime in the future – the lesson that there is a permanence to everything a person does in the new millennium.

Believe me, I have already talked this story through with my own three daughters – and for the record? They all think the pictures are incredibly cheap, stupid, embarrassing, and classless.

I don’t feel sorry for Antonella. But if I’m being honest? Am I really surprised? Are you? We shouldn’t be. After all, her best friend is Sko.

OK, I take that back. Maybe I feel sorry for her on one level…those pictures didn’t make it out there on their own.

Now let’s get to our first set of results…

With the 24 gathered beneath the dim lights, and Ryan intoning that the "cuts are coming to you live", the kids’ faces were all frozen into a rictus normally reserved for someone who has been six feet under for at least a year.

I guess then it was fitting that Ryan was dressed as Funeral Director Seacrest this evening in his serious black suit and matching tie. Burying the hopes and dreams of four people is a somber task.

But, THIS. IS. AMERICAN. IDOL.

And THIS. IS. WHAT. WE. DO.

A quick hello to the judges… Randy giving some "what up" sign language for the hearing impaired; Paula decked out in a bright red blazer, hair pulled back, cleavage tastefully boosted, and wearing my dining room curtain tassels around her neck; and Simon, well, did he even change his sweater from last night?

Randy deemed that based on the past two night’s performances, this a "girls’ race to lose"; Paula when asked for a "message to the guys" uttered the most Pavlovian response since bells and barking dogs, "Bring it on."; and Simon echoed what has been discussed all day on the internet, that there are "only 2 or 3 guys with potential."

Ryan then gave a run down on the mentors for the upcoming episodes, and it seems, with rare exception, American Idol has finally gotten the message that the majority of its viewers would like to actually know who they have on as guests.

This season will include heavy hitters like Jon Bon Jovi, Gwen Stefani, Martina McBride, and JLo, with only a couple nods to the geezer crowd (count me among them, thankyouverymuch): Diana Ross (the supremely original trainwreck), Tony Bennett (still smooth as silk after all these years), and Barry Gibb (who can still give me Saturday night fever).

A quick recap of the ladies’ performances reminded me that it really is a shame that they insist on keeping the cuts even. Surely there should be more boys than girls heading home by the final 12. Damned rules…

I was so ready for that first cut to be made, but then, wait!, what’s this?!? Say it ain’t so and insert some Jaws theme music!!

THE GROUP SONG.

This early on?

I inwardly cringed (ok, ok, I outwardly screamed too) when Ryan intro’d them singing Sowing The Seeds of Love.

The song began with Phil wearing that ridiculous Beetle Bailey hat on his head, Rudy looking like he just got off his shift as a doorman at the Sheraton, Sundance with freshly trimmed chin pubes, and Blake – well, Blake was just as adorable as ever.  Linda loves her some Blake.

They did not, however, look thrilled to be involved in what quickly evolved into an Up With People concert, complete with dorky hand moves and beauty pageant criss crosses.

The only true highlight was Melinda coming front and center where she belongs from now on.

Oh, and did you notice that Sings Without Shoes was wearing some tonight? He soled out, baby, he soled out.

Fine – I will give them this much – they sounded smooth together – but I am begging the AI producers, stop the inanity. Kill the GROUP SONG and I swear on my eyes, I won’t make fun of the Selling-their-souls-to-the-devil-Ford commercials the kids have to start doing.

(OK, I’m lying. I hate those too. And if I did not rip them apart, my head would surely explode from pent up sarcasm.)

AFTER. THE. BREAK we returned to find the guys assembled on the Davenports of Doom thusly:

Top Row: Brandon, Sundance, Chris Timberlake, Nick, My Darling Blake, and Paul.

Bottom row: Chris Sligh, Jared, Sanjaya, Rudy, AJ, and Phil

Chris took the Q&A opportunity to apologize to America, nay, the world, for coming off as not liking Simon, Il Divo, and The Teletubbies. Personally, I thought it was a little ass kissy. And if someone in that group is going to pucker up to my caboose, I would like to request it be Blake.

Ryan pulled the back row down to center stage, set the lights to strobing – all the better to see the veins also pulsing in their necks - and quickly sent Brandon, Sundance, Chris R and Nick back to SAFETY.

That left Blake and Sings Without Shoes , who had already been doing the math when Nick was still standing with them. Of course Blake was SAFE, but man, Ryan sure ripped the bandaid off Paul, "I’m sorry you’re going home tonight." No preamble, no build-up. Just you suck, go home.

As much as he was probably expecting this all day, he still seemed shellshocked as Ryan handed him the mike for what I believe has to be the most difficult thing on TV: "We just took a steamy dump on your dreams, American agreed they don’t like you, but here, sing for us, you little circus monkey, sing!"

Poor guy, you could hear the wobbly emotion shredding his vocal cords as he managed to get through Careless Whisper. But let’s be honest, based on Tuesday night, it was the right cut.

Another break and it was the girls assembled on the Couches of Carnage.

Top Row: Jordin, Stephanie, Sabrina, Leslie, Melinda, and Antonella

Bottom Row: Amy, Hoochie, Gina, Nicole, Alaina, and LaKisha

Again, the back row came down to center stage, but the stay was shortlived for Jordin, Stephanie, Sabrina (I guess wearing three kiwis around one's neck is good luck), and Leslie?!? who were sent back to the safety of the couch cushions.

That left Melinda and Antonella – well, of course we all knew who was going home, right? Ryan sent Melinda back to Safety Land where she will reign as queen till the finals, but just as Antonella’s bowels were turning to juice and she was silently cursing every human being she has ever known with a camera, Ryan pulled a fast one and declared her safe too. Damn you, VoteForTheWorst.com!

So the entire back row was safe and even in the dim lighting, you could see all the blood drain from the girls sitting in the bottom row.

Ryan quickly pulled Amy to center stage and BOOM! "end of the road."

You’ve got to hand it to those crafty interns who coordinate this elaborate elimination process. They are so devilish, they must moonlight for Ford.

Amy resang "I Can’t Make You Love Me" and the lyrics were more than apropos – no, you can’t make the viewers love you with middling performances, but I really think she deserved to outlast Legs Barba, who I predict will flaunt her assets next Wednesday in an attempt to deflect attention from her less than ample vocal chops.

Another break and Ryan intro’d a new moneymaking scheme from the producers – ok,ok, I’ll call it a contest, but at 99 cents per entry, it is the most brilliant grifting I have seen in a long while.

Each week, for less than a dollar, we can answer the American Idol Challenge question via our cell phones. This week’s prize? $10,000 and tickets to next week’s show.

The question was ridiculously simple, all the better to encourage us to enter the full 10 times allowed ($9.90 if you’re counting): Which Idol, out of Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson and Fantasia Barino had the platinum CD Breakaway?

$10,000 prize. And conservatively, they raked in $8-10 million in entry fees. (Including $1.98 from me. Come on – if you don’t enter, you can’t win.)

The highlight of the night was next when Ryan welcomed Fantasia back to the AI stage to announce she will be starring in the Broadway musical version of The Color Purple in April. (Ironically, I watched some of CP on HBO last night after I finished the recap - it’s an amazing movie with a stellar cast and one I never tire of.)

Fantasia will be helming the role of Celie, originated by Whoopie Goldberg, but upping the ante with song.

While I think her dress choice – a shiny gray satin number which turned her into an irridescent sausage, was not flattering – all fashion considerations were forgotten when she began to sing I’m Here.

For those who have never seen the movie, "I’m here" is Celie’s pivotal moment when she decides she has worth and is going to survive. I predict that the song lyrics and Fantasia’s incredible performance will bring the house down every night.

More commercials – because $8-10 million off the viewers just isn’t enough – and it was time to pull the remaining ladies to the stage. No real surprise when Hoochie Scarnato, LaKisha, and Gina were deemed SAFE, leaving a toss up between Alaina The Breathy and Nicole The Syllabic Minimalist.

Alaina managed to squeak through leaving Nicole to once again regale us with some loud screaming into the microphone – I still could not understand a word.

Pressed for time, Ryan tore through the remaining boys:

Chris – SAFE

Phil – SAFE

Jared – SAFE

AJ – SAFE

Sanjaya – So SAFE he was in the top four (I told you puppies were a hit with prepube dialers)

Rudy – outta here.

I admit, I was a tad upset – his vocals are so much stronger than Chris Robinson’s, but he just did not connect with the young girls in the voting public the way Timberfake did.

Paula, who I give props to for being very lucid, coherent, and thoughtful tonight, gave him a heartfelt goodbye and said he had "one of the best vocals" in the group.

Before he could reprise Free Ride, we had to watch the AI journey of the departing four, set to a new song, something as lyrically fitting as Bad Day – Home by Chris Daughtry.

"Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it all." Sadly, they got nothing but the chance to live the final line of the song, "I’m going home."

Next Tuesday, the guys will once again take the stage – think that since they now know what fierce competition they have in the ladies, they can hit us hard and put some stank on it this time?

Wednesday night, will the girls be just as jaw dropping as they were this week? And does Antonella have it in her to make us drop our jaws for more than just her scantily clad pics which seem to be growing exponentially each time I check Google? (God help their servers – VFTW.com already crashed once today because of the public’s Barbaric need to see her in her skivvies. I have a feeling the Google headquarters may spontaneously combust before this is over.)

American Idol Recap, Wednesday, February 21: Boys? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Boys!

With the ladies taking the stage this evening I thought I would bring up the subject of American Idol’s reigning queen of quirk: Paula Abdul.

While I will be always be first in line to comment about her ever increasing cleavage, the hair she surely buys by the pound, and her always irritating manner of clapping like a trained sea lion at Shamu’s house – I will also always be the first to admit that were she to be replaced, American Idol just would not be the same.

After five seasons of watching her slur her speech, boost her ta tas, abuse Simon, slide out of her chair, and split her infinitives – all done with eyes more glazed over than a freshly bathed Krispy Kreme, the viewing audience has developed a special love/pity/what the hell?!? relationship with her.

Face it, half the fun of watching each week is to see how much sense she will or will not make, how often she will smack Simon around, and how many times the cameramen have to cut away from something completely inane that she does.

Essentially, she’s like the drunk uncle who always comes for Thanksgiving – we dread his arrival, but look forward to the spectacle nonetheless.

For years, speculation about Paula and drugs, alcohol, et al has been rife. And not a season has rolled by without conjecture as to what hides in her shiny red Coke cup.

But as Paula expounds in the current issue of US Weekly, "I’ve never been drunk, I’ve never done recreational drugs."

Well, Anna Nicole didn’t stock up on recreational mind vehicles either, but she was certainly familiar with prescription items like Methadone, Valium, and assorted anti-depressants.  Just because a medication originates on a doctor's scribble pad doesn't make it less lethal or behavior altering - you should have seen me a couple weeks back whacked out on Vicodin after some oral surgery.  Paula and I could have hung together, no problemo.

Paula goes on to brag, "Just look at my 20-year career. Tell me someone who is into partying and or doing drugs that could have done that."

Um. Gee. You’re putting me on the spot here, Paula, but let’s see what I can come up with…

Aerosmith, ring a bell? The Rolling Stones? Elton John? George Michael? Bon Jovi? Whitney Houston? Mariah Carey? Hell, even Rush Limbaugh. Shall I go on?

The point is that many a celebrity has strayed down, or stayed on, the path littered with empties, hypodermics, rolling papers, and used up brown Walgreens bottles with child-safe lids. And they keep on keeping on. Whether by luck, rehab, or genetics worthy of cockroaches (Keith Richards, anyone?).

Personally, I would rather ‘fess up to some illicit dabbling than have the entire free world think I am an in-denial-wackjob with a big medicine cabinet - or just plain stupid.

(Besides, a quick 30 day stint in rehab seems to fix everything in celebrity land these days. We poor mortals, however, being of limited means, have to rely on a more basic, yet tried and true method of recovery from gaffes, goofs, and pharmaceutical missteps: Step 1 Please one hand on either side of neck. Step 2. Pull really hard until head pops out of ass. Step 3 Don’t screw up again.)

Perhaps Paula will start to pull it together. I mean when you go public with the denials like she has of late, she has to know the scrutiny heat is really on.

So Paula – we’ll just nod our heads for now and allow you to think we all believe you. But know that when you are on each week, the magnifying glass is out, and the Tivo remote is ready to freeze every roll of your heavy lidded eyes, and to replay every syllable of your sloppily pulled together critiques.

"The moth who finds the melon finds the corn flake always finds the melon."

Ghandi Abdul, Season 5

I rest my case. Now onto the recap…

Dressed to impress the ladies, Ryan opened the show in a white dress shirt, suit coat and JEANS, with the girls Brady Bunched out on the stairs behind him.

A quick video recap of last night’s men’s performances reconfirmed what we already know – the guys, with rare exception, didn’t exactly bring the heat – a Bic lighter maybe, but nobody truly set the stage on fire.

A quick hello to the ladies as they ran through the Howdy-do tunnel, and then Ryan welcomed the judges – Randy, once again wearing Big Ben on his wrist; Paula caught in a killer-collar-1985-time-warp accessorized with what looked like SeaBiscuit’s tail hanging out the back of her head; and Simon gray, but "happy to be here".

A video walk down memory lane showcased the girls’ Golden Ticket moments, their Hollywood Week highlights, and their time in the crappy chair that changed their lives – unfortunately, I truly do not remember half of these girls. Sure, I love Melinda Doolittle, am happy that Legs Barba jettisoned her Sko counterpart, and think LaKisha is the bomb, but as for the rest? No idea.

Stephanie Edwards drew the first performance slot this evening – a tough one considering she has had very little face time in the run up to this evening. But at 19, Stephanie has a class and cool about her that goes far beyond that of your ordinary mall crawling teenager.

Looking amazing in a blue and brown flowing dress, just enough gold jewelry, and a hairdo only someone with a truly beautiful face can carry off (seriously, most of us would look like Prison Break extras with that little hair on our heads), she owned the stage with How Come You Don’t Call Anymore. Effortless vocals, the presence of a seasoned performer, and a surprising knee-drop towards the end, made even more surprising by the ease with which she rose back up. (Ahhh, the cartilage of youth…)

Randy said "That set it off!" (meaning the evening); Paula christened her "a star"; and Simon dissed the boys by saying she was "a million times better than anything" they did last night.

In short, the girl is here to play.

A break brought us back to the Red Room where Ryan asked Melinda what she learned from watching the boys – calling them "amazing", we immediately learned that Mel is a diplomat and that if this singing thing doesn’t work out, could definitely get a gig at the UN.

Next to take the stage is Amy Krebs – another Who from Whoville – with the lights low, and one eye hidden behind her wavy locks, Amy sang I Can’t Make You Love Me, and I hated saying back to her, "No, you can’t – at least not with a performance which is the equivalent of aural oatmeal."

She looked nice in her long patterned dress, but there was absolutely nothing in her singing to make us forget Stephanie Edwards stellar go before her.

Randy called it "a middle of the road performance"; Paula struggled for something to say and finally just agreed with Randy; Simon channeled Paula for a moment with the brain cramper: "you have the personality of a candle – you’re just this ‘thing’ that sings".

Huh? I’ve owned lots of candles, Simon, even those insanely expensive Yankee kind, and not once have they ever shown much personality, much less serenaded me in the shadows.

Leslie Hunt, 24, took her shot at fame next. She’s a pretty girl, but has always seemed really miscast to me. Obviously she must be able to sing – she’s here isn’t she? – but there is nothing very compelling about her.

Backed by a pink and blue amoeba screensaver, Leslie walked out in her Victoria’s Secret thigh high love mistress boots and a simple black, empire waisted dress to sing You Make Me feel Like A Natural Woman.

She looked good, but I honestly could not focus on her singing as she was bouncing and moving and bobbling around so much. She was trying so hard to sell, you would have thought she was hawking tuna flavored toothpaste on a NY streetcorner on the Apprentice. Really, it’s great! See how happy I am! Woo hoo!

But no one was buying – not even the judges.

Randy said he had been "hoping for greatness" and that she was "just OK"; Paula cautioned her about the songs she picks and lamely added, "I think you did a great job."; Simon immediately said "No, it wasn’t great" and added that she looked "embarrassed", "ungainly", and " a bit all over the place."

Sabrina Sloan was up next – I remember her hair more than her singing because, well, they never showed much beyond her naturally curly locks in the audition phase. But Sabrina is a professional singer (didn’t know that – bad AI producers, bad, bad) so I was eager to hear what she could do besides keep Pantene in business.

Dressed in JEANS, heels, and a sheer, lacy, yet demure tunic, Sabrina came out to tackle Aretha Franklin’s Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You, and she was amazing. A strong, powerhouse voice, she has the kind of talent that makes it look so easy, you wonder why we all can’t do it. I mean , I have vocal cords too, right? And while I can sing well enough to insure that the Alley Cat Mafia won’t be ordering a hit on me, if I even tried to reach some of Sabrina’s notes, I would seriously have to start watching my back around the litterbox.

Randy declared her "the one to beat"; Paula gave her a standing ovation; Simon called her "the best so far". I hope she sticks around for a while – the girl has talent.

But the next girl up has legs – Antonella Barba – whose video recap included Sko footage which made me throw up in my mouth a little. Antonella has not been shy about showing off her considerable physical assets up to now, but tonight decided to go for covered up in JEANS, FM pumps, and a high necked red top. With her hair pulled back, the only concession she made to sexy was that the top had two small holes cut out on the shoulders.

Not exactly what legions of horny young male viewers were hoping for, Antonella. But then, considering the racy pictures currently making the internet rounds, it may explain her wanting to appear almost nunlike this evening. (More on those pics Thursday night.)

Personally, I was happy to see her cover things up a tad and hoped it meant she was truly trying to showcase her singing talent. Unfortunately, what we discovered when she launched into Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing, is that she doesn’t really have any.

It was horrendous from the first note to the last. Basically it was a hot dog of a performance – stuffed with all the worst possible bits, including the squeal – and she even had a tail hanging out the back of her outfit.

I actually said to my husband, "If she had only come out half naked like usual, she could afford to sing this bad."

Randy called it "pitchy" and "bland"; Paula resorted to commenting on her "amazingly beautiful" looks; and Simon even started his critique with "well the good news is you’re attractive".

That’s great, but this isn’t America’s Next Top Model.

Methinks Sko may have her best friend back by the week’s end.

Another break brought us back to 17 year old Jordin Sparks. I have liked her from her first audition – she is a doll, has a great smile, is articulate, and very poised for one so young. And unlike Diana DeGarmo, Smurfette Bennett, and Lisa Tucker before her – she is not overly saccharine.

When she began to sing Give Me One Reason, if someone had told me she is 25, I would not have argued for a second. My God, the girl has a big voice, tons of confidence, and performs like a pro. With her hair on full alert, hula hoops dancing in her earlobes, she rocked out in JEANS and a black and white graphic tunic top. (For the not quite fashion savvy – tunic length tops are the latest fad and much appreciated by anyone with thighs a tad thicker than they would like them to be).

Randy said she has an "unbelievable natural talent"; Paula approved of her song selection and said it was "fun"; and Simon complimented her "big change", saying "it was good".

No – it was great. I love this girl. She may not make it to the end, but I am going to enjoy watching her shine each week that she is here.

More commercials and we returned to yet another contestant whom no one knows. Nicole Tranquillo, 20, is a voice major in college, so again I was hopeful for a solid performance. What we got, set against Chris Daughtry’s old flaming red screensaver, was a girl dressed in JEANS and a sequined tank who sang with conviction but very few syllables.

I honestly could not make out anything she was singing. Her voice went up, down, sideways, slantways, crossways – it was the Willy Wonkavator of vocal performances.

Randy called it "rough" and said it really wasn't working for him; Paula disagreed saying the performance was "out of this world" – who better to judge that?; Simon called it "indulgent", "aggressive" and "fake".

Start packing Nicole. It doesn’t look too promising.

Next? Haley Scarnato, once again dressed all in black, yet much less hoochified than in previous encounters. (Although she was wearing a manhole cover as a necklace.) Haley is a gorgeous girl with a killer smile, so I think she will stick around for a couple weeks longer, but not based entirely on her singing.

She sang It’s All Coming Back To Me Now, sounded fine, held the bigger notes, but honestly? She could not hold a singing candle next to Celine Dion, and if you cannot make us forget the original, don’t attempt it.

Randy called it "nothing special"; Paula (who incidentally was wearing cheese graters for earrings) said it was a "nice job"; but Simon called it "a shame" and that it was only " a reasonably good hotel performance".

Finally, my girl Melinda Doolittle was up. I like her so very much because she is truly humbled by the opportunity and not the least bit arrogant about her talent. You just want to hug her.

Charging the stage, she looked wonderful in JEANS, a leather jacket, a gold leopard print cami, and a couple sets of school janitors’ keyrings in her ears.

Singing Since You’ve Been Gone, she had the audience on their feet, swept along by her infectious energy and amazingly effortless vocals. Seriously, the girl could sing a UNIX computer manual, and we would all be clapping along.

Randy declared she "blew it out the box" and "that was the bomb"; Paula called it a "big, big performance"; and Simon awarded probably the most sincere compliment of his life with "you’re an incredible singer and a fantastic person. I really hope you do well."

If my two hours of voting have anything to do with it, Simon, she’ll do just fine.

Incidentally, I think it is safe to say the boys all suffered group shrinkage during her performance.

Alaina Alexander, another pretty, but forgettable girl, was next, and I did not envy her having to follow Melinda. She looked great in her JEANS, green satin tank and tight vest, but completely shit the bed by choosing The Pretenders Brass In Pocket. A song with the words "got rhythm I can’t miss a beat, got new skank it’s so reet"?

Only Chrissy Hynde can pull that off.

Alaina’s vocals were weak, the performance was middling, and she was so breathy for most of it, I could not understand the words (not that ‘skank so reet’ rolls off anyone’s tongue).

Randy said it "wasn’t great" (it wasn’t); Paula fell back on the canned "didn’t make it your own" response; Simon was completely blunt and said that while she is not a bad singer, she was "reliant on her looks tonight."

Rocker girl Gina Glocksen, who surprised me during Hollywood Week by slipping into heels and a little black dress, had another surprise up her tattooed sleeves tonight – a ballad. In fact, one of the cornier ballads of all time – Eric Carmen’s All By Myself, which typically gets dragged out and wailed on at least once per AI season.

Dressed in JEANS (I have to give the boys credit – the guys are usually the ones endangering the denim herds of the world, but these girls singlehandedly kept the nation’s cotton growers in business tonight), a cropped leather jacket, and a red swoosh in her hair, Gina had good control, her voice was strong.

It did not, however, come close to making me forget Latoya London’s version from several seasons back, and when she went to climb to that high note – the one the song hinges on – her foot slipped and she got stuck one rung below where she should have been.

Randy declared "big girl, big voice, big song" (just what every girl wants to hear, Randy); Paula said it was the right song to sing tonight; Simon noted that she showed a different side, but agreed with me that she did not hit the high note. No worries, she was close enough to the end to insure plenty of votes.

Finally, my other early favorite, LaKisha Jones. Humble, yet gifted with a bombastic voice – she makes me smile.

LaKisha is truly a big girl, but she looked gorgeous when she took the stage dressed in a daring, low cut, red satin and gold dress with gold strappy heels, and began singing the penultimate Dreamgirls number, And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going.

I have to admit, having seen the original on Broadway back when God was a child, I am a bit of a Dreamgirls snob – and quite frankly you would be too if your first run in with the musical included the original Effie – Jennifer Holliday. Everyone has been raving about Jennifer Hudson’s version of this song in the movie, and it has been getting heavy play on radio stations, but Jennifer #2 does not come close to Jennifer #1 (think not – head to iTunes and listen for yourself), and as much as I love LaKisha, she did not come close to Jennifer #2.

That’s not to say it was bad – it wasn’t. In fact, if we ranked the female performances, she would slide in right behind Melinda.

Randy gave her the "I’m not worthy" bow; Paula bequeathed another standing ovation; and Simon summed it up with "I’m tempted to tell the other 23 to book their plane tickets home."

If I had to guess, I would say Antonella, Alaina, Nicole, Amy, and Leslie should start folding their clothes tomorrow. While Legs may slide through – it will owe to the fact that she received so much face time up to now, and the fact that in addition to Sundance Head, Antonella has been adopted by VoteForTheWorst.com; and if Alaina makes it, it will only be because Amy and Leslie went before her tonight, rendering them that much more forgettable.

So, who’s your female favorite? Are you cheering for sparky Jordin? Backing up Melinda, the new lead singer? Or committed to helping Sabrina become recognized for more than her Pantene locks?

We’ll find out Thursday night when four of these kids have their golden tickets revoked and replaced with pink slips.

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, February 20: Boys, Oh Boys, Oh Boys...

Fame.

Whether fleeting or firmly entrenched, we are fascinated with it.

We soak up the vivid real-time photos brought to us courtesy of roving paparazzi and instant web updates. We revel in the minutia – Is Paris’ hair long or short today? Is Lindsay drinking Red Bull or a Red, White and Blue shooter? Did Jennifer Aniston buy a new nose and yoga pants?!? Did Nicole Ritchie eat a whole taco?!?

The public’s obsession with celebrity is nothing new – the rich, famous, and infamous have always titillated the unwashed masses with their exploits, love lives, dramas, etc – the only difference is that in the year 2007, we have immediate access to all of it. My mother had to wait for News Reels at the movies.

So it’s not surprising to me the attention still being paid to Anna Nicole’s passing - Larry King promo’d a recent episode of his talk show with the words "Shocking Death!". Um, no, sorry Larry – the woman lived a life of excess, including drugs and alcohol – so while her death may be unfortunate, to call it shocking is way off the mark. That’s like saying, "I stood on a railroad track and was shocked when a train squashed my spleen!" (And for the record – old Larry certainly has been waxing rhapsodic about AN since it happened – another paternity contestant in the offing?).

Nor is it, in any way, shocking that Britney Spears pulled a Sinead O’Connor and buzzed off her hair.

Yes – you all asked for my opinion on this – so here it is…

Britney Spears is a trainwreck, a punchline, a cautionary tale, plain and simple.

Which is sad. Because it did not have to be this way. Unfortunately, no one in her inner circle threw the net over her early on and this is what you get. Her parents, neither one a Nobel winner, simply basked in the glory of her glory days, and rolled in the money and pretty things which their emotionally immature daughter lavished upon them. Houses, cars, jewelry – seriously, it’s kind of hard to see someone for what they are when you’re looking at the entire world through rose colored rubies.

I had high hopes for Brit when she finally jettisoned K Fed last year. We all sat back and said, "Good for her! A sensible action for once! Go Britney!"

Fast forward six months and many missing pairs of underwear and she has done what most of us would have sworn was impossible – made Kevin Federline look good. Tell me you haven’t recently thought, "Duuuuude, talk about dodging a bullet."

Let’s be honest – if you were a judge and had to award custody at this point? At least he wears underwear when the paparazzi shoots up his dress, and he still has some hair on his head.

At this point, Britney is on the same path as Anna Nicole, with no one being able to assert themselves and get the net thrown over her – so no – when CNN reports her death – I won’t be surprised. She’s only one marriage to an old fart, and a paternity test away.

Sound harsh? Maybe. But it brings me back to my point about fame. It looks good from the outside – all those red carpets, flashing lights, bling, and velvet rope access – but it also seems to come with a pretty heavy price tag for some of the bearers. Intense scrutiny, media overkill, and a loss of true depth perception in terms of what is important in life. (Hopefully something Britney can regain even a modicum of by actually staying in the rehab facility which she entered today.)

Which brings me to tonight’s recap – let’s keep an eye on these AI kids – in a good way, ok? They are nobodies, from nowhere – normal folk like you and I – desperately reaching for the brass ring via American Idol. But I know that by the end of March, there will be incessant searching for naked pictures (God help Google if Antonella makes it that far in the game), and a quest for the tiniest details about the finalists – what do they eat? Drink? What’s their favorite color? Animal? Legume?

So far – we have a pretty good track record for whom we place on that ultimate pedestal – Kelly Clarkson, Ruben Studdard, Fantasia Barino, Carrie Underwood, Taylor Hicks, and the rest who did not win the prize, but who have trudged forward carving out varying measures of success.

So vote well, children. Tonight we once again begin the business of doling out fame. But we must be doing something right with our picks thusfar, because I have yet to see a picture of Taylor Hicks flashing his boys (drat) and Kat McPhee still has all her own hair (and pounds of someone else’s to boot).

Onto the recap…

Calling it the "biggest season ever" with the "best talent yet", Ryan opened the first live show – the guys will take the stage, with the girls doing the honors Wednesday night.

A quick shot of the boys assembled Brady Bunch style on the steps revealed – What’s this!?!? – actual suits, dress coats and ties!?! Good lord! The people at Levi’s and the Gap must have gone into cardiac arrest – where are all the JEANS?????

Oh wait – breathe easy – Ryan is wearing some with a dress shirt and vest. Cancel the Code Blue, people.

A quick intro of all the guys, a shot of the girls who can relax until tomorrow evening, and a hello to the judges – Randy in a paisley nightmare of a shirt, Paula, who apparently won the ebay auction for Britney’s discarded hair and was wearing all of it in with her own, and Simon – predictably v-necked in black.

A recap of the boys' Golden Ticket and Sheen Mile moments were shown and we went into our first marathon mile of commercials.

Rudy Cardenas, 28, was up first and in his video lamented the Ramenesque life of the struggling musician. Taking the stage, he had killed his soul patch – was freshly shaven, and decked out in a Nehru-ish suit with a yellow bullseye t-shirt. Personally I thought he hit the target with his upbeat, get-the-crowd-on-its-feet rendition of Free Ride.

Rudy has a very Steve Perry-y quality to his voice, especially his upper register and I really enjoy his sound. He kept the energy up throughout, but Randy said that even though he "got the party started", it was "really corny". Paula disagreed and said he "started off fantastic", but Simon knocked him down with "I’ve never heard you do anything that is unique."

Bite me, Simon. It was not that bad.

Another break brought us back to the guys chilling in the red room – ok, ok, "chilling" is being generous. If anything they were all covered in the cold sweat of nervous tension and the overwhelming feeling of their bowels turning to juice.

Brandon Rogers, one of our two professional back-up singers was up next. Having toured with Xtina, Justin Timberlake, and Usher, Brandon has done some serious time with some serious talent – but it was obvious he was nervous about his time to shine.

The lights stayed low and he started a slow version of Rock With You, dressed casually in JEANS (newcomers, take note – JEANS will always be in CAPS because it is a pet peeve of mine how many of the contestants wear nothing but JEANS), a dark gray dress shirt tucked in on one side to showcase his white belt coordinated with his white tennis shoes.  (Tennis shoes receive a pass in terms of not wearing white after Labor day.)

He quickly picked up the pace and tried to get the crowd to rock with him, but it wasn’t that rousing of a performance. He’s nice looking, has great vocal control, but it was just "eh".

Randy called it " a little pitchy", "a little weird"; Paula told him to do "less runs" (hard when your bowels are filled with nervous juice, Paula); and Simon stated that while he is "a very good singer" he is "better than that".

Sundance Head (still the best contestant name ever) spoke honestly in his video footage – admitting that he is probably only there because he had a great audition, not because of a stellar showing in Hollywood where he cracked more notes than a squirrel does nuts.

With lights again low, Sundance dressed for a business meeting in a suitcoat and dress pants, however, the meeting must have been at Orkin because his tshirt was emblazoned with cockroaches.

Singing Nights In White Satin against a Terminator 2 molten robot screensaver, I really wanted him to take off into greatness, but he apparently was booked on Jet Blue and they canceled his flight. Everything about it was "too" – too flat, too serious, too oversung. Not even his white Live Wrong bracelet could save him from the judges comments which included:

Randy and his new catchphrase (heard at the beginning of all three critiques thusfar) "So, yo dawg…" and the observation that Sundance was "not on pitch the whole song"; Paula adding he "picked the wrong song"; and Simon summing it up with "I don’t like you tonight."

Ouch. Could Sundance be Heading home already?

Another break and we joined Paul Kim, Indian name: Sings With Barefeet And Dirty Underwear. Saying that tonight he wanted people "to be shocked, be surprised" by his performance, I was shocked and surprised to discover he must have meant by how boring he was.

Singing George Michael’s Careless Whisper, he sounded too low, almost out of breath the entire song. The dramatic pointing to his feet on the line "guilty feet have got no rhythm"? Ick – shades of Constantine Maroulis. The attempt at a falsetto towards the end on "now who’s gonna dance with me" insured that the answer is "Nobody."

And the bare feet have to go. Bust them out every now and then like Bo Bice did, but not every single week. They’ve already lost their novelty.

Randy still thinks Paul is "one of the best voices" but that the performance was "pitchy and kind of stiff"; Paula agreed and added that he "oversang the song"; Simon agreed with me and told him to put his shoes back on.

I do have to give Paul recognition for one thing though: He is the recipient of the award for First To Make An Origami Phone Out of His Hand while Ryan gave out his phone number. Congrats, Paul – way to go.

Chris Richardson, who I only vaguely remember from his audition was up next wanting to "just rock out".

He started his song in the middle of the neon Cheerio and with comparisons to Justin Timberlake still ringing in my head, I had high hopes. He effectively crushed them, however, with a squeaky, thin version of I Don’t Want To Be – seriously, he sounded like a Mouseketeer compared to Bo Bice’s stage storming version from season four.

And his moves?  It honestly looked more like he had to pee really bad - Up DoWn Up DoWn uP dOwN... than dancing.

And decked out in a suit coat and tie? None of it went together – it just did not work. He looked like a little boy ready for church, sounded like Justin Timberlake when he, Britney and Xtina were Mouseketeers, and did not bring even half the machismo necessary to sell those lyrics.

Randy must be sipping from Paula’s happy cup because he thought with Chris’s performance the "show just started"; Paula thought he did " a great arrangement"; and Simon proved he is a wise man by agreeing with my assessment that his "voice sounded small".

AFTER. THE. BREAK. It was Nick Pedro’s chance to go where no Nick Pedro has gone before- a live Idol show. Having freaked out in Hollywood during Season 5, Nick has much to prove to himself and us.

Dressed down in a white T, grey dress shirt, and dark pants, Nick took on the Richard Marx tune, Now and Forever. Like Paul Kim, he sounded really breathy during much of the song, however, he nailed the falsetto and looked good doing it. Nothing to make Richard Marx wake up from the 80’s and lose sleep over, but decent enough.

Randy said "it wasn’t good" for him, and that it was "really boring"; Paula didn’t "melt" and felt "no magic"; and Simon, ever contrary Simon, said he "actually didn’t think it was that bad" and that Nick would "definitely be back next week."

More milking of the cash cows udders (they must be really sore by now) and we returned to Blake Lewis, who has been seen doing not much more than beatboxing up to now. Don’t get me wrong – he’s good at it – but the general consensus among viewers is that they (the producers) have been hiding his singing ability in order to surprise everyone.

Seated on a stool, I was happy to see the first change – his overly spiked, overly peroxided hair was replaced with newly lightened, shorter locks. In dress pants, a pale dress shirt rolled to the elbow, and a vest, he looked cool and calm.

And he sounded like heaven.

I admit, I was initially irritated by him in all the audition scenes – he seemed cocky and the beatboxing was just Lizzie Bordened to death by the producers – but when he began to sing Somewhere Only We Know? Well, I find it hard to believe there weren’t hearts melting all over this nation. The kid can sing. Smoothly. Effortlessly.

Randy "kinda dug it"; Paula said his "vocals were spot-on"; and Simon gave him the coveted "best performance we’ve heard tonight" award.

Don’t worry Ah-nuld – he’ll be back.

Baby boy Sanjaya Malakar was up next – I swear he is more adorable than a box full of puppies. I know this because, well, I have eyes, and because I also have three daughters who informed me that, "Mom, he’s more adorable than a box full of puppies."

He’s also got a very young Michael Jackson-y quality about him. As in pre-plastic surgery, pre-lawsuits, pre-Neverland sleepovers Michael Jackson.

Dressed in an untucked blue striped shirt and JEANS, Sanjaya began to sing Stevie Wonder’s Knocks Me Off My Feet, complete with the unfortunate lyric "I don’t want to bore you with it." Unfortunate because as adorable as he was, the performance was as exciting as a box full of sleeping puppies. Cute to look at, but that’s about it.

Randy gave him a scoop of "not very good" with some "really bad" sprinkles on top; Paula could only ramble something about his "sweet soul" and "easiness"; And Simon, echoing my own notes, brought up the ironic lyrics calling it "the most dreary performance of the night."

Even with that bad critique, however, I believe, that like puppies which do not do much more than pee on your best shoes, Sanjaya will be forgiven and make it through to next week.

And what of Chris Sligh, our resident stand up comedian? I love this guy – he’s proof that if you can make people laugh, you can also win their hearts.

Decked out in a black untucked shirt and black tie, he got the crowd going with a rousing rendition of Mute Math’s Typical. Singing "there’s got to be another level", Chris definitely found it, rising above the performances that went before his. His voice was strong, controlled, emotional.

Randy said his "voice was on-point" and that he "loved it"; Paula thanked him for a "great time"; and then Simon (who is scared poo-less by the thought that Clive Davis may have to market this guy) cut him down with "I feel like I was at some weird student gig".

Ahhhh, but Chris, like all good smartasses (I know from which I speak) had an immediate comeback, stating he was sorry he can’t sound like Il Divo or Teletubbies.

For the uneducated, Il Divo is the cosmopolitan quartet of pop/opera crossover singers put together by Simon, and the Teletubbies, well, come on, you surely have heard of the Teletubbies, those extraterrestrial blobules with television screen tummies who inhabit PBS – also a Simon Cowell backed creation.

Simon did not seem to like being outed as the force behind Tinky Winky, La La, Dipsy, and Po…

Luckily for him, the producers came along and rescued him with yet another four million dollars in advertising time.

Coming back, we met up with Jared Cotter, who has not received much face time up to now. His hope is to "wow and entertain".

He did just that. Dressed simply in JEANS and an untucked brown button down (but seriously, when you look that good, what more do you need?) he sang Back To One and while it did not stray much from Brian McKnight’s original, it certainly was not difficult to sit through. Jared is a comfortable singer, looks great, and definitely won over more than enough cell phones tonight to stick around through Thursday night’s first cut.

Randy thought he sounded "pretty good", but "didn’t like the ending"; Paula said it sounded like it would if "Brian McKnight interpreted it". Ah, Paula, dear rocket scientits Paula. Isn’t that what Brian McKnight did when he originally sang the song? Simon called it an "unadventurous performance" and encouraged him to "take a few more risks".

Next up was AJ Tabaldo, who I admit has been on my list of "shallow rooted contestants" planted merely to be easily picked off in these early weeks.

I could be wrong. His roots may be the stuff of crabgrass- tenacious and here for the long haul.

From the moment he took the stage to sing Never Too Much, he had people on their feet and smiling. The boy can sing, is smooth, and has a 1,000 watt smile to boot. Even Paula was seen up dancing with the crowd.

Randy was enthusiastic and said "he worked it out"; Paula simply adores him; and Simon said that while "it was good", it was also "very predictable".

I predict he sticks around for a while.

Finally, everyone’s favorite family man, Phil Stacey, aka Moby Connick, Jr., who pulled the best spot card in terms of performance numbers tonight. Going last when there are 12 singers is nothing to sneeze at – quick, tell me, without looking, who went first?

Dressed in a red t-shirt, blazer and JEANS, my first impression was that he doesn’t rock "intentionally bald" nearly as well as Chris Daughtry. And when he started to sing, I was momentarily worried that he doesn’t sing nearly as well either – he really started way too close to the mike, sounding muffled.

But then he opened up on Could Not Ask For More, and I became a fan. Rich vocals, emotional performance, and look out – Matilda the Mikestand has found her new waltzing partner for season 6.

Despite the shaky start, Randy gave him "the best vocal prize of the night"; Paula said he was "right on pitch"; and Simon brought him back down to earth with the "beginning was absolutely monstrous" and "it was OK".

Sorry Simon, you don’t win this one. It was a memorable way to end the show tonight and Phil’s phone line is going to be busy for the whole two hours.

Wednesday night, the ladies will take the stage and the guys will get to relax. But when Thursday rolls around, if I had to predict, I would say that the gents will be bidding adieu to Sings With Bare Feet and Mouseketeer Chris.

What do you think, kids? Do Paul’s naked peds turn you on? Did you swoon over Blake’s ability to do more than spit into a microphone? Or are you just worried that your nightmares will include a Teletubbied Simon Cowell tonight?

Mommmy...

American Idol Recap, Wednesday, February 14th: A Valentine’s Day Massacre As 40 Become 24

Before I get into tonight’s lead-in, I have to pause a moment to thank Marnie Sloan, American Idol.com’s official blog wonk (wonk is a good thing, people), who by virtue of featuring me in her Blog Spotlight of the Week (all you never wanted to know about me), has opened the virtual door to so many new visitors! What a sweet treat for this Valentine’s Day.

So welcome to all the new readers, welcome back to all my regulars, and to those of you who have accidentally found your way here via Google, I hope you were not too disappointed that your keyword queries of "Kellie Pickler Naked" only rewarded you with this…

Happy Valentine’s Day, you perverts.

Ahhhh, V-day, in all its chocolate coated, sentimental, dinner and soufflé-for-two, Cupid-arrow-flinging glory. A day when we send roses by the fieldsful, keep Whitman’s in business, and perhaps even indulge in a few new, slightly more exotic taste sensations – chocolate body frosting and a fruit roll thong, anyone?

Anyone?

(insert sound of crickets chirping…)

Ok. Moving on.

Yes, Valentine’s Day is one of happiness and warmth, love and good feelings, excitement and titillation – unless of course you were targeted by Al Capone’s men during the infamous Valentine’s Day Massacre in Chicago 1929. They got mown down with far more than Cupid’s arrows.

Unfortunately, while it will be far less bloody (I’m saying far less – who knows what catfight may break out in the holding room? Sko is gone, however, so I am hopeful.), it will be an equally chilling cutting down for 16 of the remaining 40 saplings who survived the deforestation of the auditorium last evening.

I would almost feel sorry for them if I wasn’t so darned excited to watch it happen.

While I know that the judges always plant a few underdeveloped contestants, intentionally destined for easy picking off by we voters in the early rounds, there is still some serious talent waiting to fully blossom. (Get it together Sundance Head, I like you; and Chris Sligh? – keep me laughing and you will earn an autodial button on my phone.)

So sit back, chew on a piece of that strawberry underwear you received today (come on – someone out there is buying this stuff), and let’s enjoy the Valentine’s Day carnage together, shall we?

Announcing that this has been the toughest Hollywood Week yet, Ryan poses the rhetorical question, "Can they survive the ultimate cut today?"

Sure they can, Ryan. 24 of them at least.

But first they must all face the ride in the Idolvator of Fate at the Pasadena Civic Auditorium.

In the holding room, jitters, twitters, and nausea abound, while upstairs we get a peek at The Sheen Mile (golly that hardwood is polished, isn’t it?) they must all walk from the elevator to that same old rickety-ass-Motel-6-breakfast-buffet-not-even-Dollar General-would-sell-such-a piece-of crap chair used in every season of Idol. You would think with a profit margin of roughly $46 trillion they would spring for something a little nicer – something with a cool name like Farglehoopf from IKEA, maybe?

But I digress…

The first to take the walk was Sanjaya Malakar, who I love for being more concerned with his sister not making it than he was with his getting through. He’s a nice kid with a solid voice and a killer smile – the perfect combination to make him the first of the 12 guys to move forward to the live shows.

Anna Kearns – remember her?, a WNBA team all by herself? She worked those long limbs in her initial audition and managed to look pretty hot – not easy for someone whose limbs resemble a preying mantis – but her dreams got a cold shower as the judges broke the news that the ark already had enough tall creatures and she was not needed for the rest of the trip.

Stunned, she admitted, "I don’t sing the best, but I know that I can…" Well, Anna, if that’s the case, maybe you should have employed that strategy earlier in the week.

Three more No’s follow in quick succession: Bernard Williams (who?), Eric Davis (you look vaguely familiar), and Lip Ring Gosnell (how could I forget?).

Next to merit more face time? Humble back-up singer Melinda Doolittle, who nailed her initial audition and who I immediately liked for her humility, talent, and wonderful smile. Simon gave her the news that she is "no longer a back-up singer" complete with a hug and a kiss.

In fact, I do believe we see Simon smile more in this episode than in all previous seasons combined. I think he truly enjoys some of the contestants this year. Go figure. Perhaps though, it has more to do with him having to eat so much crow lately in the form of Jennifer Hudson’s and Taylor Hicks’ huge successes – both of whom he repeatedly dogged in their respective seasons?

Regardless of the reason – it’s nice to see him show a semi-human side from time to time.

Our other back-up singer, Brandon Rodgers, seemed to give just an "eh" performance of When You Love A Woman on Day 4 of Hell Week, but overall, his performances were enough to seal the deal and move him to the spotlight as well.

After the break, we return to the holding room, filled with contestants who may not have aced their Math SATs, but are currently adding and subtracting, multiplying and decrying the decreasing number of spaces left for them.

Gina Glockson, who had made it all the way to the wrong room at the end of Season 5’s Hollywood Week, rode the Idolvator with a look of pure deja puke on her face.

Watching her Day 4 performance was stunning – not so much because of her vocals – they were great, but because this rough edged girl had transformed from sleeve tattoos to Breakfast at Tiffany’s, complete with little black dress and sexy black heels. The only way I knew it was her was the pink tuft of hair still peeking out the front of her head.

The judges quickly inform her that she is indeed through, whereupon she goes back downstairs, and in what has to be one of the most unflattering butt shots of all time, is caught climbing her boyfriend like a koala up a eucalyptus tree.

Two No’s follow – Jimmy McNeal, and Eric Johnson who sang Cupid a couple weeks ago and was so loveable. I guess the arrow didn’t quite hit the mark tonight.

Cupid had better aim for Hoochies R Us shopper, Haley Scarnato. She’s a beautiful girl and from the looks of it, kept the hooch factor in check during H. Week – well, she did have Hula Hoops on for earrings, but other than that she was understatedly hot.

Phil Stacy, who I have now decided looks like an odd combination of two singers who equal Moby Connick, Jr, finds out he must miss his new baby a bit longer – he’s moving forward.

By 230pm, 28 contestants are still sweating the results, but who cares about that? Let’s cut to a shot of Guys Day Out from Day 1 as they got to enjoy a sneak preview of The Simpsons Movie.

We. Don’t. Care.

But if cheap, shameless, self promotion is Fox’s game tonight, allow me to join in.

Buy one of my books. Femail: A Comic Collision In Cyberspace or Stretchmarks On My Sanity. Both, as opposed to The Simpson’s Movie which doesn’t come out till July 27th, are available NOW.

Are we ready to return to why we are actually here? Good.

Chris Sligh, an early favorite of mine due to his self deprecating sense of humor, Muppet like hairstyle, and amazing voice, keeps the laughs coming, approaching the judges and saying, "You guys are probably wondering why I’ve called this meeting today..."

Of course this guy is through – Fox doesn’t want to piss me off.

Beatboxer Blake Lewis slides through to the 12, although Boy Bandmate Thomas Lowe does not.

Rudy Cardenas, who incidentally gave a stellar performance of Georgia On My Mind during H Week, is also ready to make some magic in the live shows.

Another break brought us back to a TMI moment. Paul Kim, while waiting his turn, pledges to be barefoot for every show should he make it. Ok, that’s fine. Bo Bice gave shoes the cold bunion too more than a few times, but then Paul also confessed that in addition to relying on lucky peds, he also counts on his lucky underwear – the pair he wears for every elimination – poor choice of word Paul.

Well, regardless of his now questionable hygiene, the judges put him through. My advice? Buy some Shout, Paul, because every time I see you sing from now on, I am going to be conjecturing on the skid marks in those "lucky draws" of yours and wondering if they’re bacon strips, ham hocks, or if someone killed a deer in there.

Jordin Sparks, this season’s answer to Lisa Tucker and curly hair, makes it through – I’m glad. She may be young in years, but her vocals have a maturity and power that belies her age.

A trio of rejection follows – Olivia Quibe-Hurst – I seriously do not remember her at all; Tatiana McConnico – I remember I liked her; and Monique Vieras – again, someone who made me go "Who?".

Cut to the holding room and Tommy Daniels who isn’t sweating the wait, in fact he is chilling because he has Legs Barba to fix his hair.

A sidenote on Legs. Isn’t she so much more likeable without the whorish cloud of Sko hanging over her head? She seems quiet, almost shy – not to say she doesn’t know what she looks like, but she seems to understand that there’s more to life than legs, hair and a pretty face.

As for Sko? Back to being a professional mallrat again. Perhaps she could get a job at Abercrombie & B*tch?

A quartet of Yes’s slide through in quick succession: 5 time auditioner AJ Tabaldo, the beautiful and classy Stephanie Edwards, jazzy Leslie Hunt, and Nick Pedro who gives his sister a Happy Birthday present via cell phone with the news that he is through, whereupon she gives him (and us) the gift of pierced eardrums with her hyena like screaming.

Crying before she even gets in the Idolvator is Alaina Alexander. Beautiful, she sounded fine during her solo performance, aside from "living" and "giving" in all the wrong places. No matter – the final 24 need a few more gorgeous faces, so she fills the bill.

Two more Yes’s, whom I predict are a couple of those shallow rooted plants I mentioned earlier, destined to be plucked and discarded in the early rounds, are Chris Richardson and Sabrina Sloan – both of them sound good, but neither of them triggered a memory.

Jerome Chism and his fine alligator shoes are shown the door, as is Joelle Parton – sorry – James. I swear I have never seen her, and honestly, with that mixed up, Dolly Parton mess of a hairstyle and outfit, wouldn’t we remember?

Alas, Matt Buckstein – he of Brokenote Mountain fame – simply cannot gather his talent into a big enough herd to make it through and rides off into another sunset.

Shhhhh, if you listen closely, you can hear Garret weeping in the distance…

Princess Johnson, royalty obviously from Kiwi Eyelidlandia, has her golden ticket revoked and replaced with a pink slip.

And then it was Lakisha Jones’ turn at bat. I adore her. Really – I said it last week and feel it even more tonight. She has talent to spare and a heart to match her Lane Bryant dress size – and I love her.

So do the judges – she’s in. And through her tears of joy, she exudes such class and humility as she thanks them "for the opportunity".

I’m predicting a spot on the Season 6 tour for Ms. Lakisha – I hope they can provide a tour bus nanny for her little girl.

AFTER. THE. BREAK. Nicole Tranquillo – I have no idea who she is - receives good news – she is staying. Wish I could care as much as she does, but it’s hard to share in her joy because we simply have never been given an opportunity to get to know her to begin with. She sings great though so maybe she won’t suffer from Melissa McGheeitus – main symptom? Not enough voters because not enough screen time.

Add to possible carriers of McGheeitus: Jarod Cotter and Amy Krebs who make it through, but I can’t tell you why.

Finally, it is 8pm and in the holding room only four contestants remain. One of them is Marissa Rhodes who is shaking so bad she looks like she is four hours past a meth fix.

Upstairs a rickety looking stagehand adds another rickety looking chair so Idol can continue the grand tradition of Most Painful and Humiliating Elimination – seriously, I think the only way these kids could be more uncomfortable is if they were stripped naked, dipped in honey and rolled in fire ants prior to boarding the elevator together.

First up – the remaining girls – Marissa and Legs. In the elevator, it is Marissa who delivers the "No matter what" speech about their "friendship". Sorry Marissa, Legs still has a "no matter what" hangover courtesy of her BFF Sko.

Now, in watching their H Week footage, it is clear that Marissa truly does outshine Legs in terms of singing, but then this isn’t a singing contest, is it?

OK – maybe it is, but it is also a package contest and the producers have already used up a whole package of video tape on Legs – so it was no surprise when the judges revealed it was she who was being asked to stay.

Props to her for keeping a lid on her joy as she walked back to the Idolvator with a devastated Marissa – she even tried to comfort her in the elevator. Despite Sko’s best efforts, it seems Legs has managed to hang onto her soul after all.

Into the elevator go the remaining guys – Sundance Head, who had a seriously weak week in Hollywood, and smooth operator Tommy Daniels, who comes off as way too cocky, even jumping up and down in the Idolvator.

I smelled smoke. Could it be the bonfire of the vanities perhaps?

Why yes, yes it is. Tommy’s super cool, Rico-suave services will no longer be required, while Sundance just has a cooler-than-all-get-out kind of name and needs to hang around.

Tommy didn’t take it well – I do believe words like "f**ked up" and two middle fingers to the camera earned the Bad Mouthkeeping Seal of Disapproval and the AI profanity cap.

So our 24 are set, and to make it official, they all do the FINAL 24 HAPPY DANCE for the cameras – bouncing, swaying, sliding, vamping.

Our 12 girls:

Melinda Doolittle, Gina Glocksen, Hoochie Scarnato, Jordin Sparks, Stephanie Edwards, Leslie Hunt, Alaina Alexander, Sabrina Sloan, Lakisha Jones, Nicole Tranquillo, Amy Krebs, and Legs Barba!

Our 12 guys:

Sanjaya Malakar, Brandon Rodgers, Moby Connick, Jr., Chris Sligh, Beatbox Lewis, Rudy Cardenas, Paul "Shout It Out" Kim, Nick Pedro (can you hear me now? No, my sister busted my eardrums), AJ Tabaldo, Chris Richardson, Jared Cotter, and Sundance Head.

Get your dialing fingers ready folks. It’s about time to take control of some fellow human beings!

My God! I feel so alive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (and hungry – you got any of that strawberry thong left over?)

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, February 13th, Hollywood Week: Let The Hazing Begin…

Welcome dear pledges to Alpha Krappa Singalong. We hope you enjoy rush week as we examine every inch of your personality, or lack thereof, consider your physical appearance and how it may (or may not) fit in with the aesthetic of our chapter, and attempt to break every emotional bone in your body.

Ahhhhh, the memories of fraternity/sorority rush.

Not that I allowed myself to be sucked into the process, mind you. NO. GREEKING. WAY.

As a freshman at Purdue University, I had every opportunity to join in the centuries old ritual of "Rush" – my roommate did it, the girl across the hall did it, heck, half the girls in my dorm did it. Eager to quickly morph from individuality into the security of group mentality, girls signed up by the score.

But being a nonconformist from a very early age, I decided that sucking up to endless clumps of females, each houseful like a chocolate in a Whitman’s Sampler – you never knew what was inside till you squished it open - just wasn’t my cup of brewski. Like people who cannot digest milk, I was born with an intolerance as well – BS makes me break out in hives.

(The rumors that one sorority actually made girls strip down to their underwear and have their fat circled with a Sharpie may have had something to do with my declining the invitation to join the "fun" too…)

But lest you think I eschewed the entire Greek system, think again Socrates.

I found a side door into the festivities via the fraternity Little Sister program – Tau Kappa Epsilon, to be exact. By becoming a Little Sister, I not only had instant access to every party thrown on the sticky floor of their basement, but a houseful of handsome gods ready to storm the Parthenon should any mere mortal on campus do me wrong.

More importantly, being a Little Sister offered me a window into the hazing of Hell Week – the week in which all chosen pledges are "tested", aka humiliated and deprived of basic needs like…oh, I don’t know…soap and sleep?

Now, while the TKE guys kept it pretty above board – waking pledges at 2am to clean the basement floor with toothbrushes, forcing them to eat only baked beans for a solid week, refusing to let them bathe, and shaving their heads – nothing that a couple solid night’s sleep, some Mickey D’s, a whole loaf of Irish Spring, and a bottle of Rogaine couldn’t fix - other fraternities’ hazing went much further – drinking till all the pledges horked into a barrel, stripping them naked and making them pick up a coffee bean with their buttcheeks whereupon they had to cross the room and successfully deposit said bean into a can, and the penultimate hazing ritual – the paddle – made famous by Kevin Bacon moaning "Please sir, may I have another?" in Animal House.

In short – hazing (if you ask the people involved in dishing it out) exists to both weed out and strengthen the resolve of the ones hoping for inclusion. It is a ritual in which they prove themselves worthy of wearing the letters of the house.

(And no – before you get your toga in a twist – I am not condoning hazing in any of its juvenile, sophomoric, and sometimes deadly forms.)

Which brings us to AKS – Alpha Krappa Singalong – the American Idol frarority (fraternity + sorority = frarority, keep up, people).

Now, we all know that alcohol and nudity won’t be involved, at least not on camera, but the end results are very similar: disoriented, sleep deprived, tearful, emotionally wasted contestants.

Those microphones might as well be full bongs, and the GROUP SONG all nighters? Well, I daresay most of the contestants would rather prove their worth by cleaning the auditorium toilets with their own toothbrushes.

But for 24, the humiliations, frustrations, dark circles, backstabbing, undercutting, Buttercupping, My Girling, and stomach hurling will be worth it – for at the end of Hollywood Week they will be found worthy to wear the coveted letters of the AKS frarority.

So bring in the pledges and let the hazing begin…muwahhhaahhhaahhhaaaaaaaa…

With Ryan intoning that, "to be an American Idol finalist is to be a superstar", we see past footage of Taylor winning last season at the very same moment the sun landed on the stage – seriously, things were imploding, exploding, confettiloding – I had almost forgotten how long it took to get rid of the spots burned into my retinas after watching the finale too many times on my Tivo.

We were also treated to a shot of the Pat Boone Singers all decked out in white during the last finale.

Then Ryan’s voice dropped an octave – ok, ok – it’s Ryan – he can only drop about a fourth of an octave - and he made sure we all knew that THIS. IS. AMERICAN. IDOL.

ARE. YOU. SERIOUS? WHOA.

And so began Day 1 of Hollywood Week – all the contestants crammed into a nondescript hotel banquet room, eating muffins, drinking juice, and soaking up the competition.

You could practically hear their thoughts…

"Hmmm…a lip ring. NO. WAY. IN. HELL she’s getting through. Linda Sharp said so, and I believe her."

"Wow, she’s prettier than me. Skank."

"Wow, she’s hot and dressed like a skank!

"Dude, is that Jack Osbourne?"

Well, the boys would have plenty of time to answer that last one as they headed out to sightsee and the girls were herded into the auditorium for their round of auditions.

With twice as many girls in Hollywood Week as boys, they were quickly carved into groups of six – each girl getting about 30 seconds to impress the judges.

Highlighted first? Jory Steinberg, who has had a recording contract in the past and was once referred to as Canada’s next Alanis Morrissette, thought for sure her rendition of I’m Out Of Love, coupled with the fact that she was dressed exactly like Paula would ensure victory.

Shockingly, as she stood in line with five other girls (who only got 5 seconds a piece, so bear with me while I try to give them 10 more for their 15 second totals – Geri Guyer, Kelly Caruso, Lisa Morrison, Chisten Itam, and Jeromishia Lemar), Jory was told that the entire group was going home, had "no originality" and was "a horrible start to the day".

Talk about ripping the bandaid off quickly , Simon. I think you actually took some skin with you because a couple of the gals screamed in shock and dropped to their knees.

I admit, I had a WHOA moment too. Mostly because I thought Jory really nailed it.

But I guess that’s Jory Who?

Simon issued a "warning to everybody else – those were not winning performances." Whereupon it got so quiet you could have heard a coffee bean drop from a naked guy’s buttcheeks.

The next group highlighted included Perla Meneses who Shakira’d her way to Hollywood. Seen getting off her plane in LA, she vamped for the cameras, posing, primping, preening.

Love the guy who chimed in from Realityville with "Who are you?"

In her solo, Shaperla relied on her hips not lying again, but it was not near as enchanting as in her original audition. Even Simon, who is usually swayed by a good hip lying, seemed "eh" about the whole thing.

Rachel Jenkins, the Army reservist who made it through in fatigues last time, could not camoflauge her rather large thighs tonight – note to fuller figured contestants: Follow the Mandisa Law passed by me last season. Dark colors slims thighs. White pants tell no lies.

Standing in line with apparently four nobodies – Rachel gets sent home with them, and Perla gets sent to the next round with a warning from Simon that she is "more personality than talent currently."

Rachel cries, but focuses on her husband coming home from Iraq in a few weeks – not a bad consolation prize Rach. God bless both of you.

But for some reason, Hairla cries too, lamenting that she is too perky and does not know how to turn it off. I hate to burst your bubbly, Perla, but perky is the least of your worries – not being able to find the talent switch is a much bigger issue.

Featured next, young Baylie Brown, the girl who fears her horses may one day eat her. She chooses to reprise her Faith Hill number from her first audition, which works, as she and two other somebodies move forward and three "who’s?" are sent back to Whoville.

A parade of No’s marches across the stage, including Ashlyn Carr who made faces again – sad ones this time; Porcelana Balboa who will now go back to working in the meat factory; and Sarah Burgess who gets to go home for good now. I hope Dad doesn’t answer the door with "Who is this?"

Last up for the day was Nicole Turner, 27, flanked by the musical wisdom of her mother and her aunt who flew out with her for support and counsel.

If I were Nicole, I would get my own counsel and sue them both.

Bowing to their insistence that she sing Ain’t No Way, Nicole is quickly told there ain’t no way she is moving forward.

Of course, in parental AI tradition, her mother rushes the stage to apologize for forcing her daughter to sing that song (let’s be real – the girl is 27 – she is legally allowed to tell her mother AND her aunt to bugger off and sing what she wants). Nicole then joins her mom on stage and begs, pleads, explains, nuances, and spins why her audition failed.

Simon repeatedly told her to go which elicited a sharp "Hey, don’t you shout at me!" from Nicole.

Ahhh yes, reprimand the judges. I always forget that surefire way to win American Idol.

In all, only 56 out of 114 survive the first day. That's a lot of tears, people. I bet if you check the Dow Jones, stock in Kleenex went up that day.

Day 2 dawned bright and the boys were rarin’ to go. Well, some of them. Sundance Head was already sweaty and poor Brian Miller looked like he was about to stoke out.

The first six to perform included Navy Idol Jarrod Fowler who gave an uninspiring version of You Raise Me Up; Chris Sligh who sang I-have-no-idea-they-didn’t-show-it-because-they-devoted-far-too-much-time to Matt Sato whose satellite dish nose zit had migrated north to his forehead since the last time we met.

He sang a bland verse of Something-Too-Boring-To-Remember, somehow made it through with Chris (Jarrod was shipped back to his naval unit), and immediately called his mom.

That’s fine. I would call my mom too, but this is good old fashioned American Crydol, people, so we get an intimate look into the dysfunction of Matt’s life. Remember how he revealed that his parents are never proud of him? Well now, we get to know that "I don’t hug my Mom that often."

Why, Matt? It’s simple. Like the Hokey Pokey. You put your right arm in, you wrap your left arm ‘round…

In this phone call – did he have a pink Razr??? – Mom sounded truly excited. Either that or she had just stuck her hand in a sausage grinder. She also ended the call with, "Ok, love you, bye."

Nice enough, right?

Well apparently it was more than nice. It was damn near apocalyptic because after 15 long seconds of uncomfortable silence, Matt croaks out, "She never says I love you."

Paging Dr. Phil…

Suddenly Ryan is heard saying "that’s it for the guys."

What?

34 get through and we only really see 2 because we are busy therapizing Matt Sato on national TV? Sorry, doctor, but this ink blot looks like 20 million people grabbing their ankles.

As it turns out, Blake Lewis managed to beatbox his way to Day 3; Nick Pedro, who dropped out in the early rounds last year, held fast this time; Phil Stacy is to be separated from his newborn daughter for yet another day; and Jesus Cassidy and the Sundance Head will be making a return for more.

But before they can look to Day 3, the 92 girls and boys must now face down – dun! dun! dun! – THE GROUP SONG.

They are given free reign to form groups as they see fit and must learn a song to be performed the next day. Everyone, well, most everyone – no one seems to want Matt’s mama-drama – partner off fairly quickly. Four boys here, three girls there, two guys, a girl and a pizza place over here…they all retreat to corners of the auditorium where male choreUGHraphy begins to take place, cat fighting ensues between best buds Amanda and Antonella (come on, you remember – gratuitous bikini beach scene?), leaving poor Baylie Brown stuck in the middle, and harmonizing horrors abound.

After midnight, back at the hotel, Baylie and the Rocket Scientists sing the lyrics to that all time favorite, "na na na what? Na na?", but Baylie is "positive" that they’ll be great.

Amanda is positive that she has had enough, catches the scent of a herd of stags in the next room, and wanders off, leaving Antonella and Baylie speechless – they apparently don’t know the words to "Hey Beyatch Get Your Ass Back Here" either.

Amanda rolls around on the floor in front of the guys saying, " I should be practicing, but I’m sick of practicing." … so I’m going to lay here on the floor in my short shorts and make these guys sick of practicing too.

Fine – I made that last part up, but what a class act she is.

All throughout the hotel tempers are flaring, tears are flowing, bowels are uproaring, and little to no sleep is occurring, so it is no surprise when at 8am, cracks in the foundations of many contestants’ air castles are showing.

Back in the auditorium Simon warns them all, "Do. Not. Forget. The. Words."

Simple enough, right? And yet, each season, year after year, contestant after contestant suffers humiliating brain fartage when called upon to sing some of the simpler lyrics of all time. I mean, come on – I can sing along to every one of them. Can’t you?

That being said, I will pause here to admit that I can also solve every puzzle on Wheel of Fortune, and I seldom need to buy a vowel to do it.

What I’m getting at is this – it’s easy to sit in the comfort of our living rooms and scoff when we have nothing on the line, no emotional investment in the outcome. But I guarantee you, I’d not only have to buy A, E, I, O, and U, but sometimes Y and W, too, if I were actually there sweating over those lighted boxes and real money.

And I would probably flub all the words to Be My Baby too.

But back to the auditions…

Matt Sato, who was adopted by a group of three girls, got no further in those lyrics than "the night we met I…" before his mental train totally derailed and skidded off the stardom tracks.

He again called his mom to let her know he bombed out, and at this point there was no love – heck, I’m surprised she answered the phone. Matt, you’re a nice kid, but you’re also a young kid - you and your Mom need to concentrate on creating some strong familial magic before you will be ready to tackle a relationship with the big, bad gods of fame. Good luck.

Gina Glocksen’s group may as well be called the She-its. Harmonic strife abounds, Hairla Meneses can’t remember the words – "lyrics? I don’t need no stinkin’ lyrics!" – Jessica Gordon looks like she has stepped into the 7th circle of Hell, and Marisa Rhodes just wants to wake from this nightmare.

Luckily she does, only to find that her experience with Perla was all a bad dream – she is moving on with the rest of the She-its and Perla is moving back home.

The next group up is comprised of Blake Lewis, Rudy Cardenas, Chris Sligh, and Thomas Lore - proving that guys are better in group situations than girls will ever be.

Sorry ladies, but I’m honest enough to admit that when a group of female strangers are thrown together with a task, cat fighting, critiquing, mean girling, posturing, and diva-ing ensue. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is.

Guys don’t suffer from a need to immediately one-up each other – they also don’t wear lip gloss so minutes are not wasted wondering where she got that and when can I get some too – they are able to focus on the task and as Larry The Cable Guy would say, "Get ‘er dun."

This group of gents launched into a smooth version of How Deep Is Your Love and after each had sung a few solo lines, they picked things up with Blake’s (ok, I admit it) impressive beatboxing, while they harmonized like they had been doing it for years. The only icky part, aside from conjecturing as to how much spit Blake was horking into that microphone, were Chris’s attempts at dancing.

Needless to say – it was the golden needle in a haystack of dry performances and they all sailed through.

Sundance Head ended up in a group with L’Paige Bedford who sang, "when na one fig dad a some wad a na may me?" – in such a nasal tone that Afrin would do well to buy this footage for a new commercial.

Robyn Troup, also in this group, was fine, although forgettable, but Sundance? Talk about screamching. I thought for sure he was jumping off that cliff with Butch Cassidy, but somehow he ended up staying.

Props to him for honesty though – even he admitted he had no idea why they let him move on to the next round. (Psst, Sundance – it’s called ratings.)

Baylie, Amanda, and Antonella are finishing up practicing upstairs when Baylie begs for some help because she doesn’t have it down yet.

Amanda – henceforth to be known as Sko (skank + ho = Sko) in this column replied, "But see girl, the thing is, when I help you, that’s when I get messed up."

Translation? If you suck, I’ll look good. Buh bye.

Backstage, Sko predicts (my God, you could practically see horns sticking out of her head) "No matter what happens, we’ll all be friends."

On stage they do the white man shuffle – left, right, left, right – while Baylie attempts This Old Heart of Mine, getting as far as "this old" before completely freezing and forgetting everything else.

Antonella did fine in her solo, although as in her original audition, she relied on some leggy diversion.

Sko then stormed the spotlight in time to flub every word in her solo, but I guess since she made some up as opposed to Baylie who just stood there, Baylie got the ax and Sko and Legs made it through.

Sko followed Baylie out saying, "It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok."

No SkO. J. it’s not. It’s called injustice.

And then it got even better. (Better being defined as: I cannot wait to see her ass go up in the sweet flames of rejection.)

Sko faced the cameras with Legs and stated, "You know what? It’s cause God likes good people", pointing to herself and Legs, who wisely kept her mouth shut and looked increasingly uncomfortable.

I think she could smell the ozone precursor to the lightning bolt God was getting ready to throw at Sko.

Baylie then confronted Sko about flirting with the boys instead of helping her the previous night. (In all fairness, Baylie could have memorized the lyrics regardless of where Sko was writhing.) Sko’s reply? "We don’t flirt here. This is a job interview." – cut to video footage from the previous night of Sko rolling all over the floor and putting the moves on every guy in that room.

The cherry on top of this bullshit parfait?

"We can have as many guys as we want at home, believe me."

Yes, Sko – Tony and all the guys at the Bada Bing in Jersey are lined up waiting for you.

Antonella, who I like more and more with each second that she keeps her mouth shut and moves away from Sko, looked painfully uncomfortable at this point.

In all – 36 people get cut on Group Day leaving the judges to use Day 4 to winnow 56 down to 40 in a high stakes game of either Texas Hold ‘Em or Go Fish – maybe both. Whichever it was, they spent hours playing it – moving one Polaroid here, placing another in that pile, throwing this one on the ground – until finally, they had 40 remaining.

In a seasons’ old tradition the kids were divided into three groups, sent to three separate rooms – all well within earshot of one another.

In Room One, twenty kids spent long minutes scanning the faces, and recalling the talents, of those surrounding them.

The judges entered Room One and Paula had the pleasure of drawing out the suspense which culminated in "CONGRATULATIONS!" Pandamonium and wet pants ensue.

Leaving the 20 to celebrate and change their underwear, the judges head to Room Two, inhabited by Legs and Lip Ring girl (I quickly note that Sko is not in the same room as Legs – I hear the train a comin’…) where Randy is charged with putting them out of their misery by telling them they are all through.

Shiny, happy people smiling is an understatement.

However, in Room Three, even Sko can do the math and knows that two happy rooms means this must be an unhappy room. But how can that be? God loves good people, right Sko?

Room three is told goodbye – Sko is shocked. Don’t worry, Sko – you’ll all still be friends remember? No matter what.

Cut to Legs shakily saying of Sko, "I know she’s going to be happy for me." Watch your back, Legs, that’s all I can say.

So 40 kids get one more free hotel night before being further trimmed down to 24 – 12 guys, 12 girls. Which really means nothing because we don’t start voting till it’s down to a dozen, which doesn’t mean much either because only the Top 10 get to go on tour, which isn’t really that great since only 1 gets the title, a confetti shower and 4,000 Roman candles threatening to set their hair on fire while they sing Do I Make You Proud?

Talk about hazing. Well, Taylor Hicks made it through, so I guess one of these kids will prove their worthiness in the end as well. But that’s many months away, which gives me plenty of time to daydream…

Hmmm, I bet Taylor could do amazing things with a coffee bean.

American Idol Audition Recap, Wednesday, February 7: The Best of the Rest: I Always Hated Leftover Night

Well, apparently, after 11 hours of audition buffet over the past four weeks, there are still some leftovers to be dealt with.

Now, I don’t know about you, but we always had a "leftover night" at my house growing up. You remember…we had a generation of mothers – the ‘waste not, want not’ era - who would destroy half a roll of plastic wrap to save two spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, a slice of meatloaf, a half a cup of peas, two raggedy pork chops, some creamed corn (nobody liked that - even on the original night), a slice of roast beef, three tablespoons of fruit cocktail, five tater tots, and two triangular shaped fish filets.

Mmmmm. Yummy.

That’s about the audio equivalent of the spread American Idol served up this evening. A few stab-your-brother-in-the top-of-the-hand-to-get-it-first moments, but mostly just re-reheated, dried out, redone fare that merit as little attention in the ear canal as that creamed corn did on the tongue.

So, let’s just get through this so we can go back outside and play kick the can (ironically – the one that the corn came in…)

The Best of the Rest opened with a preview of the apocalyptic happenings during Hollywood Week. Tears, strife, angst, Hari Kari – well, maybe not Hari Kari, but many a singer has been pushed to the inconsolable brink by one bad stanza of My Girl, or the all-nighter demands of the (insert Jaws music here) GROUP SONG.

But that’s all next week – this week American Idol is schooling us (as if we did not all have Master’s Degrees in American Idolology already) in the finer points of auditioning.

LESSON #1 THE LOOK

I have ripped up my keyboard about this many, many times. If you are serious about auditioning, dress like you are serious about auditioning. Don’t dress like a human phone book, a cow complete with udders, a vampire, Uncle Sam, Darth Vader, Santa Claus, or Taylor Hicks.

A gimmick, even if you can sing like Whitney, will completely turn off the judges and overshadow anything that comes out of your mouth.

Secondly – have someone completely impartial critique what you plan to wear. Don’t ask your Mother – far too many of we Moms (not me, mind you – my daughters know I am as blunt as a butter knife) lie – and friends, well, typically want to stay friends so they are loathe to tell you that you look like a fat blueberry or a Jimmy Dean sausage, or a whore.

Yes, I said it. A whore.

You and I both know that far too many of these girls show up dressed like a poor man’s Pussycat Dolls Tribute Band. Too little clothes, too much flesh. Too much thigh, too much cleavage (reference Paula in the gold bustier in this episode – I swear she had three naked babies upside down in her lap), too much Wet-Seal-Papaya-Forever-21 polyester.

But I digress – the worst offenders they highlighted this evening included a girl with janitorial rag mops strapped to her head, a guy in leather pants who by the looks of his rubber boots had just come from siphoning someone’s cesspool, too many folks who thought their ticket to the stars was to be found in wearing Randy Jackson’s face (circa 1980 Journey – back when it was all the rage for black guys to carve their hair like topiary trees) on their t-shirts, and a girl dressed as a nun who immediately stripped off the habit to expose the Lord’s bounty in all it’s overflowing glory – God is going to smite her – I just know it.

Meriting a special highlight? Christa Fazzino, who fancies herself a fashion icon of sorts. Yes, well, so do Mary Kate and Ashley Olson – and they routinely look like something from Skid Row.

Christa dresses to express her feelings on any particular day, and we are lucky enough to find her on her way to a funeral for the passing of the 80’s - mourning in black and white gauchos, a black and hot pink corset top with attached black scarf, a red wrap, F.M. pumps, and a black velvet Cheerio on her head, complete with a teensy front veil.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to accompany Christa as she bids farewell to the decade that gave us Madonna, spandex, parachute pants, Topsiders, and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans. It also gave us MTV and the ability for every person with no taste to actually see and instantly mimic the poor taste of those videofied upon it.

Christa then launches into singing something that was stunningly apropos – I do so hope she was watching tonight – "I can’t do this anymore – I can’t do this to myself anymore…"

May I get an Amen from the congregation?

Obviously it was a No, well, a No that is, until she stumbled to the door, began openly weeping (I’m sad about the 80’s too, Christa – I had a lot of cool bandanas and really big belts) and Paula threw her a Yes bone to shut her up, knowing full well that Randy’s and Simon’s No’s overruled any nice gesture she might make.

Seriously, what was up with that? Paula acted like this was the first person to ever, ever openly sob and beg for their AI life. It would have served her right if Simon had then said Yes and screwed Paula for opening her mouth.

Moving on…

Proving the point that less is more, if the "more" is an actual ability to sing – Tami Gosnell, dressed simply in black with a coordinating, and distracting, lip ring.

Ugh. To each his/her own, man. Really – I don’t care what someone else does with their body, but I about popped a vein when I had my ears pierced. I cannot imagine sitting still while someone hooks me like a trout, or even worse, rams a steel bar through the beefsteak of my tongue. At least an earlobe is mostly fat – no gristle – but a lip has some depth to it, and a tongue?

OK, I’m getting off track again – mea culpa.

Singing Whipping Post, first brought to mass public attention by Bo Bice, she, quite frankly , rocked. Attitude, raspy, strong vocals – something Janis Jopliny about her. Of course they all said yes.

But one more thing about the lip ring. If she makes it through Hollywood, it has to go. I have three daughters, with three cells phones and not one of them is going to vote for the girl with the lip ring. It’s just too distracting and for the millions of prepubes who own this show in terms of voting. Just too gross.

LESSON #2: SEEK INSPIRATION

Any person of any creativity is inspired by someone in that field. I have a daughter who paints and adores Picasso. Another who rocks the soccer field and cannot get enough of David Beckham (neither can I – which is why I can be found slowly putting her clothes away piece by piece just so I can stare at the posters and calendar in her room…), and yet another who draws anime’ like a pro and worships at the alter of the Japanese masters of the craft.

Ergo, it makes sense that this crop of wannabes has found inspiration in the performances of Idols past – Taylor, Fantasia (although I think she would laugh to know she inspired a skinny white boy from the Geek Squad) – and other singers – Xtina, Whitney, Mariah, David Hasselhoff.

Talk amongst yourselves while I laugh uncontrollably.

Paul Kim arrived at the auditions hoping to dispel the William Hung Myth that Asian people can’t sing and that they all worship Ricky Martin.

Ok, I made that last part up. I think.

Paul is a handsome, well spoken young man, but I was totally unprepared for the voice that came out of him when he began to sing If I Ever Fall In Love. Wow. It was different, sexy, smoky, controlled, strong – basically Paul is the anti-William Hung.

Four yes’s – Olivia Fig-John was on hand for his audition – and I can’t wait to see how he fares in Hollywood. William, who?

Unfortunately, idolizing an Idol doesn’t quite work for Jack Odanovich, who I swear sold me toner at an Office Depot last week. A bland looking young man to begin with, he was the vocal mashed potatoes in tonight’s batch of leftovers. His a capella take on In A Dream (the song Bo Bice stunned the crowd with in season four – bandless and barefoot) was sad, squeaky, and as Simon put it, "incredibly deluded".

Jack left with the words, "I will never, ever, ever give up.", which leads us to…

LESSON #3: NEVER GIVE UP

As we know, many contestants are like bad pennies – they show up again and again and again. Different costumes, different delusions, but always the same inability to sing.

Well, some of them.

Some of them come back because they can sing, but couldn’t quite make it through the first, second, third or fifth time they tried. Some made it to Hollywood only to be sent back to obscurity and reality when their dreams melted on Buttercup.

Some, like Gina Glockson, take their initial defeats to heart and return better than before. Gina, whose hair channels Nikki McKibbon, and her arms Tommy Lee, sang Black Velvet and deserves to be third time lucky. Her vocals, although not the strongest we have heard, are different, and as Simon said, she’s "got soul".

She also has sleeve length arm tattoos – file that under Lip Ring in terms of prepube votes.

What followed was a Simon Lovefest montage complete with a raunchy school girl who Sharpied I Love Simon onto her underwear; a Randy Hatefest of people intent of tearing down this "just a drummer" guy; and then a Paulapalooza which culminated in Edward Sanchez living out his fantasy – hugging and receiving a kiss from her Ho-liness. Lucky Edward, her cleavage was on high alert in that heart covered dress.

But his rendition of Ritchie Valens Donna took us to threat level orange – it was scary bad – like someone sneaking bottled water and lip gloss on a 747.

LESSON #4: AUDITION ON YOUR OWN

Auditioning in twins, best buds, and clumps, rarely works. One is always better than the other, or both suck equally as bad. Stand on your own, people.

Advice not taken by Frisco’s car hops Heather, Ashley, and Ebony – decked out in their work uniforms of black miniskirts, tight black Tees, and roller skates.

Rocket scientits all – Ashley summed it up best when she said, "I always wanted to audition for American Idol because I’m an American…"

Paging Kellie Pickler…

Heather sang first – God Bless The Broken Road – and it was fine, nothing that would stand out in a high school choir however.

Ashley took on Angel and actually acquitted herself a little by her strong vocals.

But Ebony blew them both away and the camera was set up to catch the looks of "Crap – we suck next to her" on the faces of Heather and Ash-Ash, as she sang I Believe In You And Me just about as good as Ms. Houston herself. Ebony really has a gorgeous voice, solid control, and beauty to match.

Heather was kicked (or rolled, as the case may be) to the curb; Ashley gave the best line of the night when Paula told her not to wear so much make-up and she replied, "It’s my motherly advice." Seriously, you could see the Botox icebergs around Paula’s eyes cracking at the dis on her age.

Even so, Ashley got a Yes.

Ebony, however, got accolades, props, 1000% yeses, a college scholarship, two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions…

Sorry, carried away again…but damn, she was good.

Sidenote: Ebony, 23 was also in the 2005 Lingerie Football League team, the Chicago Bliss, that competed to play in the Lingerie Bowl, the pay-per-view flesh football contest that aired during halftime shows. Her other career highlights include "Bikini Model #5" in the movie "Pauly Shore Is Dead".

(I wouldn’t trumpet that last one, Ebony.)

Another break brought us back to a CD cover recap of all the top selling singles of our past Idol winners (Taylor has the best cover – don’t argue – I will rally the Soul Patrol and run your ass over), and the announcement that, yes, as has been the rumor for some time now, there will be a song writing contest for the final song this season! If you are talented (I stress this part, people) give it your best shot and look for submission details on the AmericanIdol.com website.

These folks, however, need not apply.

Faithon Gooding, in his beret and lime green shirt, singing his original Do It, Do It To Ya. Umm, thanks, Faithon, I’ll pass.

Melissa Ferlaak, whose operatic rendition of her original Flow With Dessert made that leftover fruit cocktail sound good.

And Brandon Reid, a nerdy white kid who obviously spends a lot of time in his parents' basement perfecting his Timberlakeian beat boxing and Michael Jacksonian dance moves. Go back to Dungeons and Dragons, Brandon, or come up out of the basement at least and try World of Warcraft – I think an imaginary quest is a tad more realistic than your quest for musical greatness.

And perhaps William "WES" E. Samland III might join up with you in the enchanted forest, Brandon, and you can both go off in search of your missing talent.

William, who looked like an escapee from the Copa Cabana Prison and Resort in his black pants, bald head, menacing facial fur, and shiny yellow silk charmeuse shirt, spoke of wanting to lay down an "honest, soulful, expressive, entertaining performance" for the judges.

He wanted to, but his lack of soul, expression and entertainment got in the way.

William sang his original, Don’t Worry, Don’t Hurry, complete with the lyrics, "If you want it smooth, you gotta push on that trowel" –I’m sorry, but no song that references masonry in this way is ever going to be included on a Songs to Get Jiggy To CD next to Barry White and Marvin Gaye.

Besides, I don’t want my trowel pushed on, WES. I prefer gentle strokes with a squeegee, or a light spackling of my foundation.

Next!

LESSON #5: SHAKE YOUR MONEY MAKER?

You gotta give props to the intern who thought up the AI confessional booth where contestants can go in and record their secret thoughts, fears, delusions, and dance moves in private. Well, private that is, until the producers out them for our perverse enjoyment.

Set to Everybody Dance Now, this video montage featured a guy doing the sprinkler, some fancy acrobatics, a nasty table crawl, a somersaulting Blues Brother who lost his Commodores wig, Kenneth Briggs-Swale’s hand stuck to his head, and Ian Benardo enjoying an Herbal Essence moment. Ohhhh…ohhhhhh…ohhhhhhh…

Alexander Nazario loves to dance and he is not only flexible – the boy is bendy.

Decked out in a tight red shirt, black cargo pants, and sandals?, he contorted, grooved, and bounced in a tribute to Paula, who along with MC Skat Kat, had inspired him as a child – ouch Paula, another slam at your age??? He also attempted to sing Making Love Out Of Nothing At All, but that was all he could make out of it - nothing.

As Simon stated, "It was a nightmare."

LESSON #6: CLARITY

The ability to see things clearly.

Obviously, most contestants have emotional cataracts because they truly have no idea how hideous they are. This section was highlighted by Let’s Stay Together being screamched, Annie’s Song being beaten to death by a young lady who must have ridden a time machine from the 70’s and who obviously worships John Denver, and Chantilly Lace being sung by a girl with a mouthful of marbles – someone get Guinness on the phone – I think that’s a record of some sort.

Lakisha Jones left her marbles at home and brought with her, her adorable 3 year old daughter. Lakisha is a big, beautiful girl and dressed to be noticed in bright orange heels, and top, and a zebra striped skirt. Call me crazy, but somehow, Latisha had the attitude to pull off an outfit I would normally tear to shreds.

She also has a tremendous vocal gift. Singing Aretha Franklin’s Think, she proved why skinny, scrawny, teenaged white girls should never sing that song. It takes a big woman like Aretha to do that song justice. Simon said, "I love this girl!", Paula called her "brilliant" (I hate it when Paula and I agree), and Randy chimed in with his "Aiight." (Whatever the hell that means.)

This show finished with favorite moments from the road – including a girl removing her wig and placing it on Ryan’s head; Margaret Fowler, our favorite age defying Peep on crack, and Martik Manoukian, aka the Pussy – sorry – the Panther, clawing his way around the confessional booth.

Yeah. Those were great moments. Thanks guys. Now I have to wash my DVR’s memory with Clorox.

A final preview of Hollywood Hazing Week – tears, cheers, breakdowns – and we are done. Out of 171 (remember, Akron was uninvited), it will be interesting to see which 24 have the vocal chops and emotional stamina to survive the a capella lightning rounds and the (insert Jaws theme music again) GROUP SONG.

Sugar-pie, honey bunch, sugar pie, honey bunch, you know that I love youuuu, love youuuuu…

come on people, sing with me!!! Surely YOU know the words by now!  I can't help myself...