Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

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Several weeks ago I took on the topic of illegal immigration and the many protest marches being held across the United States in which they are demanding rights.

It stymied me that hundreds of thousands of people, here illegally, would deign to think that simply because their numbers are so great, they have some sort of power that supercedes the law. Basically, "Look how many of us got in! That makes it ok, so give us our rights!"

I said then, and I stand by it today,11 millions wrongs do not make even a single right.

So, our borders are as porous as SpongeBob Squarepants and the ideas to deal with the problem hold just as little water as our cartoon friend. Quite frankly, Spongebob and Patrick could probably come up with better solutions than the plankton and seaweed that currently clog up our legislative branch.

But here we sit, a country that has long prided itself on its melting pot image, a big stew of people mixing and mingling and bringing unique flavor to our land. We embrace that. We brag about that. Americans have some of the biggest hearts on this planet.

What we ask in return for citizenship, residency, amnesty, and our hospitality is really quite simple: Follow the rules.

If you want to be here so badly, don't break the law. If you truly wish to pursue and embrace a better lifestyle in this country, assimiliate a little bit. No one is asking you to turn your back on your culture, your history, your uniqueness. But if you are going to make this country your new home, you need to get on board with the little things like...oh, I don't know...the language?

We speak English. That's the language of the United States. If Spanish or Russian or French or Chinese (etc) is the language of your living room, so be it, but when you brush up against American society, it is up to you to communicate in English.

I would not move to France and expect the entire country to bow down at my feet and learn English simply because I am too lazy and bullheaded to learn French.

We speak English.

Which brings me to today's rant. The new Spanish language version of the Star Spangled Banner. Yes, a Spanish version of the American National Anthem, composed by British music producer Adam Kidron as an ode to the millions of immigrants seeking a better life.

Pro-immigration protests are planned around the country for Monday, and the record label is urging Hispanic radio stations nationwide to play the cut at 7 p.m. EDT Friday in a sign of solidarity.

Solidarity? Of what? Ignorance and balls?

Illegal immigrants marching for American rights while carrying Mexican flags last month was bad enough, but now they can sing a version of the National Anthem in Spanish while protesting for rights they do not legally deserve? How about you learn the actual song, in English, and grab a history book while you're at it to better appreciate the country you are currently exploiting.

Sorry amigos, but you need to take a good look at your organizational structure and get some people at the top who can actually help you garner a tad of sympathy with United States citizens.

Because right now you don't have a legal leg to stand on and the addition of the Star Spanglish Banner is certainly not music to our ears.

To listen to the new Spanish language version of the United States National Anthem, CLICK HERE

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, April 26: America May Still Love Ice Cream, But The Craving For Pickles Is Over

Before we get to the meat of tonight’s results recap, I would like to concentrate on the chewy gristle that apparently gets stuck in our teeth for 24 hours at a time after each performance night.

Today’s tasty, yet also distasteful, morsel being Katharine McPhee and her now infamous yellow dress.

Well, judging by today’s unprecedented Googling, the Beatles need to float their submarine to the side, because the only yellow thing we all want to be in is Katharine’s revealing frock.

I mentioned in the recap that not only was it cut down to “here”, and squishing her famously Googled boobs together like gym class kick balls, but that it was also slit up to “there”, showing off more than a little leg with each move she attempted. Unfortunately - her big stomp ripped the seam, causing a wardrobe malfunction unrivaled since Janet Jackson flashed us during Super Bowl XXXVIII, which incited a political Nipplegate that was, quite frankly, much aboob about nothing (sorry Janet, but really, you’re not exactly carrying a full spice rack up there).

Yes, in slo-mo, close-up replay, you can see Katharine’s underwear covered crotch. And yes, perhaps she was asking for the attention by donning that Frederick’s of Hollywood gown to begin with, but was it really worth the time and keystrokes people invested today in trying to see it again, and again, and again?

With the exception of someone who Googled for Garrett Johnson (sad really - let the little cowboy-who-could ride off into the sunset where he belongs), all Google related links to the Don’t Get Me Started blog (and there were THOUSANDS upon THOUSANDS and counting) were based on her name and some compilation of the keywords: breasts, yellow dress, crotch shot, thighs, g-string, boobs, slit, ripped dress, and naked.

I honestly don’t think a dress has upstaged its human hanger this much since JLo donned that green handkerchief to present at the 2000 Grammys.

Ironically, it makes the new movie American Dreamz - the humorous big screen rip on American Idol and politics, that much more relevant. We truly are all completely pathetic and our priorities are as scrambled as a Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast platter.

Think about it - if we put as much effort into researching things like the environment, politicians and pressing global affairs, as we did trying to catch an instant, unlimited replay of Katharine McPhee’s crotch, we could conceivably change the world.

As it is, we reserve our fiery, passionate, opinionated watercooler debates for handicapping the American Idol contestants, and our online surfing time in the endless quest for naked photos of them all.

I guess the Da Vinci code did indeed lead to the Holy Grail - but not even Dan Brown or Opus Dei knew it resided under the bright yellow dress of a 21 year old, reality TV contestant.

Now, onto the recap…

Ryan opened the show asking the question, “Who melted your heart and who left you cold, America?” Well, apparently 47 ½ million votes burned up the phone lines last night, so at least one person should be feeling the Idol love today: the person who said, “Hey, why don’t we start giving the kids TWO phone lines?” Seriously, give that intern a corner office, or at least a free t-shirt.

Underscoring how close we are getting to the May finale, was the fact that only one Couch of Carnage was needed to house all the twitchy, nervous bottoms of the final six. And you could see them trying to smile and figure out why they were seated next to whoever they were seated next to.

Ryan intro’d the judges who were all dressed for an execution - seriously, Randy: BLACK; Paula: BLACK, including the funereal Mardi Gras beads she draped around her neck: Simon: BLACK.

Ryan then brought up that the FOX phone lines were ablaze with people critical about the treatment of Cheekbones McPorn by Simon last evening, at which point Simon pulled a total solar eclipse and apologized to her. Seriously kids, that kind of thing happens once in a very blue moon. He said that after watching the playback, she was not that bad and that he really liked the color of her panties.

OK, ok, I added that part, but still…

Watching the video recap of last night’s performances, however, I do not feel the need to reverse my opinions. In fact, after viewing Cheekbones full performance again earlier today, I was more disturbed by the posturing, vamping and contrived gestures than I was by the fact her dress parted like the Yellow Sea.

AFTER. THE. BREAK we returned to the weekly contestant ankle grabber - the Ford comical - wait, sorry, commercial. This week found the kids frantically searching for a lost dog, which was the only redeemable creature in the video. They chased it through town, knocking over café tables, causing mayhem, only to track the poor thing (who was incidentally wearing more bling than Smurfette) to a warehouse where his bee-yatch was in a box with puppies - alongside a new Ford Fusion, of course.

Ahhhh, puppies, Ford… no, I guess I miss the connection.

Finally, the bigger reason for watching this evening’s show began: the performance of Andrea Bocelli, accompanied on piano by uber-talented producer/composer David Foster. Singing Because We Believe from his latest CD Amore’, the lights dimmed, save for the twinklers and the overhead spots, which tonight truly gave new meaning to “blue light special”.

Andrea was mesmerizing, phenomenal. And anyone who disagrees with that statement is looking for a steel cage match with me. To hear anything but pure talent, majesty, beauty and class is to have gouged out your eardrums with knitting needles or to have your head entirely up your own ass.

Quite frankly, the caliber of the performer and the performance were more than that Idol stage deserves. It was a powerful performance typically seen only live in concert or during a PBS fundraising drive. Every single one of those kids was humbled - Andrea Bocelli is a vocal god - they are merely singers.

It was very gratifying to see the genuine emotion and appreciation for his talent shining in each one of their eyes when they made their way over to him after he was done singing.

Another break, which I used to watch the entire performance again - TWICE - brought us back to a quick chat with Lisa Tucker, promoting her appearance on tomorrow night’s The OC. I still love that girl’s smile - someone get Cover Girl on the phone for her.

And then it was time for tonight’s interpretive results dance - this evening done in three groups of two…

First off the couch was Cheekbones, considerably more covered up in jeans and a silky red & black halter top. Sashay over to the far side of the stage please.

Next, Elliott, chilling in a short sleeved shirt, jeans and tennis shoes was asked to pirouette to the center of the stage.

Pickles, still working her Wet Seal employee discount in jeans and an aqua tank top, her eyes covered in a gallon of matching Sherwin Williams semi-gloss, fandangoed her way to the near side of the stage.

Continuing the dance of a thousand dying dreams was Smurfette, who had difficulty with her grande jete’, weighed down as she was by all those gumball necklaces and crosses - luckily only had to go as far as Pickles.

Taylor, a square dancing man, dosy doed his way to center stage with Elliott.

Finally Chris, in jeans, a black shirt, and muscles fruged his way to the far side with Cheekbones.

And so they were divided - Top 2 Vote Getters, Bottom 2 Vote Getters, and GASP! Two Vote Getters right in the middle! Even Dan Brown wasn’t this ingenious!

Ryan, eager to get this over with, quickly dispatched Taylor and Elliott back to the safety of the couches - they were our middle two.

We had to wait another 3 million dollars to return to Ryan, flanked on one side by Cheekbones and Chris and on the other by Pickled Smurfette.

We did not, however, have to wait long for the news that Cheekbones and Chris D were the highest vote getters of last night. Hmmmm, maybe that seam ripped on purpose??? 

That left Pickles, truly shellshocked at her first time in the Singing Sewer, and Smurfette, a frequent flyer who has perfected the plastered perm grin. But where Pickles seemed truly scared, Smurfette was beyond cocky, acknowledging that this was only her FIRST time in the bottom two.

Just keep smiling Smurfie…your expiration date is just about here and you are starting to curdle around the edges…

Ryan then ended the suspense by sending Smurfette back to the couches and Pickles back to reality, where they don’t eat funny foods like caaaalamaari, or use big words like minx and ballsy.

An unplugged version of Bad Day played as her Idol journey tape rolled and I found myself a tad sad for the little blonde who really did start out as a favorite, but who slipped in the slickness of her own ignorance and fell from America’s grace.

Admitting she “learned a lot” in the past months, I daresay that learning curve will continue. I predict that Pickles will have more opportunities laid at her feet than even the contestant  who wins Season 5 will see. Modeling (Pantene, Crest Whitestrips), endorsements (Seattle Salmon Council, National Spelling Bee, Spinach Co-op of America…), acting (someone get a remake of Three’s Company optioned - we have the next Suzanne Somers ready to roll)…

Yes, I think it is safe to say that even though Pickles will no longer be the main course on the American Idol menu, she certainly won’t be “on the side” for very long.

Remember, we’re a stupid, shallow people - we’ll be Googling naked pictures of her again in no time.

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, April 25: You Always Hurt The Song You Love

OK, I admit it. As much as I have complained in past weeks about the celebrity coaches and performers - seriously people, someone run a DNA test on Kenny Rogers. It was just NOT him. - I found myself truly anticipating this week's guest - internationally acclaimed tenor, Andrea Bocelli.

Yes, I realize that for anyone without crow's feet, his name means about as much as Preparation H or Geritol, but if being older and wiser is what it takes to both know who the man is and truly appreciate the gift that resides in his throat, so be it. I'll wear my wrinkles and musical taste proudly.

Onto the recap...

Ahhhhhhh - amore'.

Love songs in all their many-splendored-thing glory.

Tuesday night's theme of Classic Love Songs should have proved to be a vocal homerun for our 1/2 dozen finalists. After all, ballads, in Idol land anyhoo, typically mean the contestant will be stationary, not being tripped up by that whole walk and chew gum issue that plagues so many who try to heat things up by grooving while singing, and end up with a delivery as congealed as a Domino's driver with three flat tires.

Unfortunately, as the song goes, Love Hurts...

Ryan opened the show looking Dan-dapper in his interview-with-corporate-America suit and baby blue silk tie, stubble completely eradicated from his face (as Teri has been from his Blackberry). And, oh the pressure - you could cut it with a spork - as he warned us all that tonight was, "Another tough decision for you."

WHOA.

I don't know about you, but I had to pause the TiVo, sniff some lavender and drink some herbal tea just to calm down. With all the easy problems in the world - say, Darfur, Iran, that pesky insurgency in Iraq, Tom Cruise...- how did I get the apocolyptic responsibility for choosing the next American Idol???

Breathe, Linda, breathe...

A quick intro of the judges, Randy in his predictable slimming/vertigo inducing striped shirt, Paula - well, it is getting harder and harder to see what she is wearing each week under all that hair. I swear that girl has more synthetic fiber on her head than I have in my whole closet. I did make out something sheer and cleavage enhancing. Simon was dressed as dreary as an English morn in overcast gray.

OH! And what's this? Tonight marked the advent of not one, but TWO phone numbers per contestant! Let's hear it for producers finally listening to the myriad complaints of the past five seasons regarding people never being able to get a single vote in for their fave! Just think how happy the folks at DialIdol .com must have been to hear this - their system must have been on fire last night. And VoteForTheWorst .com? TWICE the voting power to keep the abysmal Ballsy Pickled Minx in the running?

Ryan then intro'd the backstory clip of the evening's guests - yes, that's GUESTS with an "S" - as in TWO. Not only would Andrea Bocelli be gracing the Idols with his presence and talent, but power producer David Foster, whose home mantle strains under the weight of 14 Grammys, would be on hand as well.

Now, for the record, my daughters, who have jumped the Idol ship of late - choosing not to drown in a sea of "Who-the-heck-is-that-old-man?" - continued their dog paddle towards more relatable tunes. HOWEVER, for those naysayers who have chimed in that obviously my children are not exposed to any good music around my house - had the guest been the incomparable Michael Crawford, they would have been glued to the screen. (I'll wallow in the fact that you - and you know who you are - are now going, "WHO?")

Boo-yah.

But I digress..

Andrea Bocelli may indeed be handicapped in terms of eyesight, having lost his vision completely in a soccer accident at the age of 12, but his grasp of life and joy in living it could not be clearer, "Despite the fact that I live in a fast-paced world, I live my life with a calm vision: I enjoy life's simple pleasures and face every challenge with passion. I try to always be optimistic by interpreting the real meaning of a quotation from the French novelist Antoine de Saint-Exupéry: "You see clearly only through your heart. The essential is invisible to your eyes."

Again, how sad that only one, perhaps two of these Idol contestants truly have any idea who this man is.

In the video clip, the kids enter the rehearsal room and soon attempt to duplicate a warm-up scale, a la Bocelli, only to end up sounding more like a room full of dogs in heat than vocalists. Anyone catch the look on Foster's face? He was seriously looking for the exit door.

Andrea, however, imparted the wisdom of the evening: "People have to want you to become great."

And therein lies the secret to winning this contest each year. LaToya London had serious pipes, but due to an equally serious warmth deficiency, no one in America was pulling for her. Ruben Studdard had nowhere near the vocal capacity of Clay Aiken, but America was in love with their Velvet Teddy Bear and he took top honors.

So as much as people Google for naked photos (Pickles), this contest is going to be won by someone who has engaged, not polarized the voting public. Think Chris. Think Taylor. People want them to become great. People just want Pickles to get naked and say something stupid.

Up first with Andrea and David was Cheekbones, probably the only one of these kids who could truly appreciate the majesty of that moment when she and Andrea began a spontaneous duet. And he was impressed with Cheekbones, saying not only was her voice "powerful and clean", but that she was "nice, beautiful and young". Ahhhh, the power of the mind's eye, Andrea...

Cheekbones took the stage to sing Whitney Houston's I Have Nothing, dressed in a yellow full length gown that left little for people to Google about. Not only was it cut down to there - her breasts actually usurped Paula's, looking like two gym class kickballs squished together, but the gown sported a front slit so high, there was a brief moment during the song that people could have stopped the frame and checked to see if the carpet matched the drapes.

I had high hopes for her delivery, but it must have been a holiday, because the UPS man never came with the package.

She started out shaky, practically disappearing into her lower register, and the arrangement only highlighted how cut-rate the whole thing was compared to the Whitney version. Combine that with going first, a head dipped in a barrel of make-up, and a dress that seriously upstaged the vocals of the person wearing it, and it was an abysmal performance.

It was vampy, forced, and the stomping on the line, "Don't walk away from me" (incidentally the moment one should look for to catch the wardrobe malfunction in the lower region of the dress - see following video courtesy of YouTube.com), was laughable. She resembled a little girl throwing a tantrum, not a beautiful, confident woman demanding attention. That being said, I'm sure the words "Katharine McPhee Boobs" will threaten to shut down the Google Image servers today - I hope they are ready.

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Randy thought the song (not the dress) was too "big" for her and that she "didn't come close" to the Whitney version; Paula, whose microphone obviously had taken out a restraining order against her requiring that she stay at least 15 feet away, sighted "pitch problems", but that she looked "stunning", then rambled on about keeping her "money" in her "back pocket" - hmmm, my Mom always told me to keep it in my shoe; Simon was blunt as a spoon and said that by "choosing that song, it's like coming out and saying I'm as good as Whitney Houston. You're not."

Ouch.

Ryan did not help matters when he tried to console Cheekbones with the comment, "For those who don't have their volume on, you're going to get plenty of votes." Now, considering how contestant-protective he normally is, I really think he was referring to not hearing the judges' comments, but even Cheekbones took it to mean, "You sang like shite, but you're body rocks."

Elliott was up next, choosing the song he has waited his "whole life to sing", A Song For You. Well, waited his whole life to sing it in front of 30 million people I guess, because sitting in the chat chairs with Ryan, he talked about singing it for the producers during auditions, in his audition, for his Mom, in the shower, at the grocery store...

David Foster was hard on Elliott in his rehearsal video, but these kids were finally working with someone whose whole purpose for being on the show was not centered around selling his own albums. The man knows talent, the man knows how to sell and arrange a song, and the man knows crap singing when he hears it. The man also doesn't go all Mary Poppins, offering a spoonful of sugar coated praise to help the constructive medicine go down easier. It was as eye opening for the kids as it was helpful. His advice for Elliott was that he really sings well, but in terms of copying the original song, he really needed to get his own licks - or lick himself, or something like that...

Taking the stage, Elliott looked downright handsome, almost completely erasing from my mind the horrible Vanilla Elliott hoodlum that still wakes me up screaming at night. Dressed as Ryan's twin - they must have gotten a Men's Wearhouse twofer deal - Elliott sported a dark suit with a baby blue necktie. I have to say, this was the most confident he has ever seemed during a performance. Gone was the skittish Amish buggy driver who always looks like he cannot figure how he ended up on a stage filled with the devil's electronic temptations, and in his place was a controlled, at ease performer, whose voice soared and landed right where he wanted it. In fact, the only criticism I have is for the tech guys who went all Kermit the Frog with the lighting, making one side of his face resemble a traffic signal for most of the performance. But there was nothing about his turn that left me feeling green around the gills.

Randy did not like the arrangement, but thought Elliott "was dope" and that he "was da bomb"; Paula, clearly off her meds again (will someone run by Walgreen's please?) was crying like she just gave birth to her first child (or found an email from Ace in her inbox). Weeping, sobbing uncontrollably, smiling, waving her arms around, she blathered, "You moved me. You moved me." among other unintelligible phrases that dribbled out her slack jaw. And good lord, her jewelry choices are beginning mimic Smurfette. She practically had an entire De Beers collection on her hands - then again, it went well with de beers she surely must have downed prior to the show. Simon was also on the verge of tears - laughing as hard as he was at Paula. He pulled it together enough to congratulate Elliott on a "vocal master class" and that his performance was "superb".

Go Elliott.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, we returned to Pickles sharing the Chat Chairs with Ryan. Now, while all the other contestants chose to play up the Love Songs theme in suits and dresses, Pickles continued to work her inner Wet Seal clerk - jeans, heels and yet another tight polyester tank top trimmed in gold sequins. "How are you doing in there? Can I get you another size in that?"

Conversing with Ryan, she discussed choosing to sing Unchained Melody, yet lamented how she has no boyfriend, so she was singing to a future boyfriend. Her train then jumped the track and she went on to talk about the movie Ghost, (which deals with a dead boyfriend), calling the pottery scene (set to the Righteous Brothers hit) "sweet". Ummm, no Pickles. That scene would be about SEX. Ma$turbating a pile of clay to be exact.

David's best compliment about Pickles referred to her "passion", and Andrea was able to guess her hair color after spending time with the rocket scientits (no that's not a typo) - BLOND.

Sitting on the darkened stage, she began to sing and it turned into an auditory Battan Death March for the listener. I don't think a minute and a half has been so long. I actually felt my hair growing. The song was boring, monotonous, painful - and her head had been dipped in the same bucket of make-up as Cheekbones. Do none of the make-up people watch the playback of this show? The only saving grace of this protracted aural agony was that I spent the lion's share of the time trying to nail down what her pompapoofed hair looked like under the cotton candy spotlights. It then came to me - Pepe le Pew, although in this case, it would be Pepe le Pink. Even Pepe though, ladies man that he is, would have run away from the vocal stink coming off her in waves.

I know she has a serious fan base - believe me, I hear from enough Pick Pickler people each week - but no one can deny, that after the past two weeks, she is clearly out of her league. She has no range, her face registers not an ounce of emotion, and the fact that she is not exactly the Sharpest hunk of cheese means her time is just about up.

Randy called her performance "very strange"; Paula was rendered speechless - God, that was wonderful wasn't it? - but then choked out that she "didn't feel her greatness"; Simon called it the "neverending song" and reamed her for having "no heart, no warmth". Pickles tried to "cute" her way out of another bad performance, as she did last week, but what was obviously forgiveable once, surely won't be written off again. I predict she will be a bottom dweller tonight.

Up next was Smurfette, talking about choosing the song The Way We Were because, at 17, "I have memories. I don't really have love thoughts."

I see - so sweet, so pure, so full of sh*t. Isn't she the one who sang Fever recently on one show and Beyonced her booty around on another?

Puh-leez.

Andrea lauded her "extraordinary", "spectacular" voice - which I do not deny her having. She then took the stage dressed quite understated for Smurfette in black pants and a black print jacket, working a short Farrah Fawcett 'do from the 70's. Overall, I think it was a solid performance - again, she has control, vocal strength, confidence, but she lacks that one thing Andrea cited earlier - people do not want her to become great. People are irritated by her bombastic singing voice and her totally affected speaking voice - seriously, I have babysat three year olds who sound older than her.

And dear God - what was that little puff at the very end of her song? That exaggerated exhalation? No thanks, sweetie. You are too young to work in something like that with any measure of success. Patti LaBelle maybe. Mariah Carey definitely. But Smurfette Bennett - um, NO.

Randy thought is was "pretty good", but not "over the top"; Paula called it the "best vocal of the night"; Simon thought it was "a very good vocal, but a bit old fashioned."

Mr. Soul Patrol was next, shown in his rehearsal video practicing Just Once. Andrea called his voice "very interesting" - hmm, what would he think if he could actually see the whole package perform? David was "really drawn in" and thought Taylor had "potentially the most charisma".

Potentially?  That's like saying Paula Abdul potentially has the biggest medicine cabinet.

Dressed in a velvet tux with black satin piping (it takes a real man to work black velvet - even Elvis didn't attempt this till he died and someone painted him on it), Taylor emerge from backstage and stood at the microphone stand - rocky start vocally, you could see in his eyes he knew he was struggling, but then WHAM - Taylor kicked in and made you forget that the beginning had been a turd sandwich. His gravelly voice, emotion and connection with the audience is undeniable. He may not be the best singer technically, but he is the best at getting millions of people to want him to become great.

Randy said it was "completely the wrong song" and "not 1/2 as good as the original" (lowfat versions seldom are, Randy); Paula, apparently now has her sights set on poor Taylor, now that Ace has eluded capture, flirted shamelessly and said, "you look handsome as heck"; Simon, however, thought he looked "uptight" and slammed his phrasing and performance overall. Paula then jumped up and down and began defending Taylor and beating on Simon.

Someone get a net.

Saving the best for last (thank God, because going first certainly hurt him last week), was Chris, choosing to sing Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman. His rehearsal clip showed David calling him on singing from his throat all the time (which he does) and then Andrea actually laying down on the floor to sing to illustrate a technique for forcing one to sing more from the diaphragm. Chris could not have had a bigger "what a crock of sh*t" look on his face if he tried, but did as he was told and sang while staring at the ceiling. The result? A deeper, more controlled, powerful vocal. Chris put the sh*t back in the crock and thanked them both.

Sitting on the stage, dressed in a suit, no less, flanked on either side by dueling guitars, Chris sang and the audience did what it always does - PAYS ATTENTION. It's a slow song, but Chris commanded it and even opened up the gravel gates, gargling sexily towards the end. It was an awesome, restrained performance and I doubt Chris needs to worry about repeating the anomoly that was last week's bottom three appearance.

Randy called him "amazing"; Paula just babbled "I love you"; Simon said it was a "very, very good choice, a great performance".

And that's it for Classic Loves Songs night. I'm predicting an all female triumverate of failure this evening when the results come down. Because even though they say love makes the world go round, last night, when these ladies sang, it seemed to make the hurl go round - in my living room at least.

Thoughts?

What A Bunch Of Boobs

It’s no secret that there is a healthcare crisis in this country. From bloated bills to HMOs playing God to an average of 3,500 families losing their insurance coverage daily, there is no denying our system is sick, critical even.

It’s also common knowledge that when a person has no coverage, or faces an inflated copay, they are loathe to seek out attention for their physicals concerns.

Face it, the doctor’s bill is often much scarier than the ailment they treat you for. And people are getting desperate…

Luckily, there are philanthropic souls in this world who care. Folks who give of their time and expertise freely and without concern for compensation. People who just want to reach out and touch as many lives as possible.

Meet Philip Winikoff, a true humanitarian. A true man of the people. A man so concerned for our citizens’ welfare, he went door to door in Miami offering free breast exams.

Only one small problem.

Phil is not a doctor.

OK, ok, maybe there are two small problems…because women actually bought his story and let him in to examine them.

Someone please tell me, where are the oxygen police when you need them? Surely, these women are not worthy of the air they take from the rest of us.

I mean, come on. A 76 year old man comes up to your door, like some Geriatric Girl Scout, claims to be a doctor, offers you a free breast exam, and you let him in your home?!?

Oh, it gets better.

The reason he was caught was that he was also giving free genital exams and one woman got suspicious when he began to “examine” her and did not have on rubber gloves.

I can just imagine this scene.

“Now, Ma’am - if you’ll just lie down on the couch there and put your feet up on the coffee table...that’s right…let me move those magazines out of the way...now scoot all the way to the edge…do you mind if I take the shade off the lamp so I have better light?…oh, and can I grab a bottle of Mazola from your pantry, and some bar-b-que tongs, if you have them? They make a great speculum…”

I’m sorry, but I have less than zero sympathy for the women he assaulted. OK, wait, scratch that - I feel sorry for them on ONE level.

I think it is regrettable that any creature on this planet is SO COMPLETELY STUPID.

I’m quite certain, with women this ignorant willing to believe anything he told them, Dr. Feelgood could have had them arrange for their friends to come over in groups (stupid people travel in packs).

“That’s right, Ma’am. If you host a party, you’ll earn points redeemable towards free merchandise and services, like my dirty underwear or a free proctological exam!”

You know what the kicker in this thing is for me? This 76 year old man wasn’t out there conning old women into showing him their saggy baggies. Rather, the women who have pressed assault charges are IN THEIR THIRTIES!

I could almost cut an Alzheimic granny some slack, but a thirty-something, in this day and age, opening the door and their...well, door...to a total stranger? Do they not realize this is 2006 America, not 1800’s Little House on the Prairie? Doctors don’t make house calls. Especially not for free.

Old Philip, an auto dealership shuttle bus driver, whose inner 8 year old boy apparently never got to play doctor, is now in jail awaiting trial.

As for the women who accepted his offer of the free exams? They are still roaming the streets sucking up our oxygen.

Again, I realize healthcare is difficult for so many people to come by in this country, but should it ever "come by" your door in the form of a 76 year old man - I have two pieces of advice for you before you let him in:

1. You get what you pay for.

2. There is no such thing as a free letch.

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, April 19: Ace In The Hole…And Buried

You know that brief rush of excitement you get when you put on a pair of pants you haven’t worn in ages and find a crumpled up twenty in the back pocket?

Or the smug sensation that envelopes your body when the alarm goes off at 6am and you suddenly remember it’s Saturday and can lazily drift back to sleep?

And what about those times when you’re last in line in a public restroom and have to go so badly your eyes have turned yellow and your colon is threatening to dye your britches brown - you‘re sweating, twitching, saying the rosary, seeing visions? But somehow you manage to hold it just long enough?

Yeah, borderline ecstasy - I know.

That’s the sensation I have had all day since checking my TiVo schedule and discovering that tonight’s results show was only 32 minutes long - NOT AN HOUR.

Yes, I feel like I’ve found money in my pants (and nothing else) on a cold Saturday morning.

You know, I mentioned last night that my own daughters, fervent Idol worshippers for years, opted out last evening when another Grandfather came on as the celebrity guest. Seriously, there has been more wrinkled skin in this season than in a litter of Shar Peis.

Between Stevie Wonder, Barry Manilow, Kenny Rogers, Queen, and now Rod Stewart, American Idol is certainly working at alienating a huge segment of its fan base. Sure, they’re still selling ad spots full speed ahead (finale commercials are priced at 1.3 million per 30 second spot), but when it comes to that Idols Live Summer Tour - they are going to find out just how much they have not sold the people who typically drive the success of those concerts - KIDS.

It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed attending the shows too, but I can tell you that the only reason I have parted with my credit card number in the past is due to relentless begging, pleading, whining, and whimpering by my daughters.

Not so 2006.

But onto the recap of tonight‘s Rodapalooza…

Yes, Tonight’s The Night we find out if DialIdol.com (the speed-dialing-Idol-voting-hijacker service) has again correctly predicted who will hear from the public, “I Was Only Joking” and that the Infatuation with their presence is now over.

They have predicted Ace will be thrown under the bus, business suit, ponytail, and all, this evening. Let’s see if they were right…

Ryan opened the show, again working his inner Hugo (mob) Boss in black, black and black. He also wacked the last of his stubblette - clean shaven as a baby’s bottom - or Paula’s cleavage…

A quick intro of the judges showed Randy eschewing his typical stripes for boring brown; Paula - who incidentally is looking more and more like a Bratz doll each week, was being attacked by Hairzilla; and Simon was as bland as tapioca in a light colored sweater.

A quick video recap of last night’s performances was bearable, after all, it was one of the standout evenings in a season as unbalanced as Ms. Abdul after a late night barfight. I usually fast forward through the rewinds, but this evening I watched and it afforded me a good second glance (and freeze frame) at her bodacious cleavage . Last night I had thought she was holding Rod Stewart’s naked baby Alistair upside down in her lap, but I was wrong. His booty is way too small for what I saw. I now believe she was actually holding a naked Rod Stewart upside down in her lap…

After the first break, we returned to our weekly date with the devil - the Ford Fusion commercial - this week done to the song Kids In America. Either it was actually good, or Satan has now got a firm grip on my soul, because I honestly enjoyed this one. The kids were superimposed on moving billboards and concert sign bills, the graphics were fun, it was interesting to watch.

Oh, and it was SHORT.

You gotta love it for at least that reason.

Then Ryan welcomed Rod Stewart to the stage and I began to believe I truly was in Hell - for as he emerged from backstage, resplendent in a gold jacket, dress pants and tie, the band was playing the intro music for Do Ya Think I’m Sexy.

In that moment I suffered a serious crisis of faith, for if he had started singing those lyrics, surely it would have meant there is no God.

A miracle occurred though and he simply walked over to the couches and sat down to chat with Ryan. He declared all the kids “great to work with” and then talked about currently working on a 70’s classic rock album. (Look for him to show up during 70’s night next season - someone call the Scooter Store now and get his transportation arranged, please.)

He then took the stage, twinkle lights blazing, a full moon screensaver (no, not Paula’s chest) behind him, to sing The Way You Look Tonight.

Again, I love Rod, but man, this was as painful as his joints on a cold England morning. His movements were stilted and he clearly suffers from the same disease as Ace - actoutthesonginsignlanguagefortheignorantviewersitus - Hugging himself to represent “cold”, touching his schnoz for “Wrinkle your nose”.

While it was nice to see him be a grown-up, it was also terribly boring, and by the song’s end I had drifted So Far Away, it took a Lethal Dose of Love, in the form of my dog’s tongue up my left nostril, to yank me back to reality.

(And for the record, my daughters were no where to be found. They had bolted immediately after the Ford commercial, with the words, “just tell us who gets voted off!“)

The kids joined him onstage at the end of the song and while the others were content to shake his hand or give him the macho one-shoulder hug - Pickles, dressed tonight as a candy cane, attacked the poor man. Did you catch this? Every step he moved away, she moved in closer and closer. He seriously seemed freaked out by her stalker stance.

AFTER. THE. BREAK Ryan informed us that next week’s theme is the Greatest Love Songs of All Time and that next week’s guest coach will be none other than internationally renowned tenor, Andre’ Bocelli. This meant absolutely zero to 25 million viewers. If Rod Stewart and Stevie Wonder left the viewers cold, one has to wonder what in the world Nigel Lythgoe is smoking?

Don’t get me wrong here. I think Andre’ Bocelli is a vocal god. His voice is unparalleled. But on AI? With Pickles?!?

American Idol, American Idol, wherefore art thou, American Idol?

I guess my kids will be hoping for another showing of High School Musical.

Finally, it was time to get down to business. This evening’s shell game would be done by splitting the kids into two groups, and then guessing which one contained the loser.

Elliott was asked to start a pile on the far side of the stage. Chris was first in line on the near side.

Smurfette, dressed this evening as either a TV test pattern or June Cleaver, horsetail still firmly in place, joined Chris.

Pickles was sent to stand with Elliott, and then this is when it got a little interesting. Ace was sent to pile #2 with Chris and Smurfette. Whoa.

Cheekbones was dispatched to Elliottville, leaving Taylor alone on the Couch of Carnage.

Ryan recapped his song from last night, along with the judges’ comments and deemed him SAFE right where he was.

Now that was no real surprise - Taylor is consistently drawing the highest number of votes - but what happened next was completely distasteful on the part of the producers.

Taylor was asked to go stand with the group HE thought was SAFE … AFTER. THE. BREAK.

Talk about being asked to bend over and take it up the caboose. Taylor was as screwed as a man outside a prison shower can get.

He first walked over to Chris’s group and shook his hand, but then quickly turned and walked over to stand with Pickles, Elliott and Cheekbones. And the look on his face was one completely unfamiliar to Soul Patrol fans - he was pissed. Period. End of story.

As it turned out, he was standing with the SAFE group. Elliott had managed to escape the noose, somehow sending Chris to the bottom three with Ace and Smurfette.

That’s just not right. Even the Smurfette part, and I don’t even like her.

Smurfette was immediately granted a reprieve and went to sit back down, leaving Chris and Ace to face the judges, the audience, the completely confused viewers at home. Simon predicted Ace would go and Ryan quickly confirmed that, indeed, Ace had missed the voter boat.

Did you catch the look on Paula’s face? Lock your doors tonight, kids. She is out for our blood.

A quick Bad Day recap of Ace’s journey and then he was handed the mike to sing for 30 seconds - yes, That’s All he was given before the next show kicked in.

So we are down to six - three ladies, three gentlemen. Can Chris reclaim his rock edge on a love song night? Will Taylor be able to rinse the bad taste, left by the AI producers, from his mouth in time to smile again next week? Will Pickles ask Andre’, “How do I look?”

Tune in next week to find out. Unless, High School Musical is on, of course.

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, April 18: Spare The Rod? That Would Have Spoiled The Night

Buckilocks was voted off a week ago. The sweet southern rocker with the goofy grin and laidback demeanor is no more. (Well, no more until the AI summer tour rolls through your town to pick your pockets clean.)

I wasn’t surprised by his ouster, however, I was surprised by the outpouring of support on his behalf. After spending the past week fielding a collection of emails that combined both outrighteous indignation with mourning not seen since Elvis last left the building, I must admit, I entered this week more than a little befuddled.

Watching him on Ellen yesterday did little to clear it up for me. Singing Superstition, with only a piano for accompaniment, I found myself cringing a bit - in the way you do when an 8 year old child sings My Humps in the school talent show. It was embarrassing and more than a little disconcerting.

Yes, I know Buckilocks has a solid fan following, but it simply could not be based on his talent alone - not that that would be anything new for American Idol - John Stevens, Jasmine Treas ring a bell? Rather, I think Bucky’s appeal was in his “everyman” quality - he always seemed to just be enjoying the ride, appreciating the time in the spotlight, and aware that there was no way in hell he was ever going to win this thing.

That being said - my advice to those of you who have wept in my inbox would be this: Get over it. He has.

Now, onto the recap…

Well, welcome to another week of American-Invite-The-Oldest-Once-Hugely-Popular-Singer-On-To-Idol!

Tonight’s rock relic? None other than the once white-hot, still cockatoo-haired popster turned warbler, Rod Stewart.

Do ya think he’s sexy?

Uh - not really…not anymore, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong. I like Rod. I’m a longtime fan of the man, in fact, I well remember going to an outdoor concert during his Early 90’s heydays and having a fabulous time as he rocked Hot Legs, Young Turks, and Tonight’s The Night. (Although I also remember drinking copious amounts of wine prior to the show…) He worked his brightly colored zoot suits, pokey hairstyle, even tossed in some bulge enhancing satin pants at one point. And his voice was as wonderfully raspy live as it has ever been on any album.

But that was over sixteen years ago.

Times change, wrinkles deepen, guts drop, and Hot Legs refer only to the heating pad used to relieve varicose veins.

I will say - to Rod’s credit - he has not tried to hang onto the bottom rung of his diminished fame. No, unlike The Rolling Crones of this world, Rod has accepted the fact that he has gotten older, would look like an arse strutting asking “Do ya think I’m sexy?”, and directed himself towards more grown-up audio fare: The Great American Songbook series of albums he has been successfully (16 million copies sold) churning out for many years now.

Although he is once again a new Daddy - his 8^th child - (and fiance to much younger Penny) at 61, Rod’s youthful follies stop there. You won’t find him encased in Spandex leopard hot pants anymore. Depends maybe…but not spandex.

Ryan kicked off the show in a dark suit, dress shirt and argyle tie, somberly pausing to mourn the passing of Bucky back into obscurity hell. A smattering of “ohhhhhh”s from the crowd tells me that the mourning period is nearly over.

A quick intro of the judges, Randy in his predictable stripes and still bogarting Lisa Loeb’s eyewear; Paula, straining to hold her head up under 70 pounds of hair extensions, was wearing Carmen Miranda’s old costume; Simon, obviously still grieving the loss of Buckilocks, was dressed all in black.

A video retrospective of Rod Stewart was helpful for the twenty million viewers who were still going, “Who?” since his appearance was announced at the end of last week’s show. My kids didn’t even pretend to be interested tonight - opting for another showing of High School Musical on the Disney Channel.

Take note Fox. Three girls. 14, 12 and 9. Cellphones at their disposal and they chose a movie they have seen roughly thirty times over American Idol.

Personally I enjoyed watching the clips of Rod strutting, rolling and gallivanting around the various stages, but then, I’m 40 years old and know who he is.

Rod then waxed rhapsodic about music and how all genres are really interconnected as each year gives way to the next, and I felt a small glimmer of hope that this night might not be the total ear bleeder the past few have been. He’s intelligent. He’s sincere. And he does not suffer wankers lightly.

The video showed him arriving to meet and rehearse each one of the kids, Penny and his adorable baby boy, Alistair, in tow. They were happy to meet him, but the girls seemed more enthralled with the baby, and the guys seemed more distracted by Penny’s considerable cleavage, which truly rivaled any of Paula’s previous attempts at boob bondage.

Rod said he thought the kids singing the standards was a “great way to put a lid on it”.

Now, I admit - given the shameless foreshadowing done by the AI producers, I felt the bottom go out for a moment. I can think of few things I put the lid on - the toilet being at the top of the short list…

No matter - Chris D was up first - and he can easily distract me from thoughts of toilet lids and 61 year old men in lipstick red spandex…

Chris chose to sing What A Wonderful World, turning his rocker image on its ear for the night. With his own personal gee-tar man sitting on the stage, Chris walked down the ramp dressed as a bouncer at a fancy steakhouse. I mean that in a good way. With his dress shirt rolled up to enhance and expose his considerable biceps, a black vest outlining the muscled “V” that is his upper body, black dress pants and shiny shoes - even a tie - albeit, a tie that was loosely tied cravat style inside his shirt - Chris looked toned down, but his individuality still came through.

The song was compelling, his delivery controlled, and his lower register is just downright hot. Anyone who thinks he is a one note wonder with his rock songs, needs to think again. Chris is versatile and has charisma that is seriously lacking in so many of the other contestants.

Randy agreed and stated, “Dude, you just slayed it!” and “It was da bomb!”; Paula, who for some reason had Rod Stewart’s naked baby upside down in her lap, thought he was fantastic; Simon took credit for the performance, as Chris had obviously heeded his warning to show another side, but also said it was a “great performance”.

Back from $3 million in commercials, we found Smurfette, dressed for her job as a flight attendant on Popsicle Airlines in a hot pink suit, talking to Ryan about her Easter basket and roller skating with friends. Riveting television…excuse me Miss, can I get some headphones and Bloody Mary mix, please?

Singing Foolish Things, Smurfette chose to stand still this evening, allowing her voice to “walk the talk” for her. Good choice for two reasons:

1. It kept the focus on her enormous vocal ability.

2. It kept the focus off the fact that she once again had Seattle Slew’s tail attached to her head.

I thought it was a great performance - the child can sing - no argument there. But, like Simon, I am continually irritated by the contradiction between the baby voice she speaks in and the grown up voice in which she sings.

Seriously, if she had never opened her mouth to speak, and had only been allowed to sing all these weeks, I believe people, across the board, would love her - adore her even. As it is, her days are sadly numbered.

Randy said her performance was “classy” (it was) and that this was her “greatest night ever” (quite possibly); The blood was continuing to rush to poor Alistair’s head as Paula squeezed his buttcheeks together and declared that if Smurfette made an album of old standards, “It would blow up.” (much like poor Alistair’s head if she doesn’t turn him right side up soon…)

Simon thought she was “stylish” but was bewildered by her speak vs. sing vocal discord.

Taylor was up next to share the Chat Chairs with Ryan, discussing the hilarious SNL spoof aired this weekend which lampooned Mr. Soul Patrol. Taylor, in a gray suit and a black shirt to match his eyebrows had not been offended by the parody at all - in fact he admitted that he loved it. And that is why we all love Taylor - he does not take himself too seriously - and let’s be honest - the SNL spot was genius - if you did not see it, give it a Google or head to GrayCharles.com to get in on the joke.

In the pre-sing interview, Rod said Taylor is great because he “grabs the audience by the Beeps!” - he actually said Balls, but this is a family show, so they beeped it out. Shakira can shake her half naked self around the stage, but the word “balls” is verboten? Puh-leez. We’re all grown-ups here - remember? The kids aren’t watching anymore.

Singing You Send Me, I was a tad worried that Taylor was going to send me to sleep at first. It started smooth enough, but also really understated, in a this-is-so-boring-I-think-I‘ll-trim-the-dog‘s-toenails kind of way.

Thankfully he revved things up towards the end and brought it home Taylor-style. A little dancing, some vocal gymnastics, and that exuberant personality of his. (Remind me to finish the dog’s toenails tomorrow - she’s now walking lopsided…)

Randy said he “kept it real” and “That was hot, man.”; Paula, hey Paula, I think Alistair is passed out…someone call CPS…; Simon said he felt it started out as “lame caberet, but then MAGIC!”

Next up was Elliott, one of our bottom dwellers from last week’s results show. Singing It Had To Be You, I hate to say it might just have to be him in the Bottom Three again tomorrow night. He looked good in his tux jacket, shiny purple dress shirt and jeans, his arm draped casually across Matilda the Mikestand, but it is really beginning to be apparent that, for all his vocal talent, he simply lacks the “It” gene.

His performance was nice, but that’s the problem. Even with his incredibly rich voice and range, he just leaves people a little “Eh”. Even livening up a tad at the end will not save him. It should. He deserves to stay. But as I said in the beginning about Bucky - this contest has never been strictly about talent.

Randy said it was a “good song choice” and “very, very nice”, code for "Dude, pack your bags tonight."; Paula - someone grab that baby please! Even his butcheeks are turning red! - she mumbled the word contemporizing (again, all credit goes to her Word O’The Day toilet paper); Simon echoed my concerns that he “lacks a degree of personality”.

Pickles was shown in her Rod video next, working her blond hair and blond brain, missing jokes, etc. Her final comment after her rehearsal with him? “You took a lot off my chest.” left even Rod speechless.

Rod Stewart speechless. Someone call the world record folks at Guinness - this is truly a first.

How fitting it was that Pickles chose to sing what could easily be her personal theme song, Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered. Dressed in a tight, magenta satin dress, gold wrap around heels and two bright red stop signs on her cheeks, Pickles stood in place tonight as well. No hair shaky, booty grinding, or knee dropping tonight.

I honestly thought it started out well, she sounded almost sweet, although the stop signs were really distracting, especially when her head was blown up on the screensaver behind her. Then she wobbled, and the line connecting her to the song got disconnected. It was weird - she suddenly seemed really lost and like she could not wait to get through the song. Too bad, because it had started with such promise.

Randy called her out for being a “bit pitchy in spots”; Paula was awaiting charges on child endangerment - why did Rod allow her to babysit Alistair anyway?? - she then said she can’t wait for Pickles’ acting career to get started. (Psst, Paula - there are many people out here in TVland who seem to think it is well underway.); Simon was blunt as a spoon - it was “a boring song”, it did not suit her, and it “wasn‘t great”.

Don’t sweat it Gherkin Fans - she’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.

Next up to play with his image, was Ace, singing That’s All, eschewing his rhinestone belt buckles and layered tshirts, opting instead for a GQ stockbroker look in a dark suit, white shirt and baby blue tie. And yes, his usually fluffy locks were slicked back into a ponytail.

I am not an Ace lover, but even I have to admit that he looked downright debonair. And his vocal was more than passable tonight - although I don‘t think he held a candle to Adam Sandler‘s version in The Wedding Singer. He did do the gratuitous falsetto thing again (STOP) and his last two words, “That’s aAaAaAaAaLlLlLlL” vibrated so much he sounded like a member of the Lollipop Brigade in the Wizard of Oz, but overall, it was a good night for Ace.

I still think he will be in the Bottom Three, but it would be a strong performance to go out on.

Randy offered up the cliché’, You worked it out” and gushed over his falsetto; Paula squeezed that poor little passed out baby’s buttcheeks even tighter as she leaned forward and called it a “magical night”; Simon was downright complimentary (seriously, did Paula slip him a Rufie tonight?) calling it a “charming performance”.

Finally, it was Cheekbones' turn to wrap up this evening which had turned out to be a pleasant surprise in a season bloated with mediocrity and oddball guest appearances. Singing Someone To Watch Over Me - she sat on the darkened stage, dressed in an understated black suit, a low ponytail, and a Mardi Gras necklace. She looked lovely, aside from obviously sharing the same blush-happy make-up artist with Pickles.

Her delivery was flawless, smooth, impeccable. And once again I was left marveling at how easy the whole singing thing seems to be. Then I let out a few notes of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and reminded myself, once again, that some people’s vocal cords come from Nordstrom and some people’s come from the Dollar Store. That some people, like Cheekbones, have a Lexus in their throats, while the majority of us drive the vocal highways in Edsels, VW microvans and Yugos.

Randy called it “excellent” and that Cheekbones was “in her element”; Paula, who should never be allowed within ten feet of another child, babbled that she was “falling in love with the essence of who you are”, as well as throwing in a reference to Mr. Holland’s Opus - which Cheekbones seemed thrilled about; Simon was the most generous (obviously the Rufie had an Ecstasy chaser) when he said, “I think you made the others look like good amateurs”, that she is “in a completely different league” and “it was great”.

So that wraps up “old standards” night at the American Idol Bar & Grill. We hope you are as satisfied as are we. The mood was light. The company was refreshing. And the songs were not watered down or overdone.

Be sure to tip your waitress and come back again tomorrow night.

Please.

I’m begging you.

Don’t leave me alone with another hour long results show….

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, April 12: Bucky Isn't The Champion, My Friends

Preface: As the producers of America's favorite guilty pleasure saw fit to torture us with an entire hour long episode (in which they raked in over $300 million dollars in commercial fees) in order to reach the two minutes that actually mattered to anyone, I am going to keep this recrap - yes tonight's episode was just that: "crap" - mercifully short. (Mercifully short by my standards, of course...)

Opening

Shot of Idols - perma-grins and sphincters on full alert.

Ryan - Dark suit, white shirt, black tie, Diamond Jim tie tac, stubblette (there's not enough to be called stubble); ominous verbiage about someone leaving tonight. Oooooooo!!!

Stupidest line: "Good news, we've got an hour together tonight."

My reply: "Nooo, good news is that most Americans own a Tivo with a fast forward button, and that I saved a bundle on my car insurance by switching to Geico."

Judges Attire

Randy wearing a python

Paula decked out in burgundy cleavage which nicely matched her still present coldsore.

Simon - black sweater in a nod to the funereal vibe of Wednesday Results Shows

Judges Opinions

Paula - Simon like groping her under the table.

Randy - "Girls need to sing really, really well and show a little bit more of that personality." Personality being code for T & A.

Simon - "America respects honesty."

Linda - Yes Simon it does, and we would like to honestly request you and Ryan get a room. You two have taken this lovers spat/pissing contest to a whole new level, so just pull your tallywackers out, we'll measure them and then we can get on with life, ok?

Video Recap of Last Night's Performances

Fast Forward Button actually got hot from being held down so long...

Then suddenly, without warning, there it was...insert Jaws theme music here...THE GROUP SONG. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!

With the screen split into a small frame and a large frame - everyone notice how the Idols were confined to the small screen so you could barely make out how truly awful they were dancing and singing together? The larger screen was reserved for a rewind of the audition process, including Rhonetta in her Reynold's Wrap tube top, a woman barfing up a scarf, Chunky Longstockings with her braids and tight red britches, and on and on...

The medley included Ace committing vocal sacrilege on Killer Queen; the kids doing the white man shuffle from one foot to the other and back; anyone catch Chris rolling his eyes? They covered Pressure, Don't Stop Me Now (no, really, we HAVE to), Another One Bites The Dust, My Best Friend, and We Are The Champions.

Yes, yes we are - if you consider surviving that group song as winning.

Another break and we were thrust right back into commercial Hades with the subliminal Ford spot. Done this week to Hit Me With Your Best Shot, and filmed on a putt putt course, the kids were dressed as golfing Easter Eggs. Pastels were everywhere, argyle was rampant, plaid pants ruled the day and Ace was decked out in the very outfit I wore for my Spring Choir concert in third grade. Seriously, that was my old pink and purple sweater vest.

The kids were then assembled on the Divans of Doom to talk about what they miss from home. Food and dogs mostly. No, not as in "they miss eating dogs". You people are sick....or from a small island in the Phillipines.

Of course, in order to extort that $300 million in ad money, the producers had to fill with something. Tonight's Stoverthetop Stuffing? Video messages from loved ones.

Essentially we learned that the kids are loved, missed, cherished, worshipped, idolized, are special, unique, wonderful - and all able to walk on water and part the Red Sea. Sheeesh, what do you expect friends and relatives to say? "Bucky I love you, but you're a ginormous pain in the ass and if you don't stop leaving the toilet seat up I'm going to shave you baldheaded in the middle of the night, then cover you with molasses and fire ants."

Basically I learned that Cheekbones' parents suffer from McPheever, which is not unlike bird flu, only with less vomiting and curdling of internal organs; and that Pickles' little brother doesn't speak much and has ears that could give Clay Aiken a run for his money.

While the kids all dried their eyes, Ryan announced next week's guest coach, none other than Rod Stewart. Yes, Do Ya Think I'm Sexy is coming to Idol. I swear I feel like I'm trapped in a bad Twilight Zone episode. Rod has been quietly and successfully churning out albums of classic songs the past four years - big band numbers, old standards, etc. Next week he will be coaching the kids as they tackle songs from the past. These choices being heavy on ballads, at least we can hope for decent performances across the board.

Finally it was time to start winnowing down the group to find the Bottom Three...only we had to endure more video messaging from the folks back home.

Taylor's bandmates are taking care of his goldfish for him, which is good because he is once again SAFE.

Cheekbones, channeling Catherine Zeta-Jones from Zorro with side swept curls and an off the shoulder pink satin blouse, looked lovely as ever. In her video, her father basically burst into tears while watching videos of her as a child. Very sweet, yes she has always been talented and adorable, but can we please get on with this?

No, we cannot.

Now Cheekbones had burst into tears. Thankfully, Ryan was wearing his Wednesday night pocket hankie and gallantly offered it to her. I swear - she's even gorgeous when she cries. The rest of us get puffy eyes, our noses stuff up and our mascara cascades down our faces - not Cheekbones. Her tears quickly dried up when she was told that she, too, was SAFE for another week.

Chris, chilling in a simple button down and JEANS watched a video of his lumber working brother and father, both terribly proud of their brother/son. Lots of photos of Chris with hair were shown and I still think he looks better bald. How many people could shave their heads and look that good? I'll be the first to admit that what I feel under my hair brings to mind a lumpy bowling ball. Chris, of course, was deemed SAFE too.

AFTER. THE. BREAK it was Pickles turn to watch a hometown video starring her Grandfather, a kind hearted man who resembles one of those panty hose dolls you can buy at Church fairs - you know, the ones with the wrinkled up, plumped up faces? He obviously loves his granddaughter and is terribly proud of her.

Now, for those of you just waiting for me to rip on Pickles here, I'm not. She may not be my cup of tea, but even Pickles deserves to be loved, and she is. And no, I'm not talking about by the wackjobs that infest my inbox each week taking me to task for my critiques of Goddess Kellie. I'm talking about the people who actually know her.

Of course, Pickles was SAFE. No one exactly fell down at that news. Ryan, however, looked more than a little skeeved out when she put the "snot rag" on his podium. Listen Ryan, forget eBay - I can give you the email addresses of about 100 wackjobs who would mortgage their houses and sell their plasma to get hold of that DNA laden square.

Next on the chopping block was Elliott, his video detailing his health problems from birth to present day. A baby born with severe allergies, his mother bemoaned the fact that they knew back then that "he couldn't be a gardener." Um, ok Mom - tragic. That only leaves, what?, 4 million other possible occupations?

Yes, Elliott has battled hearing loss, allergies and diabetes in his young life and I would have to agree with his Mom - he does seem like such a good soul. But while that may get you into heaven, tonight it sent him to hell - yes, Elliott was once again in the Bottom Three.

As he stood before the judges, Randy assessed the situation thusly, "America's head is up it's ass." OK, ok - he actually said we are a "little confused"...but not as much as poor Elliott when Ryan abruptly asked him to sing. Sing? What? Where? Follow the band Elliott...

And he did. With more energy and emotion than last night, it was a solid performance. He should not be in danger of going home - the kid is really talented. A quick camera shot of the couches while Elliott sang, showed Ace looking like he was ready to poo his britches; Buckilocks looking totally oblivious to the the math; and Smurfette looking smug as ever.

Another break and Ace, tonight in a sleeveless muscle tee, JEANS, tennis shoes, his Queen night beaded choker and bird feathers, and another rhinestone BUCKLE - this time a swirly - watched the video of his brothers basically admitting to 30 million viewers that they beat the crap out of poor Ace as the youngest of five brothers. There is no mistaking they are related, they definitely resemble one another, but the hot/cute factor certainly was condensed by the time Ace came around - he completely out "hots" his older siblings.

Ryan then announced that Ace was again invited to Loserville. Paula babbled incoherently, trying hard not to tell her true love how bad he sucked last night, but Simon was blunt and said it was not good enough. Randy predicted it was not yet his time to go.

Ace then reprised We Will Rock You from last night - it was not much better - but maybe had he shown his armpit hair and biceps last night, perhaps he would not be standing there tonight?

One more break and it was down to Buckilocks (who had finally clued into the math) and Smurfette. Bucky, dressed in head to toe denim, watched as his Dad mourned the loss of the town Speedway, and then compared Buckilocks to a NASCAR race. Hopefully he didn't mean the ones where people crash into the walls.

Smurfette, dressing more like a 17 year old and less like a 17 year old hooker, in fake hair, an innocent pink lace top and a bracelet made of ice cubes cried while she watched Grandma Ann talked about little Smurfette and when she thought she didn't want to sing anymore. She wanted to be - GASP! - a gynecologist! Psst, Annie - it's not a bad thing to let your grandkids decide what they want to do in life...

Ryan then quickly announced that, of the two, Smurfette was SAFE and Buckilock's was not. Did you notice the dead silence? Seriously, I heard crickets chirping. I think people really wanted to see Smurfette thrown under the bus again - if only to scare a little humility into her.

Bucky began to sing Fat Bottom Girls and I began to crave oatmeal again. Fast forward...to Ace, Elliott and Bucky at center stage and Ryan quickly ripping off the bandaid with "Leaving us tonight isssssssssss BUCKY."

He did not, however, make mention of just who received the second lowest number of votes. Hmmmmmm, curious...

Another Bad Day serenaded video of Buckilocks' journey on Idol, ended with him saying, "It's been real. It's been fun. It's been real fun."

No Bucky, it hasn't been. Real funny, perhaps, but not real fun lately. One can only hope that Rod Stewart livens up the joint. After all, he's only what?, 61?

That's eight whole years younger than Kenny Rogers...

American Idol Recap: Tuesday, April 11: God Didn't Save The Queen

All right class - I would like to know - show of hands, please - who, besides me, both cringed and laughed (craughed) last week when the Queen theme night announcement was made?

Hmmm, that's what I thought. A whole class full of craughers.

A+ for all of you.

Queen.

The hit band from the 70's.

The hit band from the 70's fronted by, arguably, the most flamboyantly talented singer in the history of recorded song, albeit, now the most flamboyantly talented long deceased singer in the history of recorded song, Freddie Mercury.

A man and a band that the core demographic of American Idol - tweenies - has never heard of. Granted, they were not even a drunken twinkle in their parents' eyes back when Freddie strutted around in tighter spandex than Baryshnikov, but still...

Boy-howdy, that Freddie sure could rock a unitard like nobody's business, couldn't he?

But I digress...

My point is, as I have stated previously, we are not in Kansas anymore, Toto. American Idol Season 5 has just about jumped the shark with this theme night. Sure, we expect to watch as contestants twist, torture, maim and mutilate our eardrums through Broadway Night, Hee Haw Night, Disco Night, and MoTown Night, but this season, the theme choices are so badly targeted that it seems Paula must surely be sharing her OxyContin stash with the producers.

And the guests?!? Stevie Wonder? Barry Manilow? Kenny Rogers? Wyclef Jean & Shakira?!?

Read that list again - it practically gives you visual whiplash

No, even if I were grading this season's "theme" paper on a curve, it would merit a C- at best.

But since we're all in this together, let's lean on each other and get through this recap. I promise you a long recess if you pay attention...

Ryan opened the show with the ominous: "EIGHT. CONTESTANTS. LEFT."

I followed with the smartass: "GEE. LIKE WE. CAN'T COUNT"

Warning us the they had, "pushed the contestants to their limits before", but that they were going to "stretch their talents even further" (correct me if I'm wrong, but if one is already "pushed to their limits", isn't is impossible to stretch any further? At least without serious ligament damage and a possible distended hernia? Sorry, I'll keep typing...).

He then asked, "Can anyone match up to Freddie Mercury?"

I answered, "NO."

Emerging from backstage with those ill placed spotlights making his head look like a white hot dandelion, Ryan wore the most ill-fitting, unflattering combination of clothing; the white dress shirt and striped tie were fine, although a tad boring, but on top of that he had heaped a v-neck sweater and then squished it all under a gray suit whose seams, like the contestants, had been pushed to their limits. Seriously, he looked like a corporate sausage.

I then noticed that Ryan must pay attention to the myriad blogs, articles, websites, radio spots, and spoofs out there which have been castigating his he-man facial hair the past two weeks. While not clear cut, his face was decidely less forested.

A quick intro of the judges showed Randy working the only note in his fashion fuge - Stripes. And someone get Lisa Loeb on the phone, I found her missing glasses...

Paula, well, at this point all I could tell is that she had ample hair, because the camera literally shot past her to Simon. Seriously, she was a blur. Not that that's a bad thing...

Simon was his Sunday brunch self in a gray sweater and matching condescension.

We were then treated to a video recap of the history of Queen so the 20 million people who have never heard of them could come up to speed.

My daughters are 13, 12 and 9 and while they certainly recognized We Will Rock You and We Are The Champions, they had no idea why these people were being infused into their American Idol. I did enjoy the snippets that brought Freddie Mercury back to life for a brief moment - he was an amazing, well-hung showman, wasn't he? Oh come on. Like you never pondered the package he showcased in his spandexitard.

We then saw the Idols meeting the band - now touring with Bad Company frontman Paul Rogers - and saw Pickles hurling herself at Brian May screaming, "Ahm Kaylie!" (Man, it's hard to type in Picklerese...

The Idols each got to briefly "rock out" (read: torment Freddie Mercury in his grave) with the band. I'm sure they got to spend plenty of time with them, but if you go by the video, all they each got to do was bang their head and fling their hair around a lot.

Buckilocks (yes, the nickname is now official - his hair was so bouncy and lovely tonight - a Pantene commercial come to life) was up first singing the infamous Queen ode to largesse, or it is largasse?, Fat Bottom Girls.

Yes, I know, Mandisa would have torn that song up and been proud to sing the words "Fat Bottom Girls you make the rockin' world go round." As it was, the world pretty much stopped spinning and fell asleep during Buckilock's version.

Decked out in JEANS, a denim shirt, boots and a black leather blazer, he had fun with it, but not enough fun to make me want to join in - in fact, I got up and made some oatmeal.

And when making oatmeal scores more funtime points than an AI performance, you know the Apocolypse is nigh.

Like all of Buckilock's performances, I was more interested in whether he was going to finally miss his hand as he flung the microphone back and forth and take out someone in the front row. In fact, I have a $50 bet with a friend that he knocks out some ten year old during the Idols Live tour this summer.

Randy thought it was a "cool way to start the show", albeit a "pitchy" way; Paula - ah, now I see her, sort of, her hand was near her face a lot - thought it was "great"; Simon, though, called it mediocre. I called it mediocreamofwheat, personally.

Next up was Ace, sharing the Chat Chairs with Ryan, and looking for all the world like someone who would have been in that all male dance club with Vito on last Sunday's episode of the Sopranos. Decked out in leather pants, a deeply unbuttoned black and white striped shirt, enough make-up to catch Freddie Mercury's eye from beyond the grave - and THE BUCKLE. There it was again, in all its rhinestone cowboy glory. The look was completed by a beaded necklace with a couple dainty bird feathers hanging down.

Listen, I know speculation is rampant that Ace is, in fact, gay. Quite frankly, I couldn't care less which way he hangs his watchfob, but if he isn't, the person controlling his fashion choices most certainly is.

Oh, and it looks like he and Buckilocks share the same hairstylist - his coif was the fluffy brown version of Buck's.

In his video encounter with the members of Queen, he attempted to rescore We Will Rock You - only one of the most famous rock anthems of all time. God love Brian May, who wrote the hit, who basically called Ace a wanker, and then told him to bugger off and shove the proposed arrangement.

Ok, ok, I'm paraphrasing, but Ace didn't score any points with the group.

He then began to sing and I was overcome with that sensation of empathetic embarrassment - you know, that feeling when you die a million deaths for someone who doesn't know they should be embarrassed?

His words lacked conviction, his movements were stilted, and Matilda the Mikestand submitted herself for testing after being humped midsong - at press time it was unclear as to when the Attorney General would be filing charges.

It was bad. And me with no more oatmeal to make. The only true highlight for me was seeing Monkee, Mickey Dolenz, in the audience, and even he looked like he wanted to jump on The Last Train To Clarksville just to get the hell away from Ace's performance.

Randy gave it a "5 or 6 out of 10"; Paula - ah ha! now I see why her hand has been fluttering near her face! She has a giant coldsore on her bottom lip! Not even the copious amounts of lipstick and light reflecting gloss could hide the goiter hanging off her lip.

Anyway, she made use of her Word-O-The-Day toilet paper and threw out the word "bastardized", but then said that "I liked what you tried to do." Come on people, this is Ace. He could get up there in a monkey suit and sing Yes We Have No Bananas and she would like what he tried to do.

Paula, give it up. It's embarrassing how hard you are jonesing to see what's behind that rhinestone belt buckle.

Simon called it a complete and utter mess. (The song, not Paula...I think...hmmmm) Then Ace stood with Ryan and demonstrated his mathematic prowess by holding up two fingers for the number 2.

I swear, can someone please tell these contestants how retarded the finger counting is? Unless this part of the show is secretly sponsored by Sylvan Math Centers or Sesame Street - STOP. IT. NOW.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, Pickles was shown in her Queen video, at least I think it was her under all that flipping, flopping hair. Her quote? "They said I was "brave," (regarding her song choice of Bohemian Rhapsody - the song taken to the slaughter house by Constantly Oozing Maroulis) "I hope that was positive". (It wasn't.) And "I have big shoes to fill". Listen Gerkhin, you couldn't even carry Freddy's shoes, much less fill them.

The song began with Pickles standing under a single spotlight, which any woman will tell you is not a flattering lighting situation. Dressed as a dominatrix in black pants, tucked into black stilletto boots, top by a black leather jacket and eyes that resembled a character from Children of The Corn - she sang, "Mamaaaaa, just killed a man..." Yes, Pickles, if it's possible for someone to die twice, Freddie did just that.

Her voice was fine, albeit tinny, but everything about the song was wrong. I mean, it was WRONG when Constantine attempted it, but Pickles? I have to tell you, if she truly didn't know the answer to "what's a ballsy?", she should now - taking on this song was the personification of the word.

She worked the stage as the lights finally came up, even going out on the raised platform in the crowd, but I have to say, Pickles, the knee-drop-begging-pose-thing is so last month. Work on a new move. Her voice then went on the lam, really, did anyone see where it ran to? Oh wait, she caught it just in time to end the song and then wink at the camera.

Ewwww. Ick.

She and Constantine should get together. Ladies and gentlemen! Introducing Mr and Mrs. Pickled McButtchindimple.

Randy said her jacket was "fly"; Paula sent her the "You worked it out" sentiment from the Randy Jackson Hallmark Card collection; Simon likened her look to "Night of the Living Dead", but that "I think it worked." Then ensued a classic Pickles moment in which she showcased (or faked, as the public opinion may be) her stupidity on what he meant when he said, "On paper.." in regard to her questionable song choice.

Honey, it's more than Simon's accent that throws you off. It would also be about 100 IQ points.

Up next was Chris, choosing to sing the obscure Queen song Inneundo. (Chris could sing the application instructions on a box of hemorrhoid cream and I would listen. He's that good.)

The opening overhead camera angle was a tad hokey, especially when Chris missed the cue and kept singing to the ceiling when the camera was now on him from the front, but other than that, he was riveting.

Wearing jeans, his ever present pocket chain, a rhinestone fleur de lis tshirt, a buckle (hold the rhinestones), and Ryan's missing stubble (Chris was decidely beardy tonight), his voice was strong, unfaltering, commanding. I had no idea what the lyrics were, but with strobe lights on full flicker and fog in the air, he nailed them.

Randy tried to fake him out with what sounded like an impending slam, but then shouted, "You delivered, baby!"; Paula - you would think with all that hair, she could hide that cold sore...- honestly, I don't know what she said. I was again distracted by the satellite dish on her lip. Simon said it was the "best vocal tonight", but then tempered his praise with "the song was too indulgent..a poor choice."

Another six million dollar break and we were back with Cheekbones McPhee, originally slated to sing Don't Stop Me Now, but who changed her mind at the last minute and opted for the ballady (no Pickles, that's not the cousin of ballsy) Who Wants To Live Forever.

Cheekbones understands lighting much better than Pickles and had her four spots coming up from the floor behind her, perfectly silhouetting the booty everyone Googles so vociferously for. Standing at the mike, it was easy to take in her outfit of black pants and a red satin top, aggressively cinched by an 80's power belt. On her ears were silver bird perches big enough for her to carry a parrot on each side of her head. Sadly, the birds had flown off... Oh and she was wearing lots of hair again. I swear I think she must be in some weird competition with Paula to see who can have the most fake hair glued to their head without falling over.

It was a strong vocal, but then honestly, when isn't it? She can sing. Period. And she is beautiful to look at - the problem is, there is something about her that is just missing. The "compelling gene" that thing that makes people want to do more than just stare at you. (Yes, I am aware that a great many of you want to do more than just stare at Katharine - I was referring to "get to know her", "know about her"...)

Randy said it was "a little pitchy, but a good job all in all"; Paula, obviously coming down from her latest dose, babbled, "I love it when I see an artist make the choice to change their mind." What?? Even when TiVod back three times, it made no sense. She then added, "Glorious, great job."; Simon said she looked "amazing" and was "one of the strongest" of the night.

Another break brought us back to Elliott sitting on the small talk stools with Ryan, chatting about his past jobs - fast food, corporate, DJ. Of course, Ryan had him use his DJese to intro his own Queen video recrap - and there's a reason why Elliott is not DJing...

I really thought he was going to nail Somebody To Love - he's got the range, the vocal power, but what tripped him up is his inate whiteboy gooberishness (also known as IWG). Sadly, it is an inoperable condition and there is no cure.

Dressed in a brown, untucked button down and JEANS, floating in a sea of purple lights, his delivery was stilted, almost phonetic, like someone was trying to learn English through song. "Ayy werrrrk harrrddd." He got better as the song progressed, but was still only "eh" - and the little kick he did at the end? Another unfortunate symptom of IWG.

Randy loved him, although he did cite the pitch problems; Paula said it was the "best vocal" of the night; Simon acknowledged that he "chose the tough one, but you pulled it off." I don't know - I think Mr. Yamin may well visit the Bottom Three again Wednesday night.

Finally, my man Taylor was up to sing Crazy Little Thing Called Love, as he said, "so I can dance". Thank God - I have missed his spasmy, jerky, exuberant performances the past few weeks. He took the stage decked out in JEANS, a white shirt, and what looked like a chinchilla blazer - seriously, it look slightly furry and shinier than Buckilock's hair.

He started to sing at the stationary mikestand, then got angry and attempted to kick poor Matilda. He missed on the first try, but then he knocked her to the ground on the second. First, dry humped by Ace, and now manhandled by Mr. Soul Patrol? Someone find her a halfway house for abused audio equipment, please.

OK, I love this man, but I have to say something about the antics tonight. Beginning with that lame ass "kicking of the mikestand". It was nice to see him move around again, but it almost seemed like he was "playing Taylor". I hate the word "organic" - it is as abused as Matilda these days - but what we have always loved about Taylor is that his performances - tics and jerks included - seemed organic - they just happened. Tonight it seemed like he was concentrating on trying to give people what he has read about in all these blogs - quirks. It just didn't seem to be natural till almost the end when it did manage to click into organicity. (My spellcheck is going to hurl.)

Randy cheered, "Taylor's back!"; Paula pondered whether someone should give him "a record deal or a straight jacket" (I do believe Virgin Record execs pondered the same thing back in 1987 over Ms Abdul...); Simon called it ridiculous and asked, "Taylor, are you drunk?"

Don't worry - Taylor can do no wrong in voters' eyes at this point. He'll be around - let's just hope Matilda doesn't seek a restraining order against him.

Last up was Smurfette, of whom Brian May said, "She's damn good." Yes, she is - I don't dispute that, but she is also a Smurf, and I reserve the right to not like her.

Singing The Show Must Go On, she walked down the ramp wearing black jeans tucked into Pickles' black stiletto boots, a black corset and a silver bra from the Rhonetta Johnson Bubbly Water Ho collection. She was also wearing some of Paula's fake hair - remember they buy it by the pound. On her waist was a belt of some sort - black leather with chain mail hanging from it and a star shaped buckle.

For fake hair, it was understated and she actually looked pretty - in a hookerish-silver bra sort of way.

She rocked the song and it was, in my humble opinion, the best vocal she has delivered yet. It was so strong that I almost forgot I dislike her for a few minutes. Smurfette is definitely confident onstage, but there is still an attitude of entitlement that I think will ultimately trip her up. People would much rather smile while watching Taylor twitch, than cringe while watching Smurfette act like a Patti LaBelle drag queen.

Randy said it started weak, but that she "worked it out in the end"; Paula spoke for "the whole country and every rock group in it (?)" who was "finding out what a powerhouse you are."; Simon summed it up best with "I found it all a little weird." Hmmm, could Smurfette be heading back to Dream Crusher Land during the results show?

Well, that's it kids. Another One Bites The Dust. It will be interesting to see who The People On Streets tell to Shove It and who will end up The Loser In The End. Is Ace really a White Queen? Will Elliott be undone by being such a White Man? Will Chris remain The Golden Boy? We'll all find out When The Night Comes Down...  One thing's for certain though...

Old Freddie is definitely Rollin' Over in his grave.

Immigration Issue Crosses The Border of My Patience

I live in Dallas, Texas.

Dallas and its surrounding suburbs are truly a snapshot of both legal and illegal immigration into the United States. Name an ethnicity, we’ve got it covered. Name a religion, I’ll point you to at least half a dozen churches affiliated with it within a ten minute drive. My own neighborhood, in a suburb just north of Dallas proper, is its own rich stew of people in the great American melting pot - Americans, Hispanics, Chinese, Indian, Arab, Canadian, etc. My daughter’s elementary school looks like an ad for The United Colors of Bennetton.

And that’s a good thing.

I like that my children are growing up in an area where they meet, make friends with, and learn from children of cultures other than their own. It reinforces what I have always taught them - That the world would be a boring place if we were all the same.

Carson attended the birthday party of one of her girlfriends recently and she was the only one with pale, milky skin and hair the color of a Barbie doll. Everyone else was of Indian descent - Hindi - with some of the girls, like their mothers, aunts and grandmothers, dressed in stunning saris, while some were draped in the latest from Limited Too.

They played games unfamiliar to her. They ate foods she had never tried. And she said it was the best birthday party she had ever been to.

Again, that’s a good thing, Martha, that she was exposed to the nuances and traditions of another culture. I firmly believe that by doing so with all of our children, there just may be hope for this tired, warmongered, pockmarked, bigoted, ignorant planet yet. (Carson is so open to learning about new cultures, religions, etc - she is often found each December playing Draidle in front of the Christmas tree, singing a Hannukah song while sucking on a candy cane.)

Yes, I believe that diversity is a positive thing. I believe that good people come in every shape, color, religion, culture. Which means that in the Crayola box of humanity, bullshit also comes in a wide spectrum of shades and belief systems. I believe that the good hearted souls outnumber the bad, but that the bad get all the airtime. I believe, more than ever, in a global community.

So you might be surprised to know that I have huge issues with the whole illegal immigration situation.

As I stated above, Dallas does have a sizeable illegal immigrant population. The United States is currently home to an estimated 11 million, 6 million estimated to be Mexican, and we currently have a lion’s share of these people.

Note I say PEOPLE. I think that in our society, they are often thought of as THINGS rather than the flesh and blood, loving, hating, intelligent, ignorant, family oriented, loner, good, bad, happy, sad PEOPLE that they are. These PEOPLE are no less than you or I, no better, no worse. They are simply PEOPLE who have disregarded the border laws, but the fact that they are illegally residing in this country does not make them less human.

Dallas is also a city which saw an estimated 500,000 people take to the streets yesterday to protest the proposed illegal immigration laws currently being bandied about in the Senate.

And you would have to be living under a rock the past month to not be aware of what changes are afoot.

(I will give them credit - they learned from the previous protesters’ mistake in March and no one carried a single Mexican flag.  Seriously, what was up with that?  Protesting for rights in this country by proudly waving the flag of the country from which you fled?  That repeated faux pas even dramatically damaged their cause in the eyes of sympathetic US citizens.)

The proposed laws would establish a guest worker program, whereby illegal immigrants would be immediately granted temporary resident status, essentially encouraging them to come out into the light without fear of immediate deportation. It would also allow for additional people to immigrate - temporarily - in order to work.

Ahhh, temporarily. That’s a pretty word, isn’t it?

And it means absolutely nothing.

This is a big country and already the number of temporary immigrants - those who have an actual legal piece of paper issued by this country - who simply dissolve into its fabric, never showing up to leave on the day their temporary status expires, is in the thousands every month.

Essentially, by passing any type of illegal immigration protection law, the United States is essentially throwing up its hands and saying, "Fine! We can’t secure our borders. We don’t enforce our current laws. So get in line and at least let us count you on the way in. Don’t forget to visit Disneyland and the Grand Canyon!"

I am not being heartless in saying that. Rather, I am simply exasperated by the current policies which are so restrictive that people willingly cross the deserts of Arizona (scores dying each year in the process) in order to cut our grass and pick our fruit.

I know these people. I see them every single day and they are not ruthless criminals. They are not drug traffickers. They are not out to ruin my lifestyle or depress my property values.

They simply want a shot at a better life. I get that.

But instead of simply opening the borders, why can’t the current documentation process be expedited? Does it truly take two-three years to provide an applicant with a green card? Cut the red tape and you will substantially cut the numbers classified as illegal.

I realize that as a people in this nation, we are spoiled. We turn up our noses at the very jobs these people crawl through underground tunnels and outrun border dogs to get to. Minimum wage is a goldmine compared to maximum poverty in the country from which they come.

A spokesman at one of the recent marches repeatedly stated, "We are out in force to show the government that we refuse to be treated this way any longer!" and "Look how many of us there are!"  He then likened it to the Civil Rights marches from America's past.

I'm sorry, but the Civil Rights movement had to do with pulling the collective head of this nation out of its ass in regards to the African American population which, throughout our country's history, had been shamefully neglected, victimized, marginalized and, dehumanized, but who were also UNITED STATES CITIZENS. 

As for the numbers this man bragged about?  I was pulled over and received a ticket last month for my car inspection being expired.  If I do not follow the law, remedy the situation, and also pay the fine, I could find my ass in jail.  For an expired sticker on my windshield.  If I followed your logic, I should round up all the people in my town with expired stickers and march on the Municipal Court. 

Listen, just because millions of you have broken the law, does not somehow magically "unbreak" it.  This society which you claim to embrace so heartily has rules, large and small, all meant to be followed.  Or else the violator faces the consequences.

Quite frankly, I simply wish this issue would stop be treated as some sort of perverse game.

Take the people who desperately attempt to flee Cuba. The rules in this Parker Brothers interactive board game are thus: If we catch you on the water, you get sent back to Start. However, should your toe touch the sand of Florida, you are allowed to move ahead ten spaces to the nearest Home Depot parking lot where you can stand around with the others who Passed Go, waiting for someone to come by in a pick-up truck and ask you help them build a fence or dig a hole. Collect $10.

There must be a better answer that that.

Today rallies are scheduled in at least 70 cities across the country. Hundreds of thousands will again take to the streets marching for illegal immigrant rights carrying signs like this one from a rally yesterday.

The problem is, our constitution does not provide rights to you. Our borders are supposed to mean something. Our citizenship is supposed to be a birthright, and if a person was not born here, it is a legal right, obtained only after playing by the rules.

And this banner carried in an Alabama march:

No, just as you are not an American, as in "a citizen of this country", you are also not America. Just because you managed to get in and are actively flouting the laws of this country does not make you "America".

The United States is a big country, with an even bigger, compassionate heart.  But we simply cannot absorb every single person who wants to come in.  We can't.  We currently do not take care of our own well enough to be able to afford to care for millions more.  The laws need enforced.  The borders require attention.  The cat and mouse game needs to stop.

Yesterday, Carlos Carrera, a construction worker from Mexico, held a large banner that read: "We are not criminals. Give us a chance for a better life."

We’d be happy to Carlos, but common courtesy dictates you knock on the door before simply walking into someone else’s home and demanding things.

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, April 5th: Oh The HuMANDISAity!

After last night's lackluster Country performances (that country being Great Boringdom - neighbor of Apathetica and Snoozylvania), the internet was ablaze with firey speculation as to just who would go down in flames in tonight's results show.

I confess I spent (read: wasted, pissed away) much of the day doing the same thing. After all, it was a night in which the good were bad and the bad were only passable.

In considering all the performances, I held onto the hope that, for once, voter momentum and blind fan-love would carry some through unscathed. Because, let's be honest here, if last night had been the first time we had all seen Taylor, Elliott or Smurfette perform, they would surely be playing the part of Jesus in that infamous Last Supper with the other idols after the show tonight.

Now before you get all "Hey, but you don't even like Smurfette" on me, calm down. No, I do not appreciate her helium filled speaking voice, her fashion choices from Oscar De la Crapa, or her tendancy to accessorize with an entire Claire's boutique - all at once - but I have never said she can't sing.

As for Mr. Soul Patrol? I spent the day hoping fans had phoned in their support because Taylor sure as hell phoned in his performance. The medical community had better TiVo back and take note: I believe we have found the cure for Palsy-Tourettes - that combo disease which flares up when Taylor sings: Take two John Denvers and call me in the morning.

Sniffing around the Internet, I already knew going in tonight that the results were going to be a shocker. Ryan had interviewed Idol-guru Nigel Lythgow on his radio show this morning and he stated that, "the results kept me up all night".

And when results have the effect of a bad burrito, you know it's going to be worth watching.

So, that being said, let's get onto the recap...

Ryan opened the show, looking much like a funeral director in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie, complete with diamond tie tack. For those of you who had hoped he would show up fresh faced, you should know that any chance of that was squashed by Simon's facial fur comment last evening. The stubble is going to hang around now - just for spite.

A quick camera pan of the contestants revealed that they were just as unsure as the rest of America about tonight's outcome. The perma-grins were at half staff, and if anything, they all were wearing a signature look on loan from the Paula Abdul Dazed and Confused Museum.

Ryan mentioned there had been just shy of 35 million votes last night, and I was momentarily hopeful. Surely, if that many people hung around to vote after such a snorefest of a show, maybe there was good news for my man Taylor.

The kids assembled on the Couches of Country Carnage thusly:

Top Row: Taylor, Mandisa, Elliott, Smurfette

Bottom Row: Ace, Pickles, Chris, Cheekbones and Bucky

I also knew from the radio interview that there would be three groups tonight, so the seating arrangement was not telegraphing any hintage. A quick hello to the judges didn't reveal much either. Randy must have had the night off from the Tropicana - the satin vest was gone. Paula only had about 30 pounds of extra hair hanging over her burgundy jacket and white tank, and Simon was dressed like the proverbial raincloud - which would soon be pouring down on someone's parade - in a gray sweater.

A quick recap of last night's Country Music Hindenburg was not worth watching at regular speed, so I quickly TiVod forward - although I did freeze frame Burgess Meredith's face for a moment. Poor Kenny - one eyelidectomy too many and POOF - he's ready to coach Sly Stallone in the new Rocky installment.

Oh well, the man who still sounds like him took the stage to sing a song from his latest album, Water & Bridges, called I Can't Unlove You. It was classic Kenny...as long as you didn't look at him. Sadly, like a rubbernecker passing a ten car pile-up, I had to stare.

The images will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Priscilla Presley's father once ridiculed her make-up while she was in the early throes of Elvisdom, saying she had on so much eye make-up that her eyes looked like two "pissholes in the snow". Well, considering the arctic white beard and hair surrounding them, Kenny's eyes were all that...and less. They are almost nonexistent.

And what was with the microphone allergy? Everytime it started to come anywhere near his face, he would yank it away and jerk his head to the side.  The cherry on this trainwreck cake was the kaleidoscopic triangles flashing all over the floor. They were only slightly more bearable than the fruity dancing daisies employed by the lighting guys when Barry Manilow performed.

One big group hug and we were let off the hook with a commercial break.

Penance, of course, being paid in the form of the Ford Fusion fiasco we came back to. This week showcased Pickles, playing the role of "dumb blonde car owner" to Taylor's "dumb gray grease monkey". Set to the tune Just One Look, the rest of the Idols took turns ripping Pickles' old beater car to shreds.

May I pause here to predict that there will be mass Googling, beginning this evening, for "Katharine McPhee Blowtorch"?

The song moved on with the kids singing into sledge hammers and then I just about lost my dinner on my shoes as Smurfette launched her ample fanny into the camera. Even my dog jumped.

Upshot of the video? Pickles' POSmobile (Piece of Sh*t, for the uneducated) is magically turned into a spiffy new Ford Fusion and they all lived happily ever after.

I hate these things with a burning passion that envelopes my very soul and threatens to set my hair on fire from the inside of my skull.

Before getting to the results, Ryan confirmed both the rumor that has been floating through cyberspace all week, and the fact that we are all indeed in hell: Yes, next week's theme will be The Songs of Queen.

And us without our Kevin Covais. I mean WHO is going to sing We Are The Champions now? Or Fat Bottom Girls for that matter

Thank God Freddy Mercury is dead already because this would surely kill him.

The video of the kids rehearsing with the remaining members of Queen showed the sum total of their knowledge of how to rock a song: bang your head and flip your hair alot. Even Chris was flinging his hair around and he doesn't have any.

I'm warning you all now - strap on a Depends before reading next week's show recap - I have a feeling the funny is going to flow like, well...incontinent urine into a Depends pad.

One final break and the lights were dimmed for the sectioning of the group.

Taylor was asked to begin a pile on the stage nearest Ryan. Mandisa - who was NOT wearing JEANS - good girl - was told to begin the line in the middle of the stage. Elliott quickly joined Mandisa.

Smurfette was up next, still wearing her own hair, but dressed as a pack of Lifesavers - she was asked to stand with Mandisa and Elliott, thus completing their Triangle of Terror.

Ace, dressed in JEANS, his signature long sleeved/short sleeved T-shirt combo and a buckle (hold the rhinestones - good boy) was the first to be shown to the far side of the stage. Pickles, dressed in JEANS, a sparkly black tank, and a lopsided ponytail was next to join Taylor. She was quickly followed by Chris.

That left Cheekbones - who was wearing a denim miniskirt, cowboys boots and a Grateful Dead - LSD flashback inspired maternity top that showcased some seriously taped together cleavage - and Bucky, ready to go ride the bull at Gilly's in his cowboy hat, JEANS, and cowhead belt buckle.

They were both asked to keep Ace company. (DUH - I do believe we can all count to three here.)

Ryan, who seemed fairly bored with the proceedings, quickly sent Taylor, Pickles and Chris back to Safety and sent us immediately into a commercial marathon.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, Ace, Cheekbones and Bucky were given the all clear and landed safely on the couches, leaving Mandisa, Elliott and Smurfette in a holding pattern over Idol International Airport.

With the seatbelt sign illuminated, they would have to hold their rapidly filling nervous bladders while we watched another set of commercials.

This gave us all time to chew on some pretty shocking results. Mandisa, even at her worst, is more engaging than half the people who were sitting on the couch. Elliott, truly a gifted, talented singer, and all around nice-guy - has unfortunately chosen crap songs the past two weeks. And Smurfette, well, like I said, she can sing, but last week I also predicted her demise was imminent based on some serious voter disdain for her 'tude.

Back from the break, Ryan gave her a chance to sing another day, to butcher another outfit, to do an interpretive dance via her hairstyle choice.

Simon commented briefly about bad song choices being to blame for Mandisa's and Elliott's appearance in Bottom Threeville, and Paula quickly turned on the waterworks, ready to weep for whoever got thrown under the bus.

That would be Mandisa. Elliott was granted a reprieve and Mandisa went up in flames. It was truly another Jennifer Hudson moment on American Idol. As her tears flowed and we all watched her video journey (Note to producers: You've killed the song Bad Day enough times now. We get it. Yes, it is a Bad Day for whoever is leaving the show, but get a new song already.)

Mandisa was humble, thanking her fans, blessing us all, and singing one last time on the Idol stage. I hope that, like Jennifer Hudson, who will soon be seen starring as Effie in the big screen version of Dreamgirls, life has many good things in store for Mandisa, starting with being the new spokewoman for Lane Bryant, who would be seriously remiss if they did not snatch up this fun, fearless, beautiful, big girl immediately.

Well, that's it for this week kids. It was a week of disappointment and surprises, mostly in the form of Kenny Rogers' face. I hate to think who they pull from the celebrity crypt in the weeks to come...

In loving memory of Kenny Rogers...and Burgess Meredith.