Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Moving Forward, Looking Back

Running to and fro, as is the norm on the weekend...

Kids are scattered to the four winds, soccer games, reffing, etc.  I am home briefly before heading back out, and for no particular reason was thinking back to the very beginning of this blog.

Back before I committed my nights to American Idol.  Back before thousands of you stumbled in here, liked what you found, and decided to stay.  (Don't worry, I like squatters - you're all welcome.)

Back before there was a chat room, before the word "blogmunity" was coined, before I realized just how amazing this little piece of cyberspace would become in its ability to attract such truly incredible folks.

I'll never really understand what prompted me to set it up, at that particular time, and with one particular piece - other than I love to write.  I love to write timely pieces.  I love to write as things are happening - both in my life and out in the world.  (Don't get me wrong - assignment work is great, but I'm an immediate gratification kind of gal.)  And this one particular day just struck me as too funny to not write about.

Anyhoo - here is the one that kicked it all off.  Enjoy.

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It's A Dog's Life

The rings were set, spectators seated on all sides.  Ring officials stood at the ready, prepared to greet the competitors and ensure rules were abided by, as they entered to do battle.  The challengers warmed up in their respective spaces, pacing, jumping, stretching, even shaking out any last minute muscle kinks, some even warily circled one another, sniffing out any weakness.  The call was given and they emerged from their respective corners, creatures of pure animal instinct and rigorous daily training.  With a signal from the "ref", the fight for dominance was on and the fur began to fly...

Man, those Pomeranians are cute.

Sorry to disappoint those who had visions of me ringside for a taping of The Contender or an ear-chewing prize fight in Vegas.  No, what I describe is far more competitive, cut-throat and adrenalin pumping - I attended my first dog show this weekend - a two day, all breed, fur-a-rama. 

It was an education.  And it was, surprisingly, a heck of a lot of fun.

An education, because I learned there exists a whole other subculture of wack jobs in this world, and fun because, well, I just love making fun of a good wack job.

OK, fine - not all of the owners were militant, tunnel visioned, anal, canine french kissers.  Some of them were fairly normal, tunnel visioned, canine french kissers.  As it turns out, there is a breed standard for owners too.

But I digress...

I was on hand for the event because my sister (of the latter wack job description), had driven in to compete with her female Keeshond. 

A Keeshond, for the uneducated, can best be visualized by imagining a Pomeranian who has had an airtube stuck up its ass and inflated to Macy's balloon proportions - it's a gorgeous, furry, amiable breed. (She actually owns two - but the male was not competing as he has already achieved Champion status - a feat for which he was amply rewarded by having his balls removed.)

We arrived on Day One, two hours ahead of her show time.  To look at the other dogs?  Enjoy the myriad booths?  Nooooooo, to groom that dog to within an inch of her life. 

And we were not alone. 

As this particular show numbered over 2,600 dogs, we entered into what was nothing short of football field sized "beauty parlor" for pooches.  Portable tables, extension cords, blow dryers, brushes, combs and styling products shared space with, well, 2,600 dog crates and their owners.  It looked, and actually sounded, like an American Idol audition turn-out.  Lots of fold out chairs, duffel bags and howling.

Let me just say that if you have ever contemplated attending a dog show, and have even the slightest of allergies - turn back.  When I say the fur is flying, I mean just that.  Strands, pieces, hunks, gobs, balls and knots float through the air and litter the floor.  A nasally challenged person would quickly be reduced to strands, pieces, hunks, gobs, balls and knots of congested snot.

The grooming process is actually fascinating - I have a dog - and I brush her regularly.  She looks good.  But to stand her next to a groomed show dog is to put an Amish woman next to Pamela Anderson.

It's not enough to brush them well.  There are breed standards for color, coat, legs, noses, eyes, toenails, etc.  My sister set up an arsenal that included mist, hair cream, chalk, two kinds of brushes, an insanely expensive metal comb, and a blower that I believe her husband made out of an old Concorde jet engine.

I watched as she and the hundreds who surrounded us at Furapalooza, rubbed, puffed, blew, moisturized and teased their dogs coats.  I saw gigantic breeds that could easily run in the Kentucky Derby patiently enduring hot oil treatments, Lhasa Apsos whose immaculate curtains of fur would soon double as arena floor mops and those tall poodles that resemble topiary trees - I get the shrubs around the feet and head, but what's with the twin bushes on the ass?

And I then caught sight of what I was informed is a common form of enhancement (I call it cheating): An owner applying MAKE-UP to enhance her dogs eyes and another using a Sharpie marker to fill in a spot on his dog's nose.

It was then that the elephant flew through the room and I officially "done seen about everything".

As I assisted my sister (assistered?) with the canine coiffeuring, my family walked around, eager to take in the plethora of pooches, large and small.  They returned with their tails between their legs after they had the audacity to stop, compliment an owner on her dog and - GASP!- LOOK AT THE DOG!  The bitch - I am using a completely unfoul term in the dog world - barked at them, "Don't look at her!  You'll intimidate the dog!"

Wack job, table for one, please.

With our dog resembling a furry porcupine, we set off to our assigned ring to wait for our "heat" - I love all these dog words. 

In the waiting area, same breed dog owners rarely speak to one another.  Friends they are not - they are combatants. They are also too busy getting eyeball whiplash by trying to surrepitously look at the other dogs they are up against.  The lack of talking could also owe to the fact they all sport doggy bait - chicken, liver, steak - in their chaw like wads of tobacco.  Forget pockets, getting your dog's attention with spit marinated meat is de riguer.  It is also de gross. 

In the ring, the dogs and owners run in circles and lines, pose, and get felt up by the judges - the dogs, not the owners.  After assessing gait, stacking (how they stand), overall build and bite, the winner with the poofiest fur is awarded a blue ribbon and the opportunity to compete again in several minutes against the other first place Don Kings in your breed. 

But weep not for the second place finishers.  All bridesmaids get their moment in the sun too.  The also rans enter and compete for Reserve Winner - an inflated title for First Second Place.  This is more important that it sounds for if the winner cannot fulfill the doodies of his/her crown, the Reserve Winner will step in as Mr. or Miss America.

We did win First Second Place on day one, and being the competitive, Type A bitch (again, unfoul dog term) I am, I was bent on doing better the second day.  Being infamous for my ability to volumize three strands of hair into a flowing mane on a human head, I asked for permission to give it a try on my sister's dog.

After 30 minutes with Extreme Volume Mousse, Root Lifting gel and a normal blow dryer, that dog's fur stood straight out from it's body and she looked like she had gained 10 pounds overnight.  Entering the waiting area on day two, I reveled in the nervous glances of the dog owner who had beat us for first place yesterday.  I believe her dog even felt inferior, as it began to stare at the floor.

Call me Jose Eber, we won first place.

I don't know that I will actively seek out anymore dog shows in the near future, after all, I did have a vested interest in this one, and never intend to turn my own dog into a canine Jon Benet, but, I now have a better appreciation for my sister's efforts with her two dogs.

And a better understanding of just what a wack job I'm related to.

Best of Show, sis.  Collect your ribbon and bag of dog food at the center booth.

Licensed To Ill (<-- that says ill, even though it looks like the Roman Numeral for 3)

I swear, it makes me sick how much of a person's private information can be accessed with just a few well chosen mouseclicks.

Well, add to worrying about your social security info, phone number, and Google Map of your home, the fact that your driver's license can apparently be pulled up by any Tom, Dickhead, or Harry.

It's as simple as plugging in a person's name, state, and town, and VOILA.  I put mine in, and literally felt punched in the gut as it searched and then produced my actual driver's license.

It shouldn't be THAT easy to see how sh*tty my photo is.

All kidding aside, I recommend giving yours a search.  If it comes up, there are a couple quick steps you can take at the site to request it be removed and made private.  (Pardon me, but shouldn't it be PRIVATE to begin with?)

Thank you to Valerie for bringing this to my attention.  As if we don't have enough to worry about...

http://www.License.shorturl.com

Dying To Get In

As if life isn't difficult enough to just get through...

Living in civilized society means we have to navigate the plethora of laws, statutes, guidelines, rules, and mandates instituted with an eye to keeping us all in line.

We can't drive drunk.  We can't smack another person upside the head - no matter how badly they need their asshat repositioned - without having to answer for our philanthrophic gesture in a court of law.  We can't steal.  We can't paint our homes purple plaid without the permission of the HOA.  We can't cop a feel - regardless of how much I know George Clooney wouldn't mind.  We can't make sweet, sweet love to dead deer, live horses, or that tease of a picnic table on the back porch without being hauled off to jail with our pants around our ankles.

We can't lie (well, we're not supposed to lie), cheat, burn trash in the backyard, sunbathe nude in the front yard, take a power tool on an airplane, bar-b-que the neighbor's poodle (don't roll your eyes, it happens), we can't jaywalk, cross against the light, drive without a seatbelt (although I'm still waiting for the answer as to why it is perfectly fine for children to ride a schoolbus twice a day without one), we can't use the speed limit signs as "guidelines" only, and we can't stuff every child molester into a bag full of snakes and a mountain lion without having to answer for our cruelty.

From the day we are born to the day we become daisy fertilizer, our every move is governed.

But for some folks, even death - something you would think you can't get too wrong - has now become an endeavor likely to get you into trouble.

Seriously, if you plan on taking your last breath anytime soon, don't do it in the picturesque village of Sarpourenx in France.

In an ordinance posted in the town council office, folks in this peaceful little hamlet have been warned, "all persons not having a plot in the cemetery and wishing to be buried in Sarpourenx are forbidden from dying in the parish."

The kicker?

"Offenders will be severely punished."

Um...how?

I'd truly like to know how one "severely" punishes someone for having the gall to die in the wrong place?  It seems all bets are off once you take your last breath. 

Quite frankly, once I'm done using this fleshy carrying case, I don't much think I'd mind if you beat it, put it in jail, strap it to a jet engine and fly it 'round the world in 80 days, drag it through a sewage treatment plant, give it the amorous dead deer treatment, stuff it (in the taxidermatological sense, not the dead deer sense), put it on a slow boat to China, or melonball my eyes out and plant tulips in my skull.

Just call me Bernie and do with me what you will, because the beauty of DEAD is that you no longer CARE. 

I won't be any more concerned with the disposal of my carcass than I will be about the cellulite hanging off the backside of it.

But back to the poor folks of Sarpourenx...

The reason for the mortuary moratorium is that the town cemetary is full, and plans for an expansion were shot down by the administrative court in the nearby town of Pau.  Back in January, they ruled that the acquisition of private land to extend the cemetery would not be justified.

So for now at least, getting a seat in the cemetary is about as hot a ticket as getting one to a Hannah Montana concert.

I'm dead serious.

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Just curious... What instructions have you given loved ones in terms of disposing of your mortal remains?  Do you have a plot (and NO you smartasses, I don't mean a storyline... yes, Linda, I want to be dressed up as Puck from a Mid Summer's Night Dream, have a stick shoved up my mid body's tight hole, and made to dance like a fairy among the trees in Yellowstone...then I want my festooned body bathed by wood nymphs (please remove the splinters) before being place lovingly in my coffin and serenaded with She's A Brick House, sung by Leonard Nimoy.)   

   

Doubly Legal

Good morning, all!

Well, as my dear friend and writing buddy, Shana, let out of the bag yesterday, I am a year older today.

I am doubly legal - and will leave it to you to decode, decipher, and do the math on what that means.

Thank you to everyone who has sent e-cards, emails, and left comments here at the blog.  A truly nice way to start my day!

As I told Lori in TX this morning, today is kind of a "mixed bag" as far as birthdays go.  This morning I head to the dentist for a root canal (I know - don't even get me started....), the only bright side being that I am treating myself to a heaping helping of nitrous and plan to float away for a while.

But my afternoon will take a turn for the better, as Rudy is coming home!  I know I didn't count it down this time - but between just figuring out when he was going to come home about two weeks ago, and those two weeks being filled with all my health crap (quite literally), I just counted it down with him on the phone.

So don't worry that I'm MIA this morning - I'll think of you all as I float through some groovy-technicolor-spiraling-animals-talking-and-singing-Brady-Bunch musical while I'm in the dentist's chair.  "When it's time to change, it's time to feel no pain!"  Sing with me, people!

   

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, April 2: Do I Ever Cross Your Mind? Yes, Ramiele, Just Not Our Telephones

Well, it goes without saying that the news du jour had little to do with last night’s performances (perboremances?), and everything to do with front runner David C being taken to the hospital after the show.

Thankfully it came down to a case of high blood pressure and heart palpitations – he was treated and released.

Unfortunately, it also revealed that David’s condition appears to be stress related – speculation is that the competition (word is circulating that he has so much anxiety throughout the entire season, that during one of the early shows, David broke down and said he couldn't perform that night, pulling it together only at the last minute), and his brother, who in his fight with cancer apparently suffered a setback earlier this week, brought it on.

This morning, on his radio show, Ryan told listeners, "I don't know what he was stressed about. He said yesterday that his blood pressure was high and he wanted to get checked out after the show."

Couple this news of his brother with the sad passing of Elliott Yamin’s mother over the weekend, and AI contestants past and present have more on their plates than meets the enviable eye.

I mean, I damn near pooped myself into the hospital last week from a treatable infection, and I know how hard it was for my husband to be working thousands of miles away and feeling helpless to, well, help. I cannot imagine trying to focus on a life changing competition while being emotionally hamstrung by a loved one’s fight for their life.

I give David C props – he has never come across as anything but calm and cool under pressure – and I know you join me in sending out good thoughts for his brother and family.

Now, how’s about injecting a little Hee in this Hawibly depressing downer of an intro? Onto the results...

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Wow, what a difference a couple minutes makes.

You set the TIVO, you count on everything to start when it says it’s going to start, and Boom – you come home from soccer training to find that they opened the show early and you missed all the riveting moments...

You know, Ryan’s somber tone. Ryan’s head imploding. Ryan reminding us that T.I.A.I. The judges. And the intro to MY favorite part of the results show – THE GROUP SONG.

(I’m sorry, here, have a Kleenex to wipe my sarcasm off your monitor. That was messy...)

I got home, backed up the magic box, and was greeted with Rami and Puppy singing their portions of 9 to 5. Rami looked like she had just arrived via Back To The Future’s DeLorean, from a NKOTB concert – a long t-shirt, vest, leggings, boots. Puppy had just come from church again (but given the revival meetin’ into which tonight would quickly warp, it was wholly appropriate.)

MYchael came up to center stage for his lines, one of which was "Would der sal ba promotion." Talk about a mouth full of marbles as his mental train slid right off the lyrical tracks.

I then laughed as Puppy tried desperately to bad ass it up on his lines, and Dreads attempted the shit kicker’s stomp.

Moving on... right through the video of last night’s efforts. I still maintain Simon was way too hard on Carly – hers was the only snippet I slowed down to view.

With the Safety Sofas empty, and the Stools of Suckage gleaming, Ryan called MYchael out first. No big surprise – SAFE.

Next out Puppy, who may as well have just kept walking right past Ryan to the couch – there’s no way he is in danger for at least four more weeks, and only then if he farts during a love song, grabs his crotch, and pops a zit on stage.

And can someone tell me why, when little David dresses like an alter boy, his father always looks like Larry the Cable Guy’s drinking buddy? I’m just asking.

Carly was then called out, and for once, I actually cared about her continuing on – she is SAFE.

As for the others? Who cares? It was time for everyone’s favorite colossal waste of minutes – RANDOM FANDOM! Woo Hoo! Tonight’s callers were:

Haley, 13, from Michigan asking Syesha the probing question of what does she miss the most about home? What’s that Syesha? Your family? Whoa. Deep. Look out Anderson Cooper – Haley from Michigan is after your job.

Next was Robert, another thirtweenie, from New Jersey, asking David Cook, if he could have another talent besides this singing thing, what would it be? Not understanding how to play this game and give an answer like, "doctor", "lawyer", "raw sewage worker" – David said he would just like to be more organized.

(Wait. I guess having to do THE GROUP SONG, VOMMERCIAL, and answer these questions qualifies him for that last job I mentioned...)

Bill, 26, from LA posed his question to Randy, who I see was taking a literal interpretation of that recent Pirates of the Caribbean movie by turning his torso into a Dead Man’s Chest – covered with skulls. Bill wanted to know, since Randy has obviously worked with everyone, who would he like to work with next?

Ever the dipshitlomat, Randy said, "An Idol contestant?" "A boy or a girl?"

Kyle, 17, asked MYchael and David C if there is any song they would like to sing on the Idols tour this summer. They actually yukked it up, "Yeah, we have talked about Islands in the Stream," answered MYchael. "Yep, I’ll do the Dolly part," added David.

Finally Mary, 52, of California asked Simon why he feels the need to apologize after giving a negative critique?

Simon liked Mary and promised to never apologize again. (Hint, Mary: When Simon says "I’m sorry" to the booing crowd, that is code for "you all have poo for brains, zero taste, and can kiss my English arse.")

Instead of moving on to more results, Ryan then intro’d the winners of The Next Great American Band – The Clark Brothers – a trio headed up by Dave Foley. I thought he was stuck in Vegas calling celebrity poker games?  My bad.

Singing that childhood gospel fave, This Little Light of Mine – the angry Metallicountry version – seriously, I thought they were all pissed that their lights were so little and were holding Jesus personally responsible – Dave wailed while his brothers, Rooster Tic Clark played the guitar/washboard (washtar?), and Stand With Legs In Two Different Counties played the violin/fiddle? Viodle?

Hell, I don’t know. I just wanted Jesus to take the wheel and run them off the stage. Where’s Carrie Underwood when you need her?

This segued right into the Ford Vommerical of the week, set to the tune, It’s Tricky (better known by my children as the song beaten to death in the background of the SSX Tricky snowboarding video game).

This Vommer featured the kids taking on five shirtless basketball studs, challenging them to a game of pick-me-up. Syesha, MYchael, David C, and Dreads got game. Puppy got whistle – he was the ref. The rest just jumped about and cheered.

I want to know, right now, who out there has ever been so motivated by these cheap, shameless sellings of the kids’ souls that they rush out the next day and buy one of these vehicles? Hello? Anyone? (insert sound of crickets chirping)

Back to some actual results, David C came out on stage (did anyone else think the kids all walked like they were on The Green Mile ... or had cement Reeboks on their feet?). Of course, AI being the address-all-controversy-immediately show it is, Ryan asked David about the whole hospital scare. "Blown out of proportion" was his response. Yes, he has high blood pressure, it was treated, move on... to safety – hit the couches, David.

Ramiele then came out, and to no one’s surprise, was asked to take a stool (in the non-lavatorical sense of the word, of course.)

Kristy Lee Crook (now so named for stealing worthier contestants’ spots each week) walked out and immediately flashed her "Kristy’s Seat" sign. Good. Use it and go grab some stool with your smartass.

Ryan asked Paula – dressed as a jack-o-lantern with the entire face cut out to better show off her Great Pumpkins – what she thought of them being two of the bottom three. Of course, she offered the incredible insight that they both had a good night last night. Thank you, Socrates.

Another break and somehow we had more filler to endure (this show felt like three hours tonight) – this time catching up with the past Idols who now make their bread and fre$hly churned butter in Nashville:

Bucky- Pantene-Locks-Covington who has an album out; Phil-What’s-Pantene?-Stacey - still bald, still in love with his wife and adorable daughters, who has his album coming out April 29; And V-Bo-5-Bice, his hair lovely as ever, happily recuperated from his 60 day stint in the hospital to fix his inner plumbing, now head of his own label, and making the southern rock music he loves. He has an mop topped cherub as well.

Nice to see them all doing so well – and keeping those split ends at bay.

Syesha was out next to see Ryan – snooze, bore, Duh – SAFE.

That left Brooke and Jason to come out together. Brooke then got Simon to pony up some apologies, quite a few actually. The Sorries flowed – to Carly, to Brooke, to the violin player who took it up the yang last night, to the audience. Finally he turned to Paula, gestured, and you just know that "Sorry" had a whole ‘nother meaning.

As it was, Brooke finally bored America enough to send her to the final stool. That makes Rami, Kristy, and Brooke – and me three for three this time.

Simon’s thoughts on America’s choices? "Absolutely right."

Thank you, Simon.  To borrow from Stephen Colbert's book cover, I Am America, And So Can You.  And we Americans like being right.

Another break and Ryan welcomed us by pimping next week’s Idol Gives Back telethon. This week’s video was truly heartbreaking – footage of abandoned and orphaned children in the Ethiopian streets. With "violence, starvation, and abduction" their three constant companions, I just wanted to reach through my screen and pick up every single one of them.

Watching them sleep on the streets, forage for food – well, you all know how I feel about children, and nothing pisses me off about this world of ours more than the fact that we don’t take care of so very many of them. We spend our adult time fighting wars over land, oil, ideals, ideas; immersing ourselves in getting more and more and more – a bigger big screen, the latest cell phone, reservations at the hottest restaurant – and all the while children are ignored, at risk, left hungry, helpless, hopeless.

The story of the two sisters living on the streets – children no older than my two youngest – who were separated and then somehow miraculously found one another again brought me to tears. It is just too easy to imagine my own daughters.

OK, I’ll put my soapbox away – until next week.

Lifting everyone’s spirits back up again was the introduction of Dolly Parton singing Jesus and Gravity – a tune about the former raising you up, the latter keeping you grounded.

Oh, how she shined, or sparkled actually – there were an awful lot of crystals, sequins, rhinestones, and glitter on that Hooker Bride in Branson ensemble she sported. All white satin, capri pants, heels, a tightly fitted bodice with puffy sleeves, and a train – her hair swirled like a big blond Cinnabon on her head. Only Dolly could pull off a look like this.

I loved it all – the outfit, the story, the way she sang TO, not AT the audience. She’s a natural born performer, completely at ease – and she sounded great backed up by the Idol Tabernacle Choir

She ended with a big, "Hallelujah, Simon!" and Ryan cracked a predictable joke. Dolly just responded that "I’ve got Jesus, you’ve got Simon," to which he answered, "I got the short end of the stick."

You wish, Ryan.

One more break and the girls were huddled back on stage – Rami flanked by Brooke and Kristy, looking like an Oompah Loompah standing in a forest of big bosomed, blond trees.

Randy predicted it would be Rami, Simon said it wouldn’t be Brooke. She then put it all in perspective, reminding us about the African video, Jesus, Dolly – good for Brooke.

So good, in fact, that she got sent back to safety, but only after intense hugs with her roommates and lots more tears.

Ryan did the last cut quickly – Kristy Lee Crook was again SAFE, which sent Rami directly into her bosom. Seriously, I briefly feared she would suffocate. They played Rami’s journey and when it ended, all the girls were gathered round for support as Ryan gave the cue to "Sing, circus monkey, sing!"

She started through tears, but managed to pull herself together and sang stronger as she delivered that line from last night – the one now so terribly prescient, "Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?"

Sadly for Rami, not enough.

So, is everyone in agreement with the cut, or would you rather have seen KLC hit the bricks tonight? Don’t worry, we’ll get it right soon - The Website Which Shall Be Nameless can’t keep her in forever. She may be bad, but face it, she’s no Sanjaya Malakar.

Now, who would have ever thought that would be an insult?

Wal-Heart?

Could it be true?

Does the big, bad box store, the beast who stomps into small towns consuming every Mom and Pop business in its gaping maw, the store where no one smiles, but everyone shops - actually have a heart?

According to this morning's news reports, Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus in Arkansas.  In Bentonville, to be exact, at the headquarters of Wal-Mart.

As was widely reported roughly a week ago, a former employee of the mega retailer, Debbie Shank, now 52, had been in a serious collision with a semi-truck eight years ago.  Short-term memory loss and confinement to a wheelchair followed.  Debbie resides in a nursing home.

Prior to the life altering accident, Debbie had been an employee of Wal-Mart, and she had signed up for their health and benefits plan.

Obviously, a wise choice.  No one can predict when a medical crisis will arise, much less when a tractor trailer will run over life as you know it.

Her decision translated to roughly $470,000 in healthcare costs covered by the plan. 

As the benefits plan helped Debbie with her medical bills, she and Jim, her husband, sued the trucking company and were awarded one million dollars.  After legal fees and costs, they net $417,000.  As per his obligation, and following all the guidelines, their attorney did notify Wal-Mart of the settlement.

For three years, nothing happened.  Not a peep. (not even a jelly bean)

Then suddenly, the powers-that-be must have woken up and decided that $90 billion in sales wasn't enough for the bottom line of the company.

Cue the legal eagles of Wal-Mart to come swooping in for the kill.

Wal-Mart wanted its money back and sued to get it.

OK, I know the legalese is all there to support their seeking reimbursement if an injured employee is compensated in court for their losses - medical and otherwise - but give me a break.

These people have been through an absolute hell, one compounded almost daily as Debbie - again, she suffers almost total loss of her short term memory - asks about her son, only to be reminded he died while fighting in Iraq.

If you've seen the movie, it's 28 Dates, but without the happy-sappy ending.  Rather Debbie gets a cruel, heart wrenching, soul ripper every day - the pain refreshed each time she hears the news for the "first time".

Wal-Mart was backed up by the court system, but was told they could only recoup what the family had left in the trust that had been established for Debbie's care.

Nice, huh?  Debbie's still very much alive, and obviously needs every damned dime in that trust for on-going care, but who gives a rip about niggly details like that when the Bentonville Mafia wants something?  Capisce?

The Shanks appealed twice, and lost - twice.

Jim, who actually took the step of divorcing his wife because it would increase her Medicaid benefits, begged them to make an exception.  It's not like they were using the money for Hawaiian vacations and Lamborghinis.

Wal-Mart spokesman John Simley, calling Debbie Shank's case "unbelievably sad," replied in a statement: "Wal-Mart's plan is bound by very specific rules. ... We wish it could be more flexible in Mrs. Shank's case since her circumstances are clearly extraordinary, but this is done out of fairness to all associates who contribute to, and benefit from, the plan."

Again, I more than "get" the legal angle.  It's all there in black and white.  The problem is that the people who are actually involved are flesh and blood.

Now, obviously, public condemnation has been pretty sweeping.  And while Wal-Mart couldn't care less about employees bitching about unfair labor practices, wage discrimination based on sex, and unpaid overtime - they obviously do know when they are looking like incredibly insensitive asshats.

Seriously, I don't care how much fake wood flooring they install in my Wal-Mart, or how hard they try to reconfigure the clothing racks, I am happy to spend an extra quarter to buy my toilet paper at the Target down the road, Jim.

Well, lo and behold, late Tuesday, Wal-Mart Executive Vice President Pat Curran said in a letter,  "Occasionally, others help us step back and look at a situation in a different way. This is one of those times.  We have all been moved by Ms. Shank's extraordinary situation."

Pardon me if I don't get all verklempt here, Pat.  Wal-Mart has more than proven in the past that it has all the emotional flexibility of a Trisket.  The only "situation" anyone believes you "looked at differently" was the PR nightmare unfolding before you.

I'm thrilled for the Shanks.  Their lives have been torn asunder to such a degree, they deserve nothing but peace the rest of their days.

As for me?  I'll be back in a bit.  We're out of paper towels, milk, and trash bags.

See you at Target.

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, April 1: Dolly Parton, Haloes & Horns: Who Soared, Who Bored, Who Got Gored?

Ryan Seacrest opened tonight’s show with the stunning announcement that, "You know, we've talked about it, we've listened to everything you viewers have had to say - taken all your concerns and criticisms to heart - and, well, it's pretty damned obvious that Paula Abdul is a certified cashew. To that end, we have committed her to the Bellevue Home for the Sartorially, Follicularly, and Articulately Compromised, and have replaced her with someone who will bring sanity, reason, and coherence to the middle judge's seat. Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome Courtney Love."

He then added that he and Simon have finally declared their undying love for one another and the sport of mud wrestling, and have decided to combine the two.

Coming this summer, only on FOX, Dirty Love...

OK, fine, that wasn’t the April Fool’s he used, but based on the amount of emails I received today from folks who enjoyed my Courtney Love blurb, I’d say his uber dramatic announcement about "industrial action" (does that mean BIG, like the industrial sized cans of baked beans you can buy at Costco?) on the part of the "League of American Vocal Coaches" (do they have a Hall of Justice like the Wonder Twins and Aquaman?) pre-empting the show, fell a tad flat.

Although getting Simon in a Moment of Truth chair might be fun.

Simon, for ONE MILION DOLLARS, answer this question: Have you ever entertained the thought – even for the briefest of moments - of disemboweling Paula Abdul with a Garden Weasel?

Now THAT would be good TV.

As it is, we’ll have to settle for Dolly Parton mentoring the kids tonight, and quite frankly? That’s not bad TV either...

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With only one hour, hellos to the judges were minimal – Randy, still working the latest from the Carlton-Fresh-Prince-of-Bel-Air Prep Collection in a snazzy sweater with a bright yellow V neck; Paula There-Is-A-Rose-In-Spanish-Whorlem Abdul in a sleeveless silky floral number with a large flower highlighting her "garden"; Simon doesn’t give a tinker’s damn, and wore one of what I suspect is at least fifty black sweaters. No flakes though – he must be a Head and Shoulders man...

Ryan then rolled the video package on Dolly Parton, a true "pop culture icon" who has been entertaining since the age of 6. With 25 #1 hits, over 100,000,000 albums sold worldwide, and over 3,000 songs written, I have to admit, I am a fan.

Every time I watch her in 9 to 5, opposite Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda, I come away thinking she truly stole the movie away from the "real" actresses.

I love her talent, her sense of self, her self deprecating nature, her razor sharp wit, her big boobs, her tiny waist, and would love to take a tour of her wig room. I’m sure I would need to pack a lunch.

Her ability to continue to kick out quality tunes is a credit to her talent, but she is also an incredibly savvy businesswoman, and one only needs to look as far as her recurring role on the insanely popular tweenfest, Hannah Montana, to know she knows how to stay relevant.

Watching her meet the kids was great. She bopped in wearing a tunic of liquid foil, black leggings, and high heeled boots, her wig ‘o the day – a full shag. And the kids were tickled. Contestants in seasons past may have had no clue who Tony Bennett was, or may have been completely unfamiliar with the work of Barry Manilow, but they all beamed at Dolly.

And yes, before anyone mentions it – the woman has had some work done. But whoever her surgeon is? Keep him/her, Dolly. They are doing it gradually, nothing too tight, nothing too Joan-Rivers-Ears-Meet-In-The-Back-Of-Her-Head. The lips are maybe a tad overstuffed, but other than that? More power to her.

Backwoods Barbie she is, and dammit, she’s proud of it.

First up to tackle her songbook, Brooke White and the classic Jolene, a song of angst, fear, and flat out begging for someone to not bag your babe.

Dolly said Brooke has a "sweet, warm way about her" – she does. But for me, it’s like maple syrup. On my skin. Not good.

Borrowing Kat McPhee’s stranded traveler banging on his suitcase at the Delta counter in Dulles, Brooke sat on a stool with her guitar. What I never like about this set-up is her posture – she looks like the Hunchback of Notre Lame – sit up straight, Brooke.

She looked her usual simple, lovely self in a plain navy blouse, brown pinstripe pants, her hair curly and softly pulled off her face.

Her singing was fine, although she seemed a little out of breath in spots, and she looked to be channeling Elvis Presley through her lip the entire song. That was the most memorable part for me, and going first, not quite enough for me to remember her by.

Randy said "this kind of music can suit your voice", but that it was not a "stellar performance" because of "pitch problems". In the end he said it was "ai’ight"; Paula complimented her on being "consistent", then the power grid in Paula’s cerebrum short circuited, "you are ... who ... you are" "YOU ... ARE ... zap, crackle, smoke, ssssssssss ... BROOKE ... WHITE ... pop, shftttt ... an ... excellent bzzzzzzz ... and wonderful ... crackle ... performer."

I swear there was actual smoke coming out of her ears.

Simon just summed it up with "not one of your best performances."

Coming back from the break, Ryan sat with David Cook on the Let’s Clear Up Controversy Stools – seriously, it seems if anyone questions anything, like David’s "original, yet not so original" cover of a cover of a cover of Billie Jean last week, we are sure to see them "bravely" tackle it on air.

As it was, David Cook couldn’t have cared less, freely admitting he goes Googling and You Tubing for arrangements, and give all credit to the artists he covers.

Riveting TV, AI.

Rehearsing Little Sparrow for Dolly, she summed up her assessment with, "His voice is perfect."

Wearing an untucked white shirt and JEANS, carrying his trusty guitar, David looked at ease, and finally, FINALLY we got to see some forehead. Someone got him to trim that dead muskrat that had been living across his pate. He looked so much better.

As for the song? I may have hated the Blackbird singing in the dead of night a couple week’s back when Carly refused to let it sleep, but I loved his performance. From the slow, controlled beginning, through the falsetto, to the last note – he was compelling – I wanted to watch. And I was so glad, even when he opened up a bit, that they didn’t bring out a KISS style light show. He didn’t need it. Nicely done.

Randy called it "very cool" and that he again delivered "another hot one"; Paula opened with "I LOVE YOUR HAIRCUT!" and complimented him on choosing such a different song that shows how "well rounded" he is; Simon was right-on with "if you can make a song about sparrows good, which actually you did – Congratulations."

Next up, Ramiele, who admitted to being starstruck in Dolly’s presence. Dolly loved her, saying "she’s got the spunk and personality" to handle the song, Do I Ever Cross Your Mind.

Standing on stage, all that crossed my mind was that Rami was wearing soup cans on her feet.

Shiny silver soup cans, and a black jumper with a white shirt. Whoever convinced David to cut his hair, now needs to convince Rami to stop shopping in Toddlers R Us.

Listening to her, all I came away with again is frustration. I want to like her. I know she houses a double wide voice in that broom closet body, but she keeps holding it in. There was nothing to get excited about, no big notes, no true connection, and she sounded like she faltered in spots.

Randy said he "wasn’t jumping up and down, but I wasn’t mad at you either" and gave it a six and a half out of ten; Paula babbled that it was a "great minute and thirty seconds and you were having fun"; Simon took a bite with, "We’re not going to remember this in ten years time." (In all fairness, if I still remember David Cook singing about little birds a decade from now, well, to quote Drew Barrymore in Fever Pitch, "I would think my life went terribly wrong.")

AFTER. THE. BREAK Dreads got his time waster spot in the Chat Chairs, this time to receive some postcards – oooo! – a whole handful from the same person! I swear, this show has more "riveting" moments than the Titanic did, and it’s still sinking...

Jason spent time with Dolly working on Travellin’ Through, her saying he "went a little outside himself" and that he’s "kind of funky looking". (Methinks Dolly wasn’t digging the dreads.)

On stage Jason was dressed in his usual uniform of JEANS, this week with a brown top, and boots the size of shovels – seriously, I could have dug a tree out of the ground with one of his feet tonight.  And his hair - oh that hair - looking like "dread"ful neon seaweed in the glow of the Kermit the Frog spotlights.

I was not familiar with the song, but like all his other efforts, he sang it well – sweetly, softly, nothing to set the world on fire, nothing that compels me to pick up a phone on his behalf.

Randy said he "started a little rough, but by the middle you picked it up – you worked it out"; Paula called it one of his "strongest performances" and that his voice was "so strong, rich, like a freshly brewed cup of Folgers ... I loved it" (ok, ok, I added that last part); Simon was unimpressed, saying, "I didn’t like that at all. This kind of music doesn’t suit you."

Carly decided to take on one of Dolly’s best known hits, Here You Come Again (just heard this two days ago – gotta love all the channels on Sirius Radio), and Dolly stated it was "a good choice on her part - she killed it" in rehearsals.

Taking the stage in a black sleeveless top, painted on red leggings, and black boots, Carly looked – well, I actually thought she looked pretty incredible. Her hair was sleek, her make-up smoky, and this is a woman who embraces the fact that she is not a Size 00. She is not plump by any means, but she is certainly not modeling fashions on an Italian catwalk anytime soon. She is comfortable with her body, and it shows.

As for the song? LOVED IT. Dolly’s version of the dammit-won’t-you-go-away-and-stay-away-I-still-love-you song was almost peppy, whimsical. Carly slowed it down and it suddenly it was filled with all the real emotion ever experienced by someone who thought they had gotten over a beau only to find that their emotions Punkd them every time that person came near.

Her voice was full and her final notes soared.

Randy said "I do believe that will probably be one of the better performances of the night"; Paula called it "glorious" and declared Carly to be "such an amazing talent" ending with "OH MY GOD!"; Simon? Good lord, did he sit on a Garden Weasel tonight? He called it "good not great" then stated she needs to "have a word with whoever is dressing you" – OUCH – adding "not to be rude" (you just were) and "at this stage you need to start looking like a star."

Look, I’m with Rudy's comment from last week about missing the fashion, hair, and make-up transformations the majority of past contestants underwent – I miss seeing the duckling go swan – and while 90% of this season’s kids came prepackaged with loveliness and a clear sense of style, Carly Smithson IS transforming. I man, when was the last time we saw the yellow eyelids and blue tongue?

Another break brought us back to Ryan in the crowd pimping iTunes – just curious, how many of you have actually gone and downloaded video performances or the full length sung versions of the songs? I would imagine David C leads the pack of most downloaded?

Up next was Puppy Love working with Dolly on Smokey Mountain Memories. She said "I could feel he was so into it. He has the voice to really become a great singer."

Dressed for Sunday service in his best brown argyle sweater and brown blazer, Puppy looked sweet and innocent. Are they ever going to peel him out of the jackets and get him to dress like a 17 year old boy?

Hmmm, I guess that’s like asking if Brooke is ever going to bust out any cleavage or leg. Never mind.

I will say, after several shaky weeks, he finally nailed one. You could tell he definitely felt the lyrics, and NO, not just because of the mentions of Jesus and God. He enjoyed what he was singing, and that makes a huge difference.

And judging by the shot of his dad, K-Fed Archuleta (take off the damned hat), he was pleased too. There shall be no beatings tonight. Little Puppy may even get to sleep with a blanket AND a pillow.

Randy decided that "THAT was the best performance of the night"; Paula garbled out, "there’s a beautiful aura about you" (psst, Paula, those colors? That’s the Oxycontin kicking in); Simon summed it up with "Absolutely on the money."

Kristy Lee Cook was tickled to pieces to meet Dolly, and I imagine she was a little happy about the country tinged theme of the night as well. No more bastardizing Beatles tunes by covering them with a heaping of twang and a side order of manure – this is real country singing.

And Kristy chose another of Dolly’s most personal, and FAMOUS tunes, Coat of Many Colors. Dolly said "she took it and made it her own." (Drinking from the Abdool-aid, are we, Dolly?)

Sitting on the edge of the stage, Kristy was wearing a long dress of many colors, in fact, it looked like the stylists had skinned a herd of peacocks. She looked pretty with her hair softly pulled back, earrings of gold and Tiddly Winks hanging from her lobes.

She did not sound bad, and I actually think this was her best showing to date. But she still seems hesitant, scared. It causes a huge disconnect. The sad fact is that there’s just nothing about her that should keep Carrie Underwood up at night.

Randy left it with "country music is definitely your wheelhouse" (I guess that’s better than outhouse?); Paula led with, "you look stunning" and finished with "best performance of yours yet"; Simon called it "pleasant, but forgettable"

As soon as Ryan gave her phone numbers out, Kristy looked at Simon and sarcastically said, "Thank you Simon, love you."

Someone smack her. Every bit of goodwill I was holding onto for her evaporated in that moment. Seriously, get a riding crop and smack her like Seabiscuit.

Syesha got her turn at bat next, rehearsing I Will Always Love You, a song the majority of the public still doesn’t know was Dolly long before Whitney came along. Dolly sang it in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas to Burt Reynolds, Whitney blew the doors off singing it in The Bodyguard with Kevin Costner.

Syesha is neither Dolly, nor Whitney, but dressed in a canary yellow dress with a red accent at the waist, she did set herself apart on AI. Syesha Mercado is the first American Idol contestant to sing atop a piano. Sure Kat McPhee mopped the floors with her knees, and no one will ever forget Fantasia warbling Summertime while half lying down, but Syesha looked incredible on that piano.

And she did not sound bad either. As Dolly had said, she took the "simplicity" of her version and combined it with the bombastic styling Whitney gave it, and while what she was able to produce did not erase either, I think she can hold her head up high tonight at the post performance dinner.

My only true criticism is that second to last note. Yes, it was impressive to hold anything that long. Personally, I’d need a bucket. But it went on almost too long, to the point of, I’ll-hold-it-till-I-puke-if-it-makes-you-remember-me-when-you-vote.

Randy said she "took on the biggest tiger of the night and did pretty good"; Paula again started with "You look beautiful" and then added something about "growing and growing and growing" (not in the Ryan Seacrest-Kellie Pickler sense of the word); Simon said the "first part was good, second part paled by comparison to the Whitney version."

And he’s right. Here are both Dolly’s and Whitney’s takes. Your favorite?

Finally, bringing up the rear and snagging the money spot, MYchael Johns, who admitted his first concert ever was Dolly Parton. Dolly loved him, saying., "He would make some great records. I could probably write some good songs for him."

He chose the steamy It’s All Wrong, But It’s All Right, and for the first time since Bohemian Rhapsody, I don’t feel justified sticking that "Y" in his name. Yes, MYchael had a very good night.

Dressed in JEANS, a white shirt, dark blazer, and an admittedly odd pink and black scarf around his neck, he tore in to this song. It was pure smoke, heat, and sex. His voice was solid, raspy, and he was strong right through to the end. (Pardon me, but get your minds out of my gutter, please.)

Randy called it a "blazing hot performance"; Paula slid out of her chair, but managed, "You’re a star, a rock star, a blues star, someone get me a towel..." (OK, I’ll stop); Simon summed it up with "I think this is the best I have heard you sing."

Ryan then shafted MYchael by running through his numbers so quickly, the only saving grace is that he went last, so we know it ends with a NINE.

See, Nigel? This is what happens when you waste time on Chat Chairs and stupid postcards from the edge of obsession.

As they replayed the performances, I made my predictions for Bottom Three – a task getting harder, but still not impossible.

SHOULD BE: Kristy, Ramiele, Brooke

It really is time to send Kristy trotting off into the sunset, and Ramiele is out of chances to live up to her Hollywood Week hype.

So who did you like tonight? Whose voice could you listen to 9 to 5 everyday? Who will survive and continue to live out their Wildest Dreams? And what do you want to bet that the GROUP SONG includes a craptastic take on Islands In The Stream?

Another Good Fool

1962:  Sweden had only a single TV channel, and it was broadcast in black and white.

To the gullible joy of all viewers - and face it, with ONE channel, it probably was ALL viewers - the TV station's technical expert, Kjell (sounds like a porn name) Stensson, appeared during the news program to explain the exciting new technology they had implemented that would allow viewers to enjoy full color reception. 

The one caveat:  viewers would need to pull a nylon stocking over their television screens - Stensson then demonstrated how.

Thousands of people tried it, and (I assume) thousands of women were subsequently pissed as their best nylons were ruined.

Note:  Sweden did not begin broadcasting in color till 1970.

For Anke... (Scary how fast I am, isn't it?)

Fool Me Once, Shame On Me, Fool Me Twice ... It Must Be April 1st

Ahhh, April Fool's Day.

The day when office workers will arrive to find their cublicles, and every item in them, encased in aluminum foil or Saran Wrap.

The day when children, not quite grasping the intricacies of true "April Fools", will shout it at every turn.  "Your hair is green.  APRIL FOOL!"  "I'm quitting school.  APRIL FOOL!"  "Principal Davis is a booger eater.  APRIL FOOL!"  (Well, at least I hope that's an April Fool...)

Friends will prank friends, relatives will yank one another's chains, heck Ryan Seacrest may even start American Idol tonight with, "You know, we've talked about it, we've listened to everything you viewers have had to say - taken all your concerns and criticisms to heart - and, well, it's pretty damned obvious that Paula Abdul is a certified cashew.  To that end, we have committed her to the Bellevue Home for the Sartorially, Follicularly, and Articulately Compromised, and have replaced her with someone who will bring sanity, reason, and coherence to the middle judge's seat.  Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome Courtney Love."

 

Throughout the day, I'll be posting some of the best large scale (as in fooling lots of folks at once) April Fool's pranks of all-time - dating back to the 50's and working forward.

Like this one...

~ 1957: The BBC show Panorama produced and broadcast a three minute piece detailing the record crop of spaghetti being harvested in the southern region of Switzerland. 

Respected anchor, Richard Dimbleby, voiced over this segment, explaining that credit for the bumper crop was due to the unusually mild winter and the  “virtual disappearance of the spaghetti weevil.”

The piece highlighted shots of a Swiss family hard at work harvesting the spaghetti from trees and filling their baskets.

 

The segment ended with the these words, "“For those who love this dish, there’s nothing like real, home-grown spaghetti.”

Of course, gullible lemmings that we all are, the public gobbled it up like a bowl of linguine.  The response was enormous, with folks jamming the BBC phone lines wanting to know how they, too, could grow their own spaghetti trees.

The BBC reply?

“Place a sprig of spaghetti in a tin of tomato sauce and hope for the best.”

This prank is believed to be the first time television was used to stage an April Fool's gag.

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So, 'fess up.  What is the best April Fool's prank ever pulled on YOU?  And what is the best 4/1 prank you've ever been able to pull off on someone else?