Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

What A Pussy

I believe in teaching children lessons.  It's part of a parent's job to instruct on everything from the basics of right and wrong, to the more intricate, yet typically unpleasant relationship between actions and consequences.

The foundation includes no brainers like 'please', 'thank you', 'excuse me', may I?', and 'I'm sorry'.

Additional levels, built as a child gets older, extend to accepting blame, taking responsibility, understanding how their behavior may affect another human being.  It includes sympathy, empathy, bravely stepping up in the face of injustice or the intentional harm of another.

Other lessons serve to develop pride in one's efforts, grades, accomplishments.  Creating the link between physical exertion and achievement in sports works twofold as a child also begins to value the health effects of pushing one's body.

We teach our kids the value of a dollar (these days, the UNvalue of a dollar), to brush their teeth, change their underwear, look people in the eye when they speak, and to clean their rooms (that one with varying degrees of success - one of our daughters has a room that looks like Rainman lives in it - EVERYTHING perfect, ALL THE TIME; the other two girls live a more Picassoian existence, sometimes straying into the Jackson Pollack splatter effect - their belongings seemingly spun in, and then horked out of, a blender.).

And we parents try to reinforce all of the above each day.  Hoping that eventually everything will click, going from lesson to habit to eventual lifestyle.

I think Rudy and I are doing a pretty good job.  But every now and then I read a story and realize that maybe I'm not focusing hard enough on the really big lessons...

Meet Danield J. Collins, 39, of Indiana.  Daniel believes in tackling the larger life lessons at a young age.  I guess, like learning a second language, he thinks that the younger the child, the more receptive to, and easier learned is, the lesson?

In the School of Daniel, last Sunday's lesson plan involved forcing his young children, ages 7 and 11, to stab the cat, so they could, and I am quoting him here, "learn how to kill."

Not even kidding.

He first attempted the lesson with the 11 year boy, demanding he kill the poor 8 month old cat.  Horrified, the boy tried to protect the animal.  When his father went to the bathroom, he hid the cat under the sofa bed, and put ketchup on the knife blade, hoping to trick his drunken father.

But the man realized the cat was still alive, so he grabbed the 7 year old daughter, the cat, and put the knife in her hand.  He then grabbed her hand and forced her to stab the animal.

I cannot even imagine the trauma experienced by these poor children.

According to the police reports, the children told them that once he had forced the girl to stab the animal, he finished the job by strangling and stabbing it again.

He then made his son throw it into the dumpster.

Professorry SOB Daniel was arrested and being held in the county jail in lieu of $40,000 bail, charged with animal cruelty and battery and two counts of neglect of a dependent.

What is it with people?  And no, being drunk is not an excuse, so don't go there with me.  If you have children, especially ones you don't get to see every day (Daniel's live with their grandparents), you put down the bottle and treasure every moment you DO have with them.

Tasering a toddler to make him tough?  Power washing a 2 year old in the face to teach respect?  And stabbing a beloved pet to teach how to kill?

Again, where's the test to become a parent?  To get into college, I had to study, prep, make sure my #2 pencils were all in order... Where's the license to procreate and then love, cherish and protect?  Where's the SAT test to insure a person is of at least reasonable intelligence to care for another life?

The fact that an unprotected sex act is all it takes?  Sorry, but people like Daniel fail miserably, and deserve nothing less than to have their genitals stabbed with a freshly sharpened #2 pencil.

And believe me, no one will need to hold my hand to make me do it, Daniel.

Lunch With The Ladies

I apologize for the silence this morning, and thank you to everyone who came knocking on my inbox making sure all was OK.  You guys are great.

A couple factors - nothing major...

First - I have been ignoring the fact that I am sick since Saturday night.  Started with fever, chills - my lovely daughters took care of me that night.  Thermometer, heating pad, Advil, even patted my little head.

Sunday was one of those Mom-isn't-allowed-to-be-sick days.  With Rudy away, there was a soccer game to attend (Carson), and practice to make sure Kendall got to.  Believe me, shivering on the sidelines was not exactly my idea of fun, but to every parent out there - you understand the whole "Nothing to it, but to do it" mindset.

Now, I would have much rather curled up in a wind blown ball Sunday afternoon, mainlined more Advil, fluids, and stared at the TV, but I had promised for some time to take the girls to Dallas for a couple days of Spring Break. 

So, off we went.

Now, don't go thinking I'm some great philanthropist.  There was something in it for me too - and no, not just the free suite Rudy had arranged at the Adolphus Hotel in downtown Dallas.

Rather, the big draw for me was the opportunity to finally meet two folks from the blogmunity in person:  Lori from TX and Cheryl!

I know many of you have been patiently waiting for the report on that encounter, and I apologize for the length of time it has taken to get to it - I did, however, offer you Running Dick and stories of Anal Mushrooms... don't ever say I'm not a giver.

Since returning home, I have continued to try to ignore the fact that my body is saying one thing (Lay the F*CK down!), the demands of life saying another (recap American Idol! - which for those who thought the recap was somehow a tad lacking Tuesday night?  I had driven four hours and had a fever and stayed up till 1am for you - so suck it.  And I mean that with all the love in the world. Run to soccer practice!  Carson has training!  Culley has to go to UIL camp!  Your children would like to wear clean underwear - do some laundry!  Why did you agree to THAT writing deadline!?!).

Yesterday, head on full ache, sore throat morphed to that feeling of having swallowed a handful of sand that won't go down, I gave in.  Yes, I wrote here and there, but I also took to my bed for quite a while.  Kendall joined me (I may have disguised feeling like poo, but Lori got the full range of Kenny's head filling with snaste - that snot-like paste I have written of so lovingly in the past).

This morning, still feeling like someone was bowling in my cranium, I made the executive decision to just wallow.  It's still Spring Break, no one has any training until tonight, and so I did what I VERY seldom do:  Imitated my comforter and just sprawled on my bed for hours.  (Don't get excited, Rudy.  It wasn't that kind of sprawling...  Oh, and for the record?  Rudy has been convalescing for the past 48 hours as well - struck down by some sort of ICK in Seattle.)

Anywayyyyyyyyyyyy...I have forced myself out, have propped myself at the keyboard, Advil has the bowling alley down to a peaceable Wednesday at noon vs a rollicking Saturday night, and here I am.

Now - onto that meeting in Dallas...

We had arranged to meet for lunch on Monday at our favorite little Chinese buffet - The Rice Farm.  This insured several things:

1.  Public place to meet people from the internet.  So if either Cheryl or Lori, or BOTH, turned out to be cross dressing Yeti-Moes who collect toenail clippings and carry axes on their shoulders, I was fairly certain my Rice Farm worker buddies (who know us as regulars as far back as Culley in a highchair - she is now 15) would defend us with wok lids and steaming rice.

2.  The kids would stay occupied.  They LOVE the Rice Farm and we go every time we visit Dallas, so even if the conversation turned staler than a three week old egg roll, they would have access to all the sesame chicken and self serve soft serve ice cream they desired.

3.  The food would be good.  Reference that Sesame Chicken.

Well, we entered the restaurant to find both Lori and Cheryl waiting, and I have to say - I rarely feel instantly at ease with people, but with them there was no hesitation at all.  (Especially once Lori put her axe down.  I tease.)

Hugs all around, and the joy of watching two people I have known mainly as intelligent, funny, compassionate boxes of text, come to life as intelligent, funny, compassionate PEOPLE.

Cheryl is adorable.  Period.  End of story.  And my only regret is that she could not stay very long, having to get back to work.  We spent her time chatting about her pregnancy, her recent decision to convert religions:  She now prays at the Alter of All Things Porcelain and Poo Related.  :O)  (And Cheryl, you know I hope this phase passes quickly.  Remember what I recommended - if you need to, but can't, just give the underside of the bowl a lick - that ought to get the gears in motion.)

Lori is a dream.  You all know she can go chapter and verse about any topic we may bring up in this forum - one of the most intelligent people around.  But until you meet her face to face, you truly cannot appreciate the total package.  Behind Lori's eyes are wells of compassion, emotion, strength, fragility, and most of all - HONESTY.  All things I look for and treasure in those I meet in life.

Know that I do not take exposing my daughters to relative strangers lightly.  Also know, that I had no qualms at all about them meeting Cheryl and Lori in person.  All three know exactly who they are, and it was as wonderfully surreal for them to see the ladies come to life, as I think it was for Lori and Cheryl to see the girls step out of the blog and back up every word I have ever written about them.

Lunch and conversation moved on - the girls fully engaging in the fun - and soon Cheryl had to say goodbye, but not before we memorialized the afternoon...

The afternoon progressed.  And progressed.  And progressed.  We had arrived at 1130am, and only reluctantly left at roughly 3pm when the staff began to turn the lights off.

THAT'S how much we enjoyed one another's company.  And while I will leave it to Lori to chime in - I dare say she enjoyed the girls and I as well - she could have BS'd a reason to leave at anytime along the way.

My only regret, which I voiced a couple times, was that her daughter Scooter had not joined us.

No problem!  We immediately drew up plans to meet for breakfast the next day before the girls and I headed back to Austin.

The rest of the afternoon was spent making good on my promise of shopping.  A trip in which the girls demanded we get something special for drama queen Scooter for their meeting the next day.  Given how theatrical all FOUR girls are, that was not a problem.

A couple hours into the Mall, I finally begged to go back to the hotel - my head was thundering, my temp soaring like Dallas in July.  The girls were fine with that  (especially Kendall whose head was beginning to feel like it weighed as much as one of the bowling balls rolling around inside mine) - room service and the promise of an in-room movie sealed the deal.

The next morning we headed to breakfast, eager to meet the tyke we have heard so much about.  And there she was.  People, Scooter is a doll.  She has eyes the color of dark chocolate, and an angelic face capable of a million emotions - all at one time. 

While she was a tad shy at first, the gift from the girls, and all of that estrogen soon broke her down and she was having as much fun as they were.  At one point, she and Carson were putting on a floor show for the other diners - Carson her dance from The Wiz, Scooter doing her best petulant lady in red from Lord of the Dance .  It was a hoot.

If we lived in the same town, I think we'd be time-sharing our children in no time.  Either that, or renting them out to entertain at business conventions.

Over the fray, Lori and I continued to attempt to chat - a process which I think could go on indefinitely - but soon it was time for goodbyes.  Scooter had to get to school, we had to get back to Austin.

   

Needless to say, any trip back to Dallas will now include time factored in for Lori and Scooter.  (And Cheryl, if you will just quit the damned job so you can hang out!)  We had a ball meeting them in person, and it makes me think that a convention in Vegas really does need to be planned.

If meeting two of you crazy people turned out so well, I can only imagine what damage we could do to LV.

Viva, baby...

P.S.

Here is Scooter in her gift from my girls.  Having just come off doing Peter Pan, and a Disney Cruise, they immediately knew this would be the perfect gift to drive Lori nuts (don't worry - it's a short drive) - the wings even light up!

 

Some Things Are Really Stupid, But They Sure Do Make Me Laugh Out Loud

See Dick Run. (Courtesy of Sandy...)

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RUN! DICK! RUN!

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Man's Best FriendS?

I love my dog.  Oreo entered our lives as a one pound ball of black and white fluff over four years ago, and now she's as much a part of the family as any of us.

She is well behaved.  She follows commands.  She has elevated her intelligence to the level where we have to spell certain words around her so as to avoid the "excited pee".  She snuggles. She "smiles".  She knows when one of us is feeling bad.  And loves when everyone is feeling great.

I cannot imagine our lives without her.

The same goes for Lola and Nugget, our cats.  They all add to what is the Sharp Family.  And I cannot imagine our home without their furry presence.

So I completely "get" how other people are about their pets.

Well, most people.

There's a certain elderly couple in Arizona whom I do not think I want to "get".

Acting on the advice of her veterinarian, a woman who had purchased a dog from this couple, called authorities, after said vet found the dog to be quite ill.

Sheriff's deputies responded Monday to the rural Tucson triple wide and were shocked to find it carpeted in wall-to-wall Chihuahua - over 800 of them.

I'll pause while you attempt to picture that.

Animal Rescue workers removed dozens the first day, and yesterday pulled out another 700+.  Sadly, the conditions were exactly what one could expect when using animals as home decor - urine and feces covered every surface like homemade sick, er, nick nacks.

And as if 800 dogs weren't enough, authorities also found 80+ parrots in cages throughout the trailer.

The elderly couple has not yet been identified, and the Human Society representative suspects that this is a case of good intentions gone awry - that the couple probably began as breeders, and somehow slid off the rails into hoarding.

800 dogs?  Yeah, I'd say their mental Milk Bones snapped more than a few heat cycles backs.  Wouldn't you start to question your own cerebral kibble turning to bits when the Dyson is constantly sucking up livestock?

The Humane Society (God love 'em) are working on getting them all healthy and cared for, and hope to be able to begin adopting some in roughly two weeks.

As for the couple, while no formal charges have been filed at this time, counseling has been set.

Let's just hope authorities CAN teach these old "dawgs" some new tricks.

New Details Flushed Out

Like everyone else, I have wasted many minutes allowing my mind to wander and wonder about the backstory of the woman who was pried off the toilet after two years.

Did she NEVER get off the pot?  She never stretched out in the tub?  Or as Mary asked, "Run laps around the rug?"

Were the - um - facilities never cleaned?  Did she never change her clothes or bathe?

Well, given the fact that her skin and body fat had become one with the toilet seat, requiring surgical intervention, I'd say the answers to all of the above are NO.

As the story has moved out of the local septic tank and into the national sewer system, new details are coming to light.

The boyfriend, Kory McFarren, has publicly commented, "She is an adult; she made her own decision.  I should have gotten help for her sooner; I admit that. But after a while, you kind of get used to it."

Kind of get used to someone growing to your commode like a giant toilet wart?

Kory points to beatings she received as a child as playing into the phobia which led to the withdrawal and obvious emotional constipation. 

"It just kind of happened one day; she went in and had been in there a little while, the next time it was a little longer. Then she got it in her head she was going to stay -- like it was a safe place for her," McFarren said.

He says that she did move around in the bathroom at times.  That she did bathe, change her clothes on occasion.  And, of course, he fed her too.  Oh, and they had conversations and had an otherwise normal relationship.  (Yeah, You, her, and John...)

Kory, honey, I realize you live in a small town, and your scope on the world is not the same as mine, but there is, was, and never will be, anything normal about this scenario.

If my significant other decided to barricade himself in my bathroom, began expecting food and beverage service, laundry removal, and conversation? 

I think my first move would be to grab a toilet plunger and smack him upside his head.

The sad part of this whole weird scene is that Pam Babcock (the woman involved) is still in the hospital, refuses to cooperate with authorities and medical personnel, and has nerve damage (and an infection) to her legs which is so severe, she may never walk again.

That, and the whole "grown to the toilet seat" thing, would indicate, despite what Kory says, that Pamela had not been moving around much for quite some time.

I guess the bright side is that this may serve as a cautionary tale to others.  Should anyone you love decide to barricade themselves in the bathroom, don't wait two years to intervene.

I would start with love and reassurance...

My dearest darling, you know you are the love of my life and that I adore you...

And then move straight into those wise words of yore...

But shit or get off the pot - NOW.

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, March 12: The End (Yes, that’s a L/M song) For David Hernandez

I spent some time today looking back at this particular place and time in Idol Season 6. And what I found made me laugh.

The Top 12 last season were saddled with the "mentoring" talents and songbook of Ms Thang, Diana Ross, a woman whose hairstyle requires its own zip code. Last season I described the kids meeting her thusly: Chris Sligh seemed transfixed, stuck in a moment of serious hair envy. Yes, Diana has a wild 'do. If Chris looks like he stuck a finger in a light socket, then Diana must surely have stuck in all ten, both feet, and her tongue.

Looking back, You Can’t Hurry Love, Endless Love, and You Keep Me Hanging On seem really Dollar General next to the Nieman Marcus goods of Lennon McCartney rolled out for the kids last night.

On the whole, I enjoyed last evening. There were more high moments than low, more notes in tune than not, and a chance to see that Puppy Love - and this is my favorite quote of the day from reader Mary O - "The Puppy definitely pooped on the carpet this week." – is a human being and capable of slipping up like the rest of us.

Last season’s first Top 12 evictee was no big loss, no big surprise – Brandon Rogers (feel free to say Who?) – and I doubt there will be any great shakes or shocks at the end of tonight’s results.

I will remind you, at the risk of triggering some serious Post Traumatic Sanjaya Malakarpel Tunnel Singdrome (main symptom? A numbness in the ears), that this was also the week in which Sanjaya V05 began tightening his kung foo grip on the whole Idol process, sending us into weeks and weeks of follicular fear.

Ahhhh, good times, good times...

But, back to the here and now - As Diana would say, You Can’t Hurry Love. Well, as Linda would say, You Can’t Hurry This Hour Long Commercial either, so let’s just get through it together, shall we?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the stage doors opened, there was something strangely comforting about seeing Ryan’s head almost implode. I’ve missed him turning into a human halogen bulb.

Again dressed in a dark suit and tie, he looked into the camera and asked America, "What have you done?"

With over 29 million votes, I’d say it’s apparent we didn’t do much of anything productive for two hours last night.

A howdy do to the judges revealed Randy still working his porntastic facial hair and dressed in a dark sweater with an orange boomerang around his neck; Paula, toting roughly 20 extra pounds of polyesthair, had just beamed down from Ork in her silver lame’ jacket. I guess that’s what Members Only wear in outer space?; Simon forecast the mood of the evening – dreary, with a chance of facial showers – in his gray sweater.

The one semi-bright spot in this segment was the big reveal of Jim Carrey a la Horton in the audience. Dressed as his elephant alter ego he had the whore-ible job of helping pimp (I say pimp because it is a FOX movie) the upcoming release of Horton Hears A Who, in which he stars as the voice of Horton.

He did a fine job of selling the movie, cracking jokes, and even declared his love for the show and all the contestants. I just thought he looked good in his big ears, and that given the size of his feet, he must have a really big ... trunk.

Ahem.

Ryan then informed America that thanks (yeah people, thanks a lot) to all the emails and phone calls they received today, they have postponed next week’s original theme and instead will do the Lennon / McCartney songbook redux.

Come on. Look, I know these kids only had true access to about one fourth of the songs, but is this really necessary? Hey Nigel! Do You Want To Know A Secret? It’s NOT.

No more necessary than tonight's truly painful GROUP SONG – a montage of All My Lovin’, which Carly started just fine, but which MYchael managed to mangle in the space of ten words; I Feel Fine on which they all did the white man shuffle, Idol’s choreography mainstay; Can’t Buy Me Love, the lowlight of which, according to Kendall, was Puppy’s "double popped" collar; Help! on which Amanda growled and looked intimidating, and in which we saw that Ramiele was allowed to dress herself again – this time opting for JEANS and a bumble bee tank top. Personally, I about yelled Help! when they flashed that shot of Sanjaya, looking much more like a drug runner than an Idol contestant one season removed. Get a razor, kid.

Thankfully, the BREAK came and rescued me.

But the BREAK is a cruel mistress. She toyed with me, offering salvation and then snatching it back just as quickly – dropping me into a video recap of all of last night’s performances. THIS, dear readers, is where I hit the fast forward button.

With all the kids assembled on the Couches of Cruelty, Ryan brought the lights down to look for "the three with the lowest number of votes."

"Carly, MYchael, Dreads, Syesha, The Real Slim Shady ... Will you please stand up, please stand up?" asked Ryan.

Carly, a hot mess of fierceness in a cheetah print minidress was quickly deemed SAFE; MYchael in a couldn’t-care-less t-shirt and JEANS also got a Get Out Of Hell Free pass for the week; Dreads was also a shoo-in; That left Syesha to be invited into the Bottom Three for the evening.

She. Was. Not. Happy.

Not that anyone ever is, but she was staring daggers at Ryan. He then asked the judges about her fate. Randy and Paula agreed it was the wrong choice, but when asked if she deserves to be in the bottom three, Simon was blunt as a spoon, "Yeah."

As she was handed the microphone to reprise Got To Get You Into My Life, she brought a new word to life. The look on her face, the sound in her voice as she started to sing – it was an odd combination of scared and pissed – scissed.

As always, she looked beautiful – simple black top, JEANS, trash can lid earrings flipping back and forth – but the performance was seriously subdued. She did pick up towards the end, but as I have always said, that these kids manage to do more than squeak while they can hear every blood cell moving in their bodies, and are drowning in personal disappointment, is admirable to me.

I’d probably sound like Flipper with my fin caught in a boat motor.

Another break and we were promptly dropped into the first of this season’s Ford Vommercials.

This one showcased the kids singing The Distance (a song which can’t go that far) as they all pretended to be campaigning for public office – holding babies, standing at podiums, flanked in their Fords by Secret Service men. It was timely, sure, but it was also stupid, and thankfully BRIEF.

Since the producers insist on dragging these results shows out to a full five course meal, when we all know this could be accomplished with a twenty second drive thru unHappy Meal, we next enjoyed a palate cleanser of video of the kids and their experiences in this life changing adventure.

Photo shoots, make-up, smashing guitars, greeting fans, answering questions, attending the Horton premiere. It highlighted the surreality of their reality TV experience thus far: going from nobodies to getting to meet Jim Carrey, Steve Carell (also in Horton), the lead singer of REO Speedwagon (Kevin Cronin), and having them know their names.

Finally Ryan asked for the lights to be lowered again and for Eze, Amanda, Kristy, and David C to be raised – they stood.

Eze was then asked by Ryan to come down for one second. He did. For what amounted to Ryan checking his oil dipstick for sweat. You’re SAFE.

Amanda was also given back to her roommate, Carly, for another week, and David, wearing more of Blake’s old castoffs – this time his gray plaid hat – also got to sit down.

This left Kristy Lee giggling nervously – she already knew – we ALL already knew, so it was no big deal when Ryan said "grab the microphone."

She resang Eight days A Week, and I actually forced myself to watch the entire thing. To her credit (or maybe to her fear’s credit), she toned it down quite a bit. That doesn’t mean it was better, it just wasn’t like a squirrel in a blender.

She joined Syesha on the far side of the stage in Loserland, and they stared longingly across the great expanse of stage to Safetyville.

Another break and we returned to Idol's brand new results show feature – the fan call ins.

Ryan stood at a computer monitor, the contents of his small screen flashed up on the big screen at center stage. From this list, he was able to pick and choose from viewers who had already had their questions cleared by a call center in Mumbai.

First to get picked to speak was Page, age 12, from Pennsylvania. She asked Dreads, "If you could be one judge for a day, which would you be?"

God love him – he really does suck at interviews. He mumbled, stumbled, muttered, and finally managed to get out that he would be a combo of all three – Paula’s long hair, Randy’s cool shoes, and Simon’s sweaters.

Next caller was Ronny, age 22, of North Carolina. He has auditioned six times (given the sound of his speaking voice, I am just stymied that he has not made it to the big stage...) and wanted advice from the judges for his next audition.

Simon: "Get another job?"

John, age 22, from LA addressed the Ryan – Simon (Rimon?) hatefest and asked "when are you two just going to throw it down?"

Ryan, "Load in the mud, I’m ready." I bet you are, Ryan. I just bet you are.

Finally, Tracy, age 40 asked Simon if Americans or Brits have more talent?

Ever the diplomat (gag, hock, spew), he replied, "I will concede American singers have the most talent, however, on the judging panel – The Brits."

Calls completed, it was time for the cheese plate. Or maybe, given the dress, the cheesecake plate?

With David Foster on the piano to play George Harrison’s Something, Katharine McPhee emerged in a silvery scrap of a dress from the Haley ScarnatHO Collection of evening wear.

IT WAS SHORT.

Kat looked lovely as long as she stood completely still. When she moved, she risked wardrobe malfunctions Janet Jackson never dreamed of. Britney Spears, maybe, but certainly not Janet, Miss Jackson if you’re nasty...

I was also distracted by the unfortunate earpiece/microphone hook-up. Like Blake last week, it was a slop job, and poor Katharine looked like a Barbie still held in a package by its plastic head spike.

As for the singing? She has a lovely voice, although I thought it sounded a tad thin in places tonight. And she still suffers from an inability to truly connect with the audience. Maybe she’ll have better luck on the new album she is working on with Mr. Foster.

Another break and we returned to find Jim Carrey sitting with the kids on the couch, telling America he loves us, and doing some good finger origami (he must actually watch the show). Fun moment, but like Katharine – get off – we don’t care.

Ryan then asked Puppy, Brooke, Lexus, and Ramiele to come to center stage. He made quick work of it this time – Puppy, SAFE; Brooke, stop biting your lip, you are SAFE too; Ramiele and Lexus, not so much.

A quick rewind of the judges’ comments on their performances, and it was Ramiele who managed to get the ticket to fly back to the nest. Lexus had landed out of it in the bottom three.

So...I was right. I like being right. The female threesome would have been Rami, Syesha, and Kristy. And as I predicted, if a guy were to crawl in, it would be Lexus.

Still and all, I was a little surprised to see him there. But America has a short memory and apparently one bad night (and a little naked lapdancing) can erase weeks of strong efforts.

Lexus resang I Saw Her Standing There, and like Kristy, I watched, curious to see if he, too, would take it down a notch based on the criticism he received last night. He did, in fact, he took it down so many notches – from crazed to boring – this was equally as bad, just at the opposite end of the performance spectrum.

ANOTHER BREAK and all three bottom dwellers faced the judges:

Randy thought it was "probably the right botom three."

Ryan asked Paula, "Where’s your head right now?" And I laughed so hard I think I leaked a little.

Paula snottily responded, "On my shoulders." And then did what she does best, mother these kids, saying "I have never seen a more strong bottom three."

I bet that made them feel more better.

Simon congratulated America on getting this "absolutely spot-on."

Then, with the lights again lowered, Ryan gave Syesha a reprieve – she was sent back to safety. Congratulations Syesha, you only suck a little.

With Kristy and David facing one another, Ryan dragged it out, "America ... has decided ... that Kristy ............................ ........................... ......................... ..................... ................................... YOU ................... are SAFE.

Anyone else hurt their jaw when it hit the floor?

That meant David H was going home, and I don’t think anyone was more shocked at the results than Kristy Lee Cook. Well, except, maybe, for David.

David then addressed his fans, "Honestly, things happen for a reason. I believe we all have a plan. On top of that, you’ll see me at the top..."

And then my lovely daughter ruined his Oscar speech with, "of a platform, with a pole."

We then got to watch his Idol journey set to Ruben Studdard’s reworking of Celebrate Me Home.

As I watched it, I had to wonder, was he tripped up by the whole strippergate scandal? Or did one poor showing last night truly do him in? I still don’t think he would have gone all the way in this contest – there was just something not compelling enough about his look – but given his vocal talent, I would hope he does continue to garner some attention in the industry.

After all, the music business is full of naked people with colorful pasts – he’ll fit right in.

Remember, more Beatles next Tuesday. And yes, I did hear you whine, Not A Second Time!

Number 2 Gets A Whole New Meaning

The bathroom.

Considered by many, including myself, to be the last true refuge for privacy. (Even though every single member of my family from the tallest to the smallest on four legs tries to follow me in.)

That porcelain throne, coupled with a lock on the door means the rare peaceful, albeit productive, sliver of time in our busy lives. Add a book, magazine, or hell, even the back of a shampoo bottle to the mix for reading pleasure, and I dare any one among us to deny the feeling that we are somehow multitasking.

Some people take their potty time very seriously. A few minutes just won't do. They take drinks, food, a whole newspaper. My father could not only read a book during his extended loaf popping sessions, he could write one as well. I still remember when he went from amateur to professional in the colon cleansing races - it was when padded toilet seats first appeared in stores.

No more did his tender hiney have to endure the abuse and inevitable red ring around his rosey booty and thighs. Rather, he - to this day - is cossetted by puffy vinyl, soft lighting, and a magazine rack under the TP.

But I received a story earlier today from Elise which makes my father look like a nonstarter. He is definitely a bronze medalist compared to this Oval Olympian...

It seems a 35 year old Ness City, Kansas woman took the meaning #2 to a whole new level.

Until authorities recently pried her off, she had been sitting on her boyfriend's toilet, steadfastly refusing to budge - eating and drinking and sleeping - FOR TWO YEARS.

TWO YEARS. I shit you not.

According to the boyfriend, she entered the bathroom long ago, and simply refused to come out, always staying seated. He begged her, and everyday she would reply, "Maybe tomorrow."

Lucky for him, since tomorrow never came, there was a second bathroom in his house for his use.

Authorities finally received a call from the man on February 27. Sheriff Bryan Whipple - and no, I am not making that name up - states that the man said, "there was something wrong with his girlfriend." 

Ya think?

And it took you two years of serving her room service in the john to figure that out?

Something tells me the boyfriend has a little low-flo issue in his own mental plumbing.

When authorities and paramedics arrived, they found the woman was not just adamant about not leaving, she was unable to get up. Her sweat pants were down around mid-thigh, and it appeared her legs had atrophied. Also, her skin and body fat had, after two years, actually grown attached to the toilet seat.

Whipple said, "She was not glued. She was not tied. She was just physically stuck by her body. It is hard to imagine. ... I still have a hard time imagining it myself."

He added, "We pried the toilet seat off with a pry bar and the seat went with her to the hospital. The hospital removed it."

Police are still investigating her mental state, the boyfriend's reasons for the prolonged wait to call for help, their luck at having a sheriff named Whipple...

Now, please excuse me. I have to use the facilities. But I promise - I'm not taking any books, no Power Bars or juice boxes, and I will be back shortly... just give me a minute or two...

The Spitzer Hits The Fan

Oh how the mighty continue to fall.

Or maybe trip is a more accurate descriptor.

Yet another high profile political figure, one who held himself up as a stellar example of right, might, and fight against those who would dabble in any sort of illegality or subterfuge – New York Governor Eliot Spitzer – has tripped on his own arrogance, stumbling into a stinking cesspool of his own making.

When the story first broke on Monday, what details were available were sordid – financial transactions suspect enough to lead to investigation, and a penchant for high priced prostitutes – all culminating in Spitzer crawling to a podium, facing the klieg lights and doing the expected I’m-So-Sorry-Bad-Me soliloquy.

And as so many disgraced, humiliated, violated, shellshocked wives have done before her, when their high powered political spouses have been revealed to be nothing more than deviant, selfish miscreants, Silda Spitzer stood at his side.

He admitted nothing specific. Not surprising. And his statement of, "I have acted in a way that violates my obligations to my family and violates my -- or any -- sense of right and wrong. I apologize to the public, whom I promised better."? Well, it turns my stomach.

Your wife and three teenaged daughters are not obligations, Eliot. Treasures? Yes. Gifts? Absolutely. Privileges? Without a doubt. But obligations?

Look, the day Rudy refers to me or his three daughters as obligations, I will be obliged to throw his shit onto the front lawn.

So, it’s bad enough that his betrayal was found to involve high dollar prostitution. Worse still to find out it was not a one shot – ahem – deal. But today, as more details are coming to light, Silda is now faced with the reality that Eliot has been indulging outside their marriage since as far back as 2002.

And to the tune of $80,000.

EIGHTY THOUSAND DOLLARS.

That’s not a one time tryst. That’s not a hobby. That’s a career.

And that’s not someone who is sorry for what he has done. Sorry happens after ONE TIME, and sorry implies I-will-never-do-it-again.

No, Spitzer falls firmly into the camp of I’m only sorry I got caught. Because God knows if banking employees had not followed the proper protocol and reported the suspect transactions taking place, that $80K figure would be continuing to chart higher and higher.

Call me crazy. Call me militant in this regard, if you like. But this is not the type of transgression, betrayal, LIE which I would take calmly. You would not find me standing by my man as he publicly professed his sorrow and offered his worthless apologies.

What you would see is me packing up my integrity, my dignity, my self esteem, my self worth, and getting the hell out of Dodge. You would see me setting an example for my daughters that no man deserves to trample on, deceive, endanger (because it is also being reported that Eliot liked his sex a tad unsafe), or in any way marginalize or diminish a woman.

Rudy would get one chance. And I have told him that if he ever decides to cheat, he’d better make sure it is the best piece of ass he’s ever had, because he will be throwing away everything he currently knows about his life.

There is one bullet in that Take Me For Granted gun. Fire it, and this marriage is dead.

What I have found laughable about this situation (not that any of it is truly funny – there ARE real people whose lives have been torn asunder here – and NO, I am not talking about Eliot. He can skydive without a parachute off his Fifth Avenue Apartment balcony for all I care.) is the conjecturing, analyzing, and rationalizing being done by the "experts" the media have dragged in for continuing discussions on the subject.

Psychologists talk about possible illnesses, childhood reasons, delusions from which Spitzer may suffer. His political brethren have even tried to defend it with a "So-what? Clinton did it too" slant.

Give me a break.

The only reason he has done this for so long, like Bill Clinton, is because he could. Plain and simple.

This is another example of a person who didn’t think he could get caught, who cared more about his own personal proclivities and pleasures, than about his wife and daughters. A man whose arrogance and power led him to believe he was somehow above it all.

He indulged because he could afford to. He indulged because he wanted to.

The sad part is his family. They now join the dubious sorority of women and children who have had their lives completely jacked up by a philandering, lying, devious, two faced, cheating, hypocritical, criminal POS. Think families of Ted Haggerty, Larry Craig, David Vitter, John Atchison, Jim McGreevy and on and on and on...

As for his political career? I think it is safe to say we will see it completely unravel quite soon. Rumblings are that if he doesn’t crawl out and resign soon, the issue will be forced for him.  He has few friends and many political enemies currently pissing themselves with glee over this hypocrite's (He made a career out of ripping the lid off public corruption, including prosecuting prostitution rings.) comeuppance.

As for his marriage? Ha. What marriage? He has been screwing around for at least six years. That’s not a marriage. That’s a cover.

And, quite frankly, Silda should resign immediately.

American Idol Recap: Tuesday, March 11: Let It Be (Good)

Well, here we are again. Down to the Top 12. Down to the better of the best. Not quite the best of the best ... yet.

I personally believe there are still at least six weeks of easy weed whacking ahead. So unless something really tilt-the-universe-onto-its-kiester happens, like all the Hello Kitty cell phones go dead and Puppy Love accidentally gets voted off instead of Eze Mac - I don’t see any high drama on the horizon for the time being.

So, the real draw will have to be the music, and tonight is sure to deliver (bear in mind that I wrote that sentence ahead of actually viewing the proceedings...). Songs from the Lennon / McCartney musical braintrust – and there are timeless picks from which to choose.

Sure, looking back now, it is easy to see when the boys hit the ganja patch (think Yellow Submarine, Sgt Pepper, et al), but within their songbook lies a embarrassment of lyrical riches – the simplicity of which could prove to be the hardest obstacle for these kids. A tune like I Want To Hold Your Hand is not exactly Bohemian Rhapsody, but if you don’t have the heart to sell it, you can keep your sweaty palms to yourself.

Puppy Love already proved that Lennon was writing lyrics which will continue to span the decades. And Paul was no slouch when he put pen to paper either.

So, as this episode runs a full two hours, let’s keep this intro short, and see just who does honor to The Beatles, and who deserves a night in the Roach Motel...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mortician Seacrest opened the show in his dark three piece suit, crisp white shirt, and tie – the tone was somber, the music throbbing – he spoke of things past – an old stage, an old band.

Then he turned our thoughts towards the future, a whole new look, a whole new feel. And while Ryan may be the undertaker in this scenario, Bryan Brown said it best in Cocktail, ‘Bury the dead, they stink up the place."

So bury the stale, stinky past, we shall, because THIS is a whole new season. THIS is a whole new Top 12. And..

THIS. IS. AMERICAN. IDOL.

(Cue up new graphics – cool, although I instantly missed the cyber suppository climbing through the neon colon. And what about those new SIMS-like contestants? Cybergirl looked like cyberboy had slipped a little Rohypnol into her Coca Cola...)

As the lights went up, I must say, I was impressed. All the talk about the new digs was not just hyperbole – they actually delivered. Twice the audience, a stage with two spiral staircases, a catwalk overhead, the band ensconced above, a light set up worthy of Close Encounters, and the judges set back from the stage so the crowd can actually get up close and personal.

Nice to see some of that commercial haul wasn’t just used to buy Nigel a country or three.

A quick hello to the judges found Randy in basic black with some groovy white writing down the sleeves, porn chin pubes in full attendance; Paula wearing her own hair again (keep the look, Paula – it’s nice to see you able to hold your head up) and a subtle gold ensemble with low watt cleavage; and Simon – WHOA – chest hair alert – in a white button down – it certainly wasn’t buttoned UP. Niiiiiiice, Simon.

The stage doors then parted to reveal the Top 12 kids, and Ramiele’s head super nova-ing – ahh, nice to see some things about the stage haven’t changed. (Note to Linda: Don’t delete graphic of Ryan’s dandelion head from seasons past. Will come in handy again this season.)

Ryan then intro’d the theme of the evening – the songs of John Lennon and Paul McCartney – one half of The Beatles. Writing together since 1957, they even wrote songs for the competition back in the day – like the Rolling Stones.

With Paul’s work being called "melodic" and John’s being referred to as "introspective", they drew inspiration from art, other music, life, film, weed...

OK, fine I added that last part, but again, these boys went through a phase where they were no strangers to the hookah pipe.

No matter, their work still stands today, and they still have more #1s than any other song writer. I don’t see that changing anytime soon. No matter how many doobies get sparked in the recording studios.

Randy’s words of wisdom just echoed what was said in the video, "These are some of the greatest songs in the history of music..."

Paula’s mental Amtrak slid on and off the rails with "full of melody," "risk worth reward," "change it up’.

Simon could only stare at her and add, "DUH."

I love Simon.

First up, Syesha, to tell us again how she is a student and working actress. OK, look, these interview clips are fine, IF they impart something new, but tonight? They all seem repetitive, so I warn you now – I am going to blast through most of them.

Taking the stage dressed in JEANS, heels, a black tank, and a gold, glittery top, held together by one button (the better to slide off one shoulder, my dear), she looked lovely as usual. I will say, however, I am worried every time she gets in a groove and begins shaking her head from side to side. She is surely going to coldcock herself with one of those door knocker earrings someday soon.

Syesha chose to sing Got To Get You Into My Life, and I found myself chanting, "Got to keep from hitting the FF button." It was so "EH", boring, lifeless. The only thing I perked up for was the final note – THAT was good. The rest was instantly forgettable, and going first? A dangerous place for viewer short term memory loss.

Kendall, who is currently nursing a baaaad head cold, lay on the floor and muttered, "I zoned out during it. Then again, I am heavily medicated..."

Pass the drugs, Ken. If this is an indicator of what’s to come, please share.

Randy said it "started a little rough", but that she "got into it" and warned her "to loosen up"; Paula started with "very, very good singer", but said she "started off pitch, but then you found your zone"; Simon surprised me with, "great choice of song", but also said she "looked very, very nervous."

AFTER THE FIRST BREAK, we returned to Ryan and Eze Mac sitting on the Chat Chairs. Eze looked very Carlton-from-Fresh-Prince in his green argyle sweater vest, lime green tie, and JEANS. (Although Carlton would never have been caught dead in a sweatband wristwatch.)

Ryan chatted with him about being a TSA screener at LAX and how his buddies would always try to set it up so he would be the one screening Paula whenever she came through security.

I’m sorry, I would call for a cavity check of the woman. The empty one between her ears.

Choosing to sing She’s A Woman, Eze sat on the stage with a banjo picker, a violin player, and someone beating the tambourine. It was instantly fun and I found that my feet were tapping in the air (and Kendall even roused a tad from her snot laden drug stupor).

I liked the beginning – it truly showcased his vocal talent – and then the band kicked in and Eze Mac began to rock out. I have to admit I did cringe a tad when he busted out some decidedly Taylor Hicksian moves, but on the whole – I LOVED IT. He was clearly having a great time, was not intimidated by the size of the stage or crowd – it was, as opposed to Kendall’s current petri-dish-of-plague state, the kind of infectious that’s good to spread around.

Randy loved it, saying he was "thoroughly entertained" and that it was "dope" and that Eze "smashed it!"; Paula blabbered, but got out "I’ve been waiting for this"; Simon said, "I’m really surprised that I actually agree with these two." He added, "You were terrific."

Then Ryan entered the picture and channeled James Brown, only he wiped the sweat off Chikezie’s head instead of his own – ok, a tad gross, Ryan.

Up next was Ramiele to remind us that she worked in a sushi bar. Blah, blah, blahdedy blah...sorry, but this is not fresh, raw information, but reheated, slightly stale offerings.  When a highlight is a shot of Rami pouring soy sauce into little plastic cups?  Moving on...

She selected In My Life, one of my favorite songs, and started it with a creative camera angle - standing on the stairs looking UP. She’s beautiful, but I fear this is the beginning of the directors having a little too much fun with the new options.

As Ramiele walked down the stairs, I shouted "FINALLY!" – she looked lovely in a strapless black dress with white accents, a white belt (could have done without that – it chopped her small frame into two smaller parts), and heels, her hair far less Scissorhanded than usual.

Now, personally, I think she interpreted the song beautifully. Then again, being one of my faves, I was not hot to hear it dicked with. She was controlled, restrained, not a note out of place.

Randy called it "kinda pretty, but kinda pretty boring" and then indicated it did not have the Caterpillar stamp of approval on it – as it "didn’t move any earth for me"; Paula started with "you look lovely tonight", which as any long time viewer will tell you, is Paulaspeak for "I have nothing nice to mumble," although she did babble something about "the whole world needs to see what we hear in your voice."

OK, Helen Keller, I’ll think about that tonight as I drift to sleep signing the letters WTF over and over...

Simon was blunt, "I was bored to tears throughout the entire song." He added it was "forgettable" and that he expects "a lot better" from Ramiele.

Next was Dreads who spoke of failing a music class at Texas A&M, and a childhood trip to Colombia to visit cousins who loved listening to The Beatles.

He chose If I Fell and again sat center stage with his guitar, a single spotlight highlighting his Reynold’s Wrap shirt, gray vest, JEANS, and his dirty sock hairstyle.

Now, I admit, I am still hungover from his take on Hallelujah last week. I took a DGMS reader’s advice and listened to the song again without watching – when not distracted by the dreads, I really was drawn in. His voice is pure, sweet, and emotional.

I found myself feeling that way as he began singing tonight, but then a touch of reality set in as he sang the line "our new love was in vain". It looked more like "in pain" as he reached for that note. And then at the very end, just as he did at the end of Hallelujah, he botched the final note and gave the cute little Ooops face. Hmmmm, I think another weak of that and he will be in trouble.

Randy said, "I liked it, didn’t love it"; Paula disagreed, but then she can "feel your heart" and that’s a "special connection"; Simon said it was "all a little bit ‘student in a bedroom at midnight’, quite boring." And that while it won’t have the same "impact" as last week, it was "good enough to stay another week."

And then Ryan, who is truly one of the bigger horse’s asses on this planet, launched into a double entendre laced exchange with Simon...

"When the sun goes down, leave that student’s room..."

Simon warned him off with , "Uh, Ryan..."

Ryan sassed back, "Uh, yes?"

"Careful." Simon responded

"Uh, why?" Little smart mouth hosebag with a cool hosting gig shot back.

"Just be careful." Simon warned

"Cause you have nothing clever to say right now?" Ryan goaded.

"I think you know what I’m saying." Simon added.

And here, before anyone gets going with this – there is no Simon-student scandal – don’t even bother Googling. What we saw again is Ryan’s abuse of LIVE TV power and his juvenile joy in one upping Simon Cowell.

It was a waste of time. It was sophomoric. It was idiotic. And I actually applaud Simon for trying to steer him away from implying anything pedophilic or salacious – even in jest – during a family show.

I actually found myself being thankful for the break, and I think Dreads was as well, caught as he was in the whole web spun from poo.

Returning, Ryan was in the Chat Chairs with Carly, and since I am going to ignore her video interview package – we know she is a bartender – I will highlight that she indicated the kids have now moved into apartments for the remainder of the season – her roommate being Amanda – somehow that fits. I would imagine they get along quite well - sharing pintscomparing tatoos, and combing each other's hair extensions at night.

As the opening bass line began, and Ricky Minor was shown sporting yet another shirt by FTD, Carly erupted onto the stage in a shiny blue and black satin dress singing Come Together, and she commanded the audience from the first word. And she held their attention as she navigated some of the most interesting lyrics ever laid down. In case you ever wondered what they were – here you go – just don’t expect knowing the words to make the meaning any clearer...

Here come old flattop he come grooving up slowly
He got joo-joo eyeball he one holy roller
He got hair down to his knee
Got to be a joker he just do what he please

He wear no shoeshine he got toe-jam football
He got monkey finger he shoot coca-cola
He say "I know you, you know me"
One thing I can tell you is you got to be free
Come together right now over me

He bag production he got walrus gumboot
He got Ono sideboard he one spinal cracker
He got feet down below his knee
Hold you in his armchair you can feel his disease
Come together right now over me

He roller-coaster he got early warning
He got muddy water he one mojo filter
He say "One and one and one is three"
Got to be good-looking 'cause he's so hard to see
Come together right now over me.

I loved her performance. She seems to be coming on stronger week after week, and while she may ultimately suffer Melinda Doolittleitus, meaning killed off before her time, for now, I think she has staying power.

Randy called it "strong," "confident," and "not a note out of tune"; Paula simply said she’s "already a star"; Simon started with, "Week after week you’ve chosen the wrong song ... until now." He then said, "This reminds me of six years ago, exactly the same week – Kelly Clarkson."

I do believe Carly squealed. And peed a little.

Another break and we returned to David Cook blathering on about bartending. I’d prefer to address the hair.

It.  Has.  To.  Go.

It looks like a deflated ferret laying sideways, or the remnants of a child’s Davy Crockett coonskin cap.

He and his ferret chose to sing Eleanor Rigby, and dressed in JEANS, a t-shirt, and a black jacket with a killer collar, proceeded to drag Matilda around by her neck.

His voice sounded decent enough, but I was completely bored with the beginning. Yes, I perked up when he hit the chorus, but that’s only because they dragged out Chris Daughtry’s leftover light show.

Randy said it "started out a little rough" but that "you can definitely rock out on Idol"; Paula whinnied on about dark horses and thoroughbreds; Simon said, "I thought it was brilliant." Then he capped it with, "If this remains a talent competition, not a popularity contest, you actually could win this entire competition."

Which is exactly what he would not want to do, Simon. I’m sorry, but in a country just now seriously flirting with the idea of a woman or a black man as President, Idol has lightyears to go before being crowned the Idol is a good thing to a rocker.

I imagine Chris D still wakes up in a cold sweat over the bullet he managed to dodge.

Another break and Brooke White reminded us that she is innocent and was formerly a nanny for twin babies.

On stage, a single spotlight illuminating her, Brooke sat at the piano and I must say – she gets lovelier each week. This time, her hair was pulled to the side in a low ponytail, her make-up soft, and her pewter dress with floral appliques seemed to fit the mood.

Playing and singing Let It Be, Kendall convulsed on the floor for a moment, but it wasn’t the Nyquil. Rather, as I mentioned when Puppy Love sang Imagine, this middle child of mine is a Beatles purist, and anyone daring to sing one of her favorites is treading on dangerous ground.

As Brooke sang, Kendall softened, admitting that it wasn’t half bad. I liked it too, although given how Ramiele was castigated for not changing anything in her song, I was ready for Brooke to get the same.

Standing in front of the judges, in bare feet, no less, tears fresh on her cheeks, Randy called it a "very heartfelt performance"; Paula added that "America can feel your heart"; Simon went even further saying, "I thought it was – again – one of the best performances of the night. Brilliant choice of song."

Then Ryan had to go and mention her lack of footwear, to which she responded, "I can’t play with my shoe on."

He went and got them for her which triggered a Randy/Simon cross-dressing-fun-poking at Ryan’s expense, "They’re HERS!"

Frankly, I’m getting tired of it, guys. I don’t care if Ryan has a closet full of Manolos, and wears feather boas around his house at night. If this is the only way to fill two hours of airtime...

Another break returned us to Lexus Hernandez talking about life in Glendale, Arizona. Poor thing, he was fired from his job at a PIZZA BISTRO. Notice how he said PIZZA BISTRO twice during the clip? No mention of his three year stint making dough by whipping out his breadstick for hungry customers.

Lexus chose I Saw Her Standing There and Blake Lewis’s old wardrobe. He was dressed in a pink shirt, vest, JEANS, a skinny plaid tie, and white tennis shoes.

He worked the crowd – touching hands – wait, was that a dollar bill in that one?? – but the performance was just deep dish "EH" with EHxtra cheese. There was nothing vocally strong about it, it seemed manic, he seemed uncertain.

Randy called it "too overdone, too much going on"; Paula short circuited, "You know I love – ah- your voice – um – you kinda overdid it, ah, eh, eek, schplet, kkkkk, too many runs."; Simon started with "No, no, no, Corny verging on desperate." He moved on to "All a bit rabbit in the headlights." (I love it when he botches an Americanism.), and finished with "Not a particularly strong performance."

Ryan was then joined by Amanda Overkillmyer in the Chat Chairs to talk about what she does backstage on performance nights. "Sit in a corner and wait."

WHOA. Thrilling, investigative journalism. I bet you keep Anderson Cooper up at night with worry, Ryan.

On stage, Amanda chose You Can’t Do That, Mick Jagger’s old striped pants, and Elvis’s jerky old leg.

She also had about forty pounds of faux follicles hanging off her black and white head (I will say she coordinated her pants and her hair quite nicely.), which might account for her inability to ever stand fully upright – she constantly leaned forward.

I give Amanda this much – she sings with conviction. Unfortunately, I can’t understand a damned word that comes screaming out her mouth. It was an energetic performance. An English performance? No idea. But is sure was spunky.

Randy said she "rocked it out", that he "loved it", and called it "very cool"; Paula said she was "blown away"; Simon said he only "understood about 30%" of what she sang, but also said it is a "good thing" she is here, calling her a "breath of fresh air." Oh, he also basically told Paula to STFU when she kept interrupting him.

Go Simon.

Next up was MYchael Johns, and the only thing I liked about his interview package was the old picture of him as a kid in Australia wearing a Vegemite t-shirt. Ahhh, Men At Work.

Choosing Across The Universe because it once helped him through a family crisis, MYchael took the stage in JEANS, a white t-shirt, and a black blazer.

I kind of liked that I was not familiar with this particular song. It made listening easier, as I wasn’t mentally comparing it, but simply taking in the lyrics and MYchael’s delivery of them.

He sounded great, and like Brooke, it was easy to feel his connection to the song. It meant something to him.

Now, when he got to the line, which absolutely sounded like this: "Jack-a-roo-david", I knew a little Googling was going to be in order.

The actual line is "jai guru deva om". According to my research, and feel free to contradict me if you can back it up, this was a mantra of John's used while meditating. Roughly translated from Sanskrit, it means "Glory to the spiritual master" and has the focusing sound "omm" at the end. (The translation varies according to the level of Sanskrit used for divination.)

Now, don’t you feel enlightened?

Randy said "it was good", but " a little sleepy"; Paula said his "quiet confidence makes you able to stand there and ........................................... ...................... (seriously, it was an uncomfortable pause, like she was thinking, "Wait, what is it we do here again? Oh yeah...) sing."; Simon dissed Carly with "What is the Irish girl’s name?" when talking about MYchael needing to have changed it up like she did on Come Together.

Taking her turn in the spotlight, Kristy Lee Underwood, horses, small town, country girl, blah, blah...

She chose to turn Eight Days A Week into a hoedown and it was the aural equivalent of pasture offerings – pure manure.

Convinced that everything she touches should now be given a country spitshine, Kristy Lee took the stage in JEANS so ripped they must have been caught in a combine, and a spangled silver tank top. The song was hideous, she looked petrified, her movements were stilted. One big road apple.

Randy channeled a little NY Governor Spitzer with the prostitution term "Half and halfer for me"; Paula was actually blunt with "didn’t enjoy it" – man, when Paula can’t choke out some puppies, kittens, or even a butterfly, you’d better go repack your suitcase; Simon was harsh, but honest, calling it "horrendous actually, Dolly Parton on helium."

One more break and finally we returned to Puppy Love once again drawing the money spot (didn’t he just go last a couple weeks ago?). The only thing worth mentioning from his interview package is that his mother got waaaay too much screen time dancing. Yikes.

Coming down the staircase to the tune We Can Work It Out, Puppy was dressed in JEANS, a dark shirt, and a blazer with the collar pulled up in an I’m-an-impressionable-17-year-old-and-the-stylist-did-this-to-me kind of way.

He began to sing, got to the second line, and WHAT???? I backed up. WHAT?!?!?!

Puppy Love Archuleta completely muffed the lyrics. I do not believe, even in their most toejam footballed, joo joo eyeballed of days, that Lennon and McCartney ever wrote the words "na na nuh nyah nuh."

And you could immediately see his composure slip. Something behind his eyes panicked and never recovered. The song moved on, but he wasn’t there, a fact made even more obvious when he slipped in the lyrical puddle yet again.

And oh, how Kendall brought down the hammer. As he tried his best to, "Think of what I’m saying", she declared, "I’m not voting for him this week. He is on probation."

Sorry David. You’re a cutey pie, but my daughters have standards, and while "You can get it wrong and still think that it's all right", they won’t.

Well, at least Kendall won’t. Not when it comes to her Beatles. (Culley still wants to be your prom date. But even she would like you to invest in some Chapstick. The chronic lip licking is getting a little skeevy.)  He'll slide by, no doubt, and in a backwards way, showing he is not animatronic and infalliable will probably help him in the long run.

Randy, obviously trying to save AI’s annointed heir apparent, did not even bring up the lyrical black hole into which he slid, instead just saying he "was not on point this week, dude"; Paula did mention the forgotten words, but only slightly and told him to "never let it show on your face"; Simon straight up called it "a mess", said it was ‘all over the place", and labeled it his "weakest performance so far."

A quick video recap of the performances, and I’m feeling pretty safe in calling a female bottom three of Kristy Lee, Syesha, and Ramiele. Lexus may slide in there in place of Ramiele or Syesha, but I think he’s got enough voters to tide him over another round.

So what was YOUR reaction? Who do you think will be singing Can’t Buy Me Love (Or Votes)? Who is heading to bed in their new apartments tonight praying to the voting gods, Don’t Let Me Down? Who finished tonight Flying and feeling as Free As A Bird? Do you think Puppy Love will be hurt by a performance that was Here, There And Everywhere?

Finally, who else thinks I should just Let It Be and end all these song titles?

Fine. I’m So Tired and in about twenty minutes I’m Only Sleeping.

Justice Is Blind ... Deaf ... And Just Plain DUMB Too

I have never been arrested, but I think it is fairly safe to assume several things about the process...

1.  It is not how you planned to spend that particular moment in time.

I imagine I would rather continue speeding, drinking, shoplifting, robbing, breaking & entering, than being cuffed and "taken in".  Then again, the best laid plans...

2.  Your heart beats faster.

Your sphincters probably clinch pretty hard too.  Especially if it is your first time in da big howse.  (I mean, I know that the few times I have been pulled over for speeding, I could actually feel my blood moving in my veins, and could hear my own hair growing - THAT'S how on fire my entire body was.) 

I imagine that if you are the type of criminal who needs their own revolving door on the jail, then you don't even break a sweat anymore, let alone feel your colon liquify.

3.  Inhabiting a holding cell is not pleasurable.

Come on, we've all seen enough CSI, Law & Order, and Starsky & Hutch to know that the accused inevitably ends up in a cell with hookers, druggies, and some beast named Melvin who wants to make them his new best friend.

And the cell is always stark, bare, stinky, stanky, and roach-ridden.  If there is a bunk, the mattresses are always described in books as stained with urine and God knows what other bodily fluids.

In short - not exactly a night at the Ritz.  More like the Rotz.

Which I imagine is exactly how one Adrianna Torres-Flores, 38, of Springdale, Arkansas would describe her recent experience after being arrested and placed in a holding cell...

WHERE SHE WAS PROMPTLY FORGOTTEN FOR FOUR DAYS.

The story goes...

Adrianna was in court for a plea agreement on March 6, but the judge, William Storey, revoked her bail because she was in the country illegally.

(She was accused of being involved in a bootleg CD and DVD ring in Springdale in December and had been out on bail since her arraignment in December.)

Now, according to the police department: the usual procedure for an out-of-custody defendant who is remanded to the sheriff’s custody requires the court bailiff make notification to sheriff’s office transport personnel.

However, the baliff, who had only been on the job for two weeks, did not follow the procedure and placed her in a holding cell while he went about his other duties - somewhere along the line completely forgetting she was in the cell.

Compounding this bungle was the fact that due to the severe snow they experienced, few employees were in the courthouse Thursday afternoon and Friday, so no one noticed her presence.

And so, there she sat, for four days, with no food, water, toilet, blanket - nothing.

When she was finally discovered Monday, she was immediately transported to the hospital suffering dehydration - she was treated and released.

According to County Judge Jerry Hunton, “You know, it was a very unfortunate situation.”

Ya think, Jer?

Hopefully her case will focus some attention on the need for a fail-safe system of detention.  They are currently investigating and re-evaluating their plans.

In the meantime though?  If you decide to speed through, rob someone, or bogart some fake CDs in Arkansas, you may want to consider packing a few granola bars,a juice box, and a loaf of Charmin.  Your stay may be longer than you thought...