Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

I'd Rather Be Given Flowers...

No one has ever said marriage was an easy thing. In fact, as personal, trust-based endeavors go, it ranks right up there with skydiving, open heart surgery, roller coaster riding, and eating items from a city street foodcart.

You place your faith and trust in another human being.

Trust that the person who packed your parachute wasn't drunk. Faith that the engineers who monitor your thrill rides don't have an "Eh, close enough" attitude the day you hit the theme park. Faith in your surgeon's skills and trust that he didn't spend most of anatomy class studying the curves of his buxom lab partner. And trust that your street vendor practices not only good hygiene, but some level of sanitary food prep that goes beyond the "5 second ground hitting rule".

Truth is, we spend most waking moments placing our physical well being in the hands of other people. Fellow motorists, teachers, doctors, dentists, massage therapists, grocery store workers, gas station owners, etc.

For many of us, our emotional well-being is in the hands of someone else as well. Whether a ring bearing spouse, a committed significant other, or simply a new hot paramour - we pony up our hearts and trust that they won't use them as the emotional equivalent of a roll of Charmin.

I've been married over fifteen years now. I've been with the man for over seventeen. That's pushing two decades of placing my trust in his love, maturity, committment, and yes, hormones.

And he has placed his trust in me.

During our marital tenure, due to the nature of his occupation, we have spent extended periods apart - he in one state, me in another playing catch up with our children while we wait to sell a house and complete a move. This is exactly what we have been doing for the past 2 1/2 years.

That's right - TWO AND A HALF YEARS.

Now, don't get me started on the protracted process of trying to sell this beautiful McMansion of ours - there are simply too many beautiful McMansions available where I live - and don't cry for us, Argentina, we're actually handling it very well.

But with him four hours away, home only on (most) weekends, trust is something with which we are intimately familiar.

That's not to say it doesn't cross my mind - the thought that he could be getting extracurricularly jiggy if he so chooses. After all, he does have his own apartment and plenty of open hours. For his part, while I laugh when he even brings it up, he sometimes allows a worrisome thought to enter his cerebrum in terms of my fidelity.

I say I laugh because, as opposed to his bachelor existence, I am a package deal, a rather lumpy one at that, as I have three children permanently attached to my ass and rarely a moment to myself. Hell, my best chance for an affair would be showing up early for the carpool line - maybe another Dad in the back of his SUV?

The truth is, even when we have wobbly moments in our relationship, even when I allow my mind to stray into "what if" territory, even when he worries about the number of male neighbors always so eager to "help" me with things around the house - neither one of us truly worries that our trust has been misplaced. I would never cheat. He would never cheat. And I choose to take his word, and actions, for it.

Sadly, many people don't have this level of trust in their relationships...

Meet the 41 year old man in Kuala Lumpur who could not make his wife believe in his fidelity, regardless of their heated arguments and all his protestations.

(The mysterious text message on his cell phone probably did not help his case, but then again, my husband, myself, most people I know, get illicit text messages all the time - porn spam sent to cellphones.)

Desperate to prove to his wife that he was not having an affair, he dropped his pants, grabbed his penis, sliced it from his body, and presented it to his wife before collapsing on the floor.

And most men just send flowers...

Screams ensued - his, hers, their 14 year old son's. The wife then rushed him to the hospital where he underwent surgery to reattach the gift that (hopefully) can keep giving.

No word on whether she was swayed by his over-the-top, under-the-belt gesture...

Personally, I don't need my husband to cut his willy off to prove I can trust him. I will continue to place my faith in him and offer my love freely - preferring to simply take his word for it. That's how it should be. That's how we want it.

And after all, should he choose to cheat?

He won't need to cut it off - I'll do it for him.

Republicans, Democrats, Liberals, Pedophilicans?

Continuing in the "it takes all kinds" vein of the previous article on the elusive Oklahoma toelicker...

I firmly believe in a person's right to privacy and that what goes on between consenting adults, behind closed doors, is none of my business. If you like orgies, have one. As long as everyone involved in the Mazolafest is of age and thrilled to be there, I wish you many happy endings.

If swinging from the chandelier in a cat costume is your particular kink, reinforce the ceiling brackets and Meow away.

If smearing your body with cream cheese and rolling around in nuts does it for you and your partner, Bon Appetit! Just wash the sheets, ok?

The bottom line is that sex is a very personal thing, different ideas and erotica appeal to different people, and nothing is wrong with a healthy sexual appetite. I like sex. I happen to like sex a lot. In fact, you could even say that I like a lot of sex.

That makes me no different from billions of people the world over.

But like any group of people, there are subgroups, and when it comes to sex, there are many. Sure, you have your fetishists, your dominants, your submissives, your S&M fans, etc, but you also have the most unsavory sexual subgroup: Pedophiles - those who get sexually excited by the thought of, or act of, sex with children.

Personally, I believe this subgroup should all be gathered together, ass-reamed by a herd of wild boars, then fed their own gentials before being shot in their miserable, perverted, worthless heads.

I'm not kidding.

Anyone who looks upon a child and sees anything but their beautiful innocence needs removed from this planet immediately. Children are the most helpless of our species, the most trusting, the ones most worthy of protection and unconditional love. That anyone gets their rocks off in raping them, exploiting them, trafficking them? It sickens me beyond words and I would be happy to wield the knife that severs their genitals and the gun that ends their lives.

We could start in Amsterdam, where Dutch pedophiles are currently organizing their own political party.

Yes, a political party, The Charity, Freedom and Diversity (NVD) party, whose intent it is to get the legal sexual relation age lowered to 12.

TWELVE.

I have a twelve year old. She is shaped like a stick of gum, not a woman, and is the farthest thing from sexy that I can imagine. Cute? Yes. Adorable? Absolutely. Hot? Not on your miserable, pathetic life.

The current law restricts sexual involvement to those 16 and older. However, according to Ad van den Berg, a worthless sack of shit and one of the party's founders, " A ban just makes children curious."

You know, Ad, I'll give you this much - tell a child they cannot have something - LIKE A COOKIE - and that's what they will fixate upon. But tell a 12 year old child they cannot have sex? Normal, healthy 12 year olds don't want to have sex. Many of them have no clue what sex is. And I guarantee you they don't want to get naked with a sack of shit grown up like you.

The party also believes that private possession of child pornography should be allowed although it favors banning the trade of such materials. Wow, what a bunch of upstanding saints - I bet they take the dishes out of the sink before they shit in it.

They say the broadcast of pornography should be allowed on daytime television, with only violent pornography limited to the late evening. OK, I realize I live in Suburbia, USA, but come on. If you want to view porn - have at it - as long as the naked acrobats are adults and you are getting your fix via a satellite dish or DVD. I don't think channel flipping at noon should include Days of Our Lives, The Price Is Right, Debbie Does Dallas, Oprah...

They say toddlers should be given sex education and youths aged 16 and up should be allowed to appear in pornographic films and prostitute themselves. And sex with animals should be allowed although abuse of animals should remain illegal.

Let's take those one at a time, shall we?

Toddlers receiving sex ed? A toddler is defined as "one who toddles", basically someone 1 - 3 years of age. They can barely comprehend the Wiggles, so I don't think many sex ed inroads would be made at this age. Can they be taught what their private parts are? Of course. Along with being taught to not let any strange adults touch them there.

As for kids age 16 and up being allowed to appear in porn and prostitute themselves? They do already. That does not mean there should be a law sanctioning it. What we need are more global laws offering them aid, alternatives to turning tricks to feed themselves - basically, a safe childhood.

When it comes to sex with animals? Fine - different strokes for different folks, but these people need some serious help. No chicken deserves to have their morning feed session interrupted by having a man's penis shoved up their "coop". I can just imagine the poor thing looking over its shoulder with a look of "What the CLUCK?!?" all over its face. And those who enjoy receiving? You get what you pay for, people. Just remember the man who died in Washington state last year after being loved up the rectum by a horse. Animals in the heat of the moment do not respond to words like "Whoa!"

The party also said everybody should be allowed to go naked in public.

Puh-leez. The majority of people in this world don't look good enough to go naked in the privacy of their own homes. We do not need to see it out on the streets or while shopping at the Mall.

But back to their main reason for organizing politically - championing their pedophilic cause. I can only hope that their application is denied - children need the globe's protection, not a party organized to make them easier prey.

Then again, maybe they should be allowed to assemble, hold national conventions like the Democrats and Republicans. Get them all in one place... you bring the net, I'll bring the rusty knife ... now where can I get my hands on a pack of wild boars?

Damn.  I bet that guy in Washington could have told me...

Toe-tally Disgusting

OK, I realize I am the biggest champion of the "it takes all kinds" mindset. Colors, beliefs, religions, likes, dislikes - I am raising my children to believe that the fact we are all different is a "good thing", Martha.

I want them to grow up understanding that this blue marble is big enough for many viewpoints, appetites, preferences. Personally, I could care less if someone dances naked in their backyard, by the light of their own silvery "moon", while worshipping mungbeans, and chanting lines from Green Eggs & Ham. As long as they don't stray over my fence or come to my door reciting Doctor Seuss, why should I care?

I'm sure I do many things that would strike others as weird, offbeat, or tilted.

I get up at 430am every single day. That, in itself, makes some people view me as a cashew in the nutbowl of life. I have slap fights with my children. Now, don't get your CPS panties in a wad. It's their game, I just happen to be stupid enough to play it with them, and for the record, in this game where you take turn smacking the crap out of your opponent's hand, I ALWAYS cave first.

I wear my hair up everyday. This piques many people's curiosity, in fact, I have friends who would pay more money for a picture of my hair down than they would to see the first snapshot of Shiloh Jolie-Pitt. It is a religious thing? Is it even real? No, and yes, respectively. No, it is not some repressive religious or Little House On The Prairie hairstyle. Yes, the curls are all mine, something I tire of having to prove to store clerks, strangers at book signings, and neighbors. I simply happen to be lazy, and keeping it up, keeps it out of my way. Plus, I also happen to like it.

I also like sushi, believe HBO's Deadwood raises profanity to an artform, and have been known to eat many a "salad" consisting of nothing but croutons and ranch dressing.

Again, my point is that we all have quirks and tics that set us apart from our fellow human beings, and as long as they don't reach out and affect someone else, that is perfectly fine.

Unfortunately, society is crawling with folk who cannot resist the urge to reach out and touch others. Which brings us to today's nominee for Disgusting Human Being, The Oklahoma Toe Licker.

Yes, friends - you read that right - and if you happen to be in the great state of OK - currently, things are not.

Apparently, a woman loading her groceries into her car outside a Tulsa area Walmart, felt an odd sensation on her sandaled feet - a wetness of sorts. Her first reaction was that there must be a stray dog under her car, so she moved her foot. The licking followed, so she looked down. Imagine her surprise to find, not a canine, but a true son-of-a-bitch lovingly caressing her toes with his tongue.

"I felt something lick my foot. I looked at him and I said 'What in the hell are you doing?' that's exactly what I said, 'What are you doing?" says the victim, who'd like to remain anonymous. (She has since given up her anonimity, gleefully recounting her encounter for CNN's international audience.)

The perpetratoe quickly got up and ran off, however, should he be caught (and how will they positively identify him as her attoeker - a Dr. Scholl's breathlyzer?) he'll face a misdemeanor charge of battery or outraging public decency.

Look, I know there is a certain segment of the populace who get wood at the cornchippy scent of a pair of hardworking, sweaty feet; who endlessly surf the web for exotic photos of human hooves (people are still Googling for pictures of American Idol finalist Katharine McPhee's bare feet with green toenail polish); and who practically achieve physical nirvana while walking a crowded beach filled with naked, sandy peds, but come on.

Hiding under someone's car and just licking away?

I can tell you that if someone were to attempt this with me, they'd also better be a masochist who likes the taste of their own blood, because my sexy foot is going to smash their fetish mouth into a million pieces.

Authorities are warning Oklahoma residents to be vigilant, check under their cars, and most importantly, don't wear sandals.

Unless, of course, it's your personal kink. If it is, email me. I'd be happy to direct you to this peculiar - wait, sorry - particular, Walmart, where you might get lucky enough to Tip Toe Through His Two Lips too...

(You'll have to excuse me now. This has left a bad taste in my mouth and I am craving a huge gargle of Scope...)

American Idol Finale Results Recap, Wednesday, May 24: Our Taylor-Made Idol Is A Perfect Fit

I approach this recap with the same mix of emotions being experienced by my daughters who will wake up in the morning and realize that their school year is officially ended.

I am thrilled to be able to go back to a normal bedtime on Tuesdays and Wednesdays - we old farts need our beauty rest and I have the yearly American Idol bags under my eyes, which are currently big enough to qualify as steamer trunks. Yet, vanity aside, I am honestly sad to see this season coming to an end. I haven't enjoyed recapping a previous season of AI as much as I have this one, and it truly has to do with the incredible people who have embraced these ridiculous ramblings of mine and become frequent fliers in my email inbox.

Whether you march with the Soul Patrol, suffer from McPheever, unabashedly proclaimed your lust for Pickles, or wept when Elliott left the building, you are all funny, passionate, opinionated, engaging folk and I hope that once the confetti settles, you will continue to stop by the Don't Get Me Started blog and make yourself at home in my email anytime.

Thank you all for a great season.

Now, as this evening is going to be the Bataan Death March of commercials and contain more bloating fillers than a 7-11 Burrito, let's get on with the recap...

I managed to catch the final moments of the American Idol Red Carpet preshow, which included Constantine smearing up my television screen (dammit, I just cleaned it), and then Katharine's parents chatting with the red carpet gang. Kat's dad looked very respectable in his suit and tie, but her Mom Peisha took the prize for Most Wholly Inappropriate Attire of the evening (and when you can wrestle that title from Paula Abdul, you know it is bad). I have nothing against mature ladies dressing sexily, I do it myself when I go out with my husband, but her dress contained cleavage that dipped to her navel, and showed way more breast than Kat has been known to do. Seriously, unless you're a bonafide, toned up MILF, which she is not, you need to cover up a bit more than the 20 somethings surrounding you. Her bare arms alone danced to their own drummer every time she moved. Not a good choice, Mom.

Inside, the show started with the magic doors opening and Carrie Underwood walking out singing I Made It Through The Rain. She looked radiant as ever in an off white dress, her hair swept to one side, but she was also walking like a show pony - one foot deliberately in front of the other. Then Taylor picked up the lyrics, walking down the ramp in a matching off white suit - he looked wonderful - even when his hair turned blue in the glow of the spotlight. Kat joined them next in a white, form fitting suit with more cleavage than Mom was sporting. Then out came the other finalists, all visions in white, joining in for the first GROUP SONG. Amazingly, they did not sound horrid together - it was nice and short, and the addition of the Idol Tabernacle Choir on the stairs (who must be saving the blue robes for the final song) only added to it. It was not a bad way to start the show...

When they finished, the Idolvator rose one last time, like a suppository given to cure McPheever, and the Idolbot walked out - sniff, sniff, tear, tear - I will miss that neon, androgynous cyborg...

Ryan, again dressed to preside over a funeral or be in the coffin during one, walked out in a black suit and matching tie, to announce what we already know, "Tonight we name YOUR idol." Yeah, yeah, but first we have to extort a billion dollars from the advertisers, so I hope you packed a lunch. Then again, with an estimated 200 million viewers worldwide, can you blame them for milking this cash cow till she is only squirting air from her drained udders?

A nod to each judge included a brief video - Randy uttering a collage of cliches, "Dawg, Yo, Check It Out, Dude, Bomb, Hot One, Wow". Tonight he was dressed in a striped shirt (color me surprised), a gold tie and power suit. He was also sporting my glasses from the second grade - blue, plastic, hideous.

Paula, who I must say looked rather elegant in her simple white and black lace gown, topped it off with a personal best of 150 pounds of artificial head turf. Her video included an endless array of hitting, hollering, smacking, crying, gyrating and boobs.

Simon, looking very Monte Carlo in his black suit and white shirt, left opened to his navel, actually blushed as they ran a video which mostly included sweaters - black, gray, white, blue, but also included a heavily edited and replayed snippet of him rubbing his chest. When the video ended he was blushing - no, he was actually redder than the flaming screensaver they always used for Chris's performances.

Ryan then checked in with the gatherings in each contestant's hometown - Birmingham was indeed out in force for Taylor, with the infamous O'Donahue twins continuing to MAXIMize their limited celebrity by being the correspondents. Tamyra Gray, of season 1 shaftdom, was on hand at Universal Studios theme park in California where they had managed to lure a bunch of folks (with free admission) into holding Katharine signs. Seriously, I really am not being mean here, but did you notice how tight they kept the camera shot?

Back in the studio, Ryan introduced the first of the Top 12 to perform tonight - Smurfette, who came out in typical Smurfette attire - gold heels, a gold tank top, covered by an odd strapless vest, and wearing gauchos. Her hair was on steroids and around her neck hung my grandmother's missing cake plate.

A few lines into We're In This Love Together, and out walked legend Al Jarreau, fresh from brain surgery with a beanie on his head, and sporting Kenny Roger's eyes. Oh my, how the great have disintegrated... They sounded fine together, although he was clearly eclipsed by the power that is Paris Bennett, and when he tried a vocal run? I honestly thought he was having a seizure - it was not pretty and sounded even worse than it looked. They scatted together briefly, then thankfully the song was over and they put Mr Jarreau back in his pod.

AFTER. THE. FIRST. OF. MANY. BREAKS, Chris D took the stage to perform with his favorite band, Live, a group of guys who, if someone had told them nine months ago would be on American Idol, they would have punched them in the face. Singing with their frontman, it looked like an audition for Daddy Warbucks in the touring company of Annie - bald heads abounded, although, the other guy really does not have a head shaped for intentional baldness. Chris makes it look hot, that guy just looked chemotherapized. I'm sure the majority of viewers had no idea what was being sung, but Chris thoroughly outsang the other guy - and he has a huge future in front of him.

Then came the first of the insulting moments for we viewers, forced to choke on garbage and regurgitated footage from months ago. This particular segment was titled Puck & Pickler and featured uber celebrity chef Wolfgang Puck "teaching" Pickles about food. It was ridiculous (which I realize was the intention, but still...) and for the record, the newly bobbed hair does her a disservice. It makes her face look pudgy and all her sex appeal got left on the hair stylist's floor. Grow it back Pickles, or ask Paula if you can borrow some of hers.

The segment showcased Pickles basically vomiting an escargot into a napkin. High class stuff, guys. Thanks.

It ended and I was momentarily excited by the intro of Meatloaf coming out to sing the Celine Dion hit It's All Coming Back To Me Now with Kat. Unfortunately, aged Meatloaf is not very appetizing. I hate that I'm saying that, as I am a Meatloaf fan, having infected my daughters' iPods with some of his best work, but it's true. When he started to twitch and shake while singing, I feared the Meat had Mad Cow Disease - it was just disturbing, not emotional And the red hanky? Sad, dude, sad.

Luckily Katharine's breasts came on stage and took over the singing. OK, ok, Kat came out with them, but she was completely upstaged by the two billiard balls straining for release from the squished confines of her meager dress. The song moved on and never got any better - and the attempts to dramatize the lyrics? Ugh. I can only imagine the things Celine Dion was throwing around her dressing room in Vegas. Her Grammys. A platinum album or five. Her husband...

I will say that Kat sang better than Meatloaf, but I'm really stretching to find a compliment in this vocal succotash.

Another break and we returned to Ryan introing the next of the many useless time wasters - the Golden Idol Awards. Highlighting, or lowlighting, as the case may be - moments from the entire season. First category? Outstanding Female Vocal, which of course, wasn't. Three hideous auditions were shown, a winner declared, Whoopee. Outstanding Male Vocal showcased Marlowes Davis, who picked earwax all through his audition; Derek Dupre, who had crop circles of sweat under his arms; and Crazy Dave Hoover - the barefoot wackjob - who just happened to win - and who just happened to bound barefoot and manic onto the stage.

Classy, Nigel, real classy.

I found myself actually saying THANK GOD when they went to commercial, but then we returned to another installment of Puck & Pickler, this time showing Wolfgang terrorizing our little minx with live lobster.

It was at this point that I truly began to feel insulted by this momumental waste of time.

I was, however, rewarded for my patience being pushed to its limits, by the male Idols taking the stage to sing a medley of tunes beginning with Taking Care of Business. They all looked great in head to toe black, and I really found myself enjoying their performance - you could tell these guys genuinely like one another, whereas a group of women would be completely fighting for camera time and angles.

It only got better when Taylor came out and began playing his beloved harmonica - and that boy can play. Seriously, if someone would have said it was possible to look sexy while working a blues harp, I would have laughed out loud, but I now believe it would be entirely possible to seduce me in this fashion. Whodathunkit?

The medley moved on to Tobacco Road and cranked into high gear with a Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow finish. I swear, I will gladly lay down my credit card for this Idols tour. These kids have fun and are worth listening to.

Of course, all good things must be paid for in this life - and so penance was done in the form of one more Ford commercial. This one had Taylor and Cheekbones at the drive-in, watching a montage of all the Ford flicks from season five. Congrats to all the kids for making the best of a bad exploitation. Some were actually memorable.

After the commercial, Ryan presented Kat and Taylor with keys to their brand new convertibles - courtesy of Ford. Ahhh, that car devil is a crafty fellow, isn't he?

Continuing the seesaw of good/crap/good/crap, the next category in Golden Idol was announced: Proudest Family Moment. Contenders? Elliott's teary Mom, Kat's teary Dad, and Chris's teary wife. Big shock when Mama Yamin took the trophy. She also got to intro Elliott singing One Love. God, I so wanted the doors behind him to open and reveal Bono, but instead, after he sang a couple opening lines, out walked Mary J Flyge - sorry , Blige (those glasses looked like Jeff Goldblum's head in The Fly). From then on, Elliott was just a back up singer - Mary J can rock, but it was completely unfair how he had to step to the side and stand there for most of the song and then still be completely overshadowed by her to the very end. Elliott deserved more than being vocally bitchslapped by a diva.

Another break and the girls in black had their medley turn, beginning with I Feel Like A Woman, then Trouble, I'm A Woman, Natural Woman, and I'm Every Woman. In case you were not aware - they are women. Like the guys, they sounded really tight together, and while there was not as much true camaraderie behind their smiles, it was still fun to watch. I loved seeing Lisa Tucker's big grin fill the screen, hearing Melissa McGhee's big throaty vocals, and watching Mandisa's big - well, just plain bigness take over for the finish. She was amazing and I found myself again wishing the finale had contained her, not Cheeks.

Ryan then pimped Idol Tour tickets - dates are selling out, as they should - And then moved us into the next Golden Idol award, this one for Best Impersonation. Nominees included the kid who ate Cher, the skinny white boy who thought he was Michael Jackson, and Seth Strickland, the misguided youth who thought he could skate through the auditions by becoming Clay Aiken. Of course, Seth won, and of course, Seth was on hand. Ryan asked him to sing and he began a horrendous version of Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me. I was able to tolerate this because I knew from the newsstories that the real Aiken was indeed going to perform, so I patiently waited for him for appear.

The stage doors behind Seth parted and I got momentraily confused when one of the Beatles walked out. What in THE hell has Clay done to his hair? It was shaggy, hanging low on his forehead, and DARK BROWN. Happily, the hair was the only thing that had changed - his voice soared effortlessly and is still one I would gladly pay to hear live. Poor Seth tried to sing with him, but eventually suffered a complete hero-induced stroke and had to be helped onto a stool by Ryan while Clay finished the song.

One more note on the hair: my 12 year old called it "cool hair" and stated she "loved it" on him - so, to borrow Simon's quote, what the hell do I know?.

As the cash udders were still producing milk, we were then subjected to a random medley of Burt Bacharach songs - the man, himself, doing the piano honors. Listen, I know he is a legend too, but when you have 200 million people watching and over 75% have no clue who he is? Come on.

Then again, it gave the final twelve additional time to shine and get people psyched up about seeing them tour. Taylor walked out in black (he looks so good in black) singing What The World Needs Now, and was joined by Kat, lovely in red spandex. The Look of Love quickly followed, sung by Ace and Melissa - both continuing the guys-in-black-girls-in-red motif. Sadly, this color scheme was the classiest moment so far in this bloated intestine of a show.

Pickles came out alone to sing a piece of I'll Never Fall In Love Again - and I will say, the new 'do actually worked with the sophisticated halter dress she was wearing. Bucky acquitted himself well on Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head, then Mandisa rocked Say A Little Prayer For You. Things slowed down for Lisa, alone by the piano singing the theme song to Alfie, and again I was blown away with her poise, composure and talent. She also looked great, and like all the girls, was working a cobweb of diamonds around her neck.

Elliott got some well deserved solo time on This House Is Not A Home, although I was cnostanlty fearful Ms. Blige would pop out again and begin wailing.

Then finally - FI. NAL. LY! Kevin began to croon What's New Pussycat, and while he will never be able to hold a candle to the pure sleezy charm of Tom Jones, for once I felt he did not deserve my pity - that he was truly in on the joke. As he wound down, Ace and Chris joined him for a snippet of Arthur's Theme and they really sounded good together.

Paris then ramped things up with Close To You, loving every moment she was allowed to wear that spider web of sparklies on her person. Then the door parted and out walked yet another aging legend, Dionne Warwick, although I will give the old girl this: She is still a beautiful lady and can still sing a song. In fact she sang two - Walk On By and That's What Friends Are For. As the kids swayed in the background, Kat and Taylor joined her center stage and then they all flanked her on both sides, finishing up the song in truly decent harmony.

Again, get yourself a ticket to this tour. I have been to previous ones and take my word for it - this group of kids has the most talent handsdown.

Another break, another Golden Idol. This one for Best Male Bonding - nominees? Ace and Chris power hugging at the final 24; Ryan & Taylor lying on the AI stage together; and of course, Garet Johnson and his cowboy buddies, which afforded them the opportunity to again run the video of Brokenote Cowboy from the audition phase. Shock - they won. Supershock - they were there! Out they came, Garet, Hootie (fresh from another Burger King commercial) and the other guy who likes to sing really deep. They did a rendition of Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys and did their Mamas proud - while not as enjoyable as eating a whole cheesecake, it was slightly less painful than getting your teeth ripped out by rabid monkeys.

Ryan then got everyone excited by teasing that it was time for the results, which everyone knew was total crapola because there was still time to kill and one more udder to squeeze. Suddenly the lights began to flash, two scantily clad women began to gyrate on stage, and OH. MY. GOD. out walked Prince in all his purple glory. Fine, he did not sing anything I even remotely recognized, but American Idol scored perhaps it's biggest coup to date by getting him to perform. And it wasn't just one song, but two. Sure, he wore more make-up than Paula Abdul, but he was there, working it. And by his tiny smile at the end, you could tell he was pleased - bless his little purple heart.

Back from another break and Taylor emerged singing Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing. Cheekbones quickly joined him, looking ever so Ginger Rogers in her flowing gold satin and chiffon gown. Taylor worked a black tux with satin piping from earlier in the season. They tried to have fun with the song, but like everone else, you could see they just wanted to get through it to get to the results.

Which they did.

After 63.4 million votes (seriously, we should elect presidents this way), certified by a British dude from Telescope, Ryan was handed THE envelope.

Opening it slowly, he drew out the suspense and then announced the only name that should have been inside: TAYLOR HICKS.

Yes, the silver haired boy that Simon detested, was crowned our new American Idol. The Kodak exploded into cheers, the crowds in Birmingham will be partying till next week, David Hasselhoff was in tears, and Taylor let loose with two words: SOUL PATROL.

Kat graciously moved to the side (again, she has no worries - her future is nothing but bright), the lights went down and as Taylor began singing his new single, Do I Make You Proud?, infusing every single syllable with true emotion and meaning, I freely admit that the tears were rolling down my cheeks.

Anyone who had, up to now, refused to understand how he got to this point, had to finally get it. It's not rocket science, in fact, just the opposite. Taylor Hicks is a man born to perform. Taylor Hicks has a voice that immediately identifies who he is. And Taylor Hicks, first and foremost, is just a nice guy.

And I, for one, am thrilled to see that, for once, a nice guy did not finish last.

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, May 23: Final E!

(Note: I would like to express my sincere appreciation (yes, despite what you may think, I can be sincere) for the wonderful emails and comments that I have received regarding my health episode last evening. I am happy to report that this morning finds me feeling much better and my funny bone in fine form. Then again, there's nothing like an emergency room copay to insure your symptoms begin to immediately dissipate...)

I'll pause momentarily whilst you all ponder the brilliance that is the above title...

(insert Jeopardy music here)

Hmmm....Finale....Finally...we waited a looonnng time to finally arrive at the finale...get it? Good. Yes, I know I'm a master of cryptology, aren't I? I should have been in the damned Da Vinci Code.

Anyway...the point being made is this: CAN YOU BELIEVE IT IS FINAL E HERE?!?!?

After weeks, nay, months of seesawing emotions (Elliott gone-sad, Taylor still here-happy, Paula - manic, Paula -dissolving into a puddle of makeup and tears), ear bleeding episodes (Smurfette's speaking voice, anytime Brenna Gethers opened her yap), moments worthy of rapture (Ace singing the words "warm and naked", Taylor writhing on the floor in a PCP inspired shirt), and intense embarrassment on behalf of others (Egghead Covais as human punchline, Cheekbones McPhee's wardrobe malfunction being mass downloaded, and Pickles Pickler limited mental dictionary), we have made it to the finish line.

And the competitors, Taylor and Katharine, worthy finalists both, have inspired a them vs us mentality among viewers unrivaled since the unlikely Laurel and Hardy finale of Ruben Studdard and Clay Aiken of Season 2.

The Soul Patrol vs those with McPheever. Fan camps both big enough to start a war. Speed dialers have been tested, extra disposable cell phones have been purchased (I'm not making that up) for voting purposes, parties have been organized, churches will be filled, and wagers have been made.

Now, I have made no secret about my love for all that is Taylor Hicks. Yes, I know he resembles spawning salmon when he dances. Yes, I know that he is the complete antithesis of what we normally vote through as our Idol. And yes, I am well aware that when it comes to Googling - I have not seen a single query for Naked Taylor Hicks Photos, whereas, people worldwide have worn the letters that spell out Katharine McPhee Naked off their keyboards .

I also know that he has a following unrivaled since the days of Elvis Presley. People love the man, people embrace his realness, people love the rough edges.

In Katharine, a great many people love the girl, but could not begin to tell you a single note she has sung because they are simply swept up in the visual perfection that fills the screen when she is on each week.

Yes, she is striking. Yes, she embraces the fact that she is not reed thin or Hollywood's ideal of perfection. Yes, she can sing well.

Unfortunately, what is lacking is a true "connection" to the viewing audience.

Sure, there is a physical response (ahem), but not in the smile inducing-feel good-get up and dance way Taylor incites. Many of you have taken me to task over the past months for my comments about Ms. McPhee's contrived performances, camera searching, and inability to sell her lyrics, but in a revealing article today, the very music gurus who will guide both Taylor and Kat in the studios, broke it down the very same way.

Her gestures are planned. His movements are organic - they just happen. She sings the words. He becomes them. She tries too hard. He is just a natural born performer.

All that being said, however, they are both, regardless of who takes the Idol crown tonight, set. Contracts have already been signed, the professionals are ready to get them both in the studios and produce them the best way possible, and God knows, Katharine is custom made to hit Broadway or a Cover Girl commercial anytime she chooses.

In short - when all the confetti finally lands, no one, including we viewers, is going to end up a loser.

Now, onto the recap...

Rod Serling opened tonight's show...wait, sorry, that was Ryan, looking terribly "Twilight Zone" and serious in a single spotlight, dressed in a dark suit and equally somber tie. Reminding us that soon would be bestowed "the most sought after title in television" - I'm sure there are some Survivor diehards who would arm wrestle over that comment - the lights came on, illuminating the Kodak Theater and its 3,000 excited occupants. I must say, it was very impressive, and for a moment I mentally congratulated Taylor and Katharine for even being able to stand on the stage without pissing themselves, as would most ordinary mortals in the face of that many...well... faces.

The crowd contained a constellation's worth of stars - from Tori Spelling and Taye Diggs to Mandy Moore and Ben Stiller - which really serves to highlight how far reaching is this show and its power to inspire and enthrall. These kids truly develop a following and touch something inside people, regardless of who they are or how much money and personal celebrity they have in their own right. Sure, it doesn't hurt to be seen in the audience when over half the TV sets in the nation are tuned in, but I really think when people like Ben Stiller snag a seat, it's because they are just as caught up in the excitement as we viewers who can only snag a spot on the sofa.

A quick nod to the judges showed Randy Jackson dressed as a striped banana and sans swim goggles - thank you Randy, that snorkel mask you wore the past few weeks was more than distracting; Paula was decked out in teeth, a fresh supply of polyesthair, and some finely striped cleavage; most notable, however, was the fact that Simon, though still wearing a dark sweater, had topped it with a matching blazer. Yes, Simon actually made the concession that tonight's venue and import was worthy of a little more than his latest chest hugging acquisition from Anthropologie.

The final words from the judges were all fairly cliche' - not that that was a shocker:

Randy bogarted some Elvis lyrics, "It's now or never..."

Paula went for the old standards, "They need to be in good voice and sing the right songs..."

Simon was a tad more acerbic, advising both Taylor and Cheekbones that they should each "pray that the other forgets the words..."

With three songs on the line this evening, three phone numbers a piece, and 4 HOURS of voting time, forgetting the words would almost surely sound the death knell for whoever spiked momentary amnesia. Then again, get any one of us on that stage, and we would be hard pressed to remember our own names.

A quick recap of both Taylor's and Katharine's Idol journey from audition to the Kodak stage was next. Watching Kat in her San Francisco audition, I found I remembered why I liked her so much in the beginning, and was dismayed to discover how truly far I have strayed into feeling like I am wearing sandpaper underwear everytime she performs. In SFO there was a genuineness, a sweetness, and true joy that she had actually received a golden ticket to move forward. Somehow though, as the weeks moved on, Kat began to give off an "I'm entitled" vibe and a contrived, disingenuousness, that just turned the emotional tide of support.

Taylor, on the other hand, endeared himself - bad hair and all - from the beginning. His look may have changed a tad - a $500 haircut will do that for a person - but he has stayed true to who he is - he knows no other way. I realize "the way he is" grates the nerves of some people, but then, we don't talk about "those" people...

Based on a coin toss, in which Taylor decided to sing second, Kat was up to reprise Black Horse & The Cherry Tree, her floor mumping (Humping + Mopping) performance from several weeks back. Her luggage bangers were back in place, flanking her on either side, but thankfully, she decided to leave the mumping gimmick in the past where all good mumping belongs.

Looking suitably "pop" in jeans, high heels, a black bra and sheer floral top, she sang with conviction and sass, and although for most of the song she seemed to be trapped between the luggage guys, I found I enjoyed this performance of the song much more than the first time she sang it. And props to her for going first and having to quell what must have been a veritable flock of butterflies in her stomach - she handled her nerves really well.

Randy liked that she finally looked like she was "having fun" and that she did sing it better than the first time; Paula called it a "fun way to open up the show"; but Simon only gave it "a good with a small "g"", adding that the "occasion tonight is bigger than that song".

Taylor was then up reprising his early season rendition of Livin' In The City. And good lord - who else could rock a bright purple, VELVET jacket, but the captain of the Soul Patrol? On anyone else it would have look completely ridiculous, but the thing about Taylor is this: you notice what he is wearing for about 5 seconds, then he starts to sing and and that's all you can concentrate on. (I also have to add that I love how he always wears what are obviously his own well broken in boots to perform.)

His voice was in great form, and he worked the crowd from start to finish, including a foray up onto the stage behind the judges. It was at that point I had a fast forward flash and could totally see him doing this for the rest of his life. He is natural, engaging, fun - everything people shell out money to go see and experience. I also felt that swift rush of poo to the heart you get when you see someone who has completely found their destiny in life while everyone else flounders about searching in vain for their own. Don't get me wrong - I love what I do, too, and never take it for granted, but Taylor is a man who has arrived knowing who he is and exactly what he is about.

Randy said that what he loves about Taylor is how no matter what he sings, he always makes it his own; Paula was so caught up in the moment that all she could blather was "We match tonight!" (Huh? There he stood in neon purple velvet, she had on a striped satin cami....); Simon joked that obviously, "this audience hated you", as the cheering went on and on, he proclaimed the blazer to be "the worst jacket I have ever seen in my life", but then handed Round 1 to Taylor.

I would like to pause here to get down on my knees and offer my thanks to Taylor's brother, who encouraged him to audition in the first place. You're a genius.

AFTER. MULTIMILLION. DOLLAR. BREAK. NUMBER. ONE, Cheekbones was back up to sing Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Assuming the same Fantasia rip-off pose again, I began to chafe in my sandpaper Fruit of The Looms. Her face filling the screen for her a cappella beginning, I found I was distracted by the piece of spagetti hanging in her hair - oh wait, sorry - that was just the earpiece, which she dramatically removed, again.

Now, as always, she looked stunning in a creamy chiffon top, jeans, and every piece of jewelry from Paula Abdul's QVC line, and she sounded really nice, but I have to say it was much like watching Fantasia sing Summertime, three times in one season. You cannot catch lightning in a bottle and you certainly cannot recreate a true "moment". Moments are just that - a singular spot in time.

Watching her every move be replicated, right down to the dramatic head-back arch, I found myself bored, wishing I could just fly away with those bluebirds, and waiting around for the end to get here. Of course, at the end, there was the obligatory "Kat's Dad crying" shot we have all come to expect. I swear, if he cries everytime the girl sings, he is going to need a straight jacket and Valium when he has to walk her down the aisle. And God forbid she actually wins this thing - I hope the people seated around him brought an ark.

Randy said he had thought the singing of it a second time would be anticlimatic, but that instead she "worked it out"; Paula used every form of the word possess (present, past, plural, noun, verb, adjective) to describe her God given talent, and assured Kat that "America is feeling tears down their faces like your dad." Um, sorry Paula - the Kleenex supply in my house remains untouched. Simon bluntly told her she got "slaughtered in the first round", but that she was now "back in the game".

OK, again, I don't get it. She is beautiful. She can sing well. She has a bright future ahead of her. But nothing about her version made me forget Kimberlie Locke's from three seasons ago.

Another filling of the AI coffers (I can just picture Nigel Lythgoe laughing manically and rolling around naked in all the ad money) returned us to Taylor up to reprise the Elton John hit, Levon. The purple velvet had been replaced by a suit and white shirt, but again, he could be the naked one and it wouldn't matter. (Ok, ok, yes it would...40, not dead, remember?) His emotional story telling was in fine form, and he slowly built up to the finish, whiskey voice taking everyone along for the ride. No, when it comes to technically perfect singing, he is far afield from Katharine's years of professional training, but he is real, he sounds real.

Randy said it was a "nice song", but that he was " a little pitchy"; Paula said that what was pitchy to Randy is simply "the essence of Taylor" (I hate it when she and I agree); Simon gave Round Two to Kat (shock), saying that at this point, "it was anyone's game."

Um, no Simon. No, it's not.

Finally, the third performances, in which each contestant would have to sing a song, carefully, methodically, painstakingly chosen from over 200 options the producers had at their disposal, and which will be their first single. This is always when you want to don the hipboots because things get really deep, really sticky, really fast.

The song chosen for Cheekbones was called My Destiny. Sadly, I could not concentrate on the initial lyrics because I was blinded by the alien from Close Encounters who emerged from behind the liquid metal doors. Seriously, the lights were so intense, my retinas are still burning and I woke up this morning still seeing spots.

Finally the doors closed, and the stagehands put the sun back in its orbit where it belongs. There was Kat, looking lovely as ever - her hair softly pulled back and flowing over her shoulders, wearing a spagetti strap gray dress with satin trim, and a bed and breakfast dust ruffle attached to the bottom.  Sadly, the dress was so tight she could barely move.

She sang well until the big notes when (and yes, I played it back several times to re-listen) she got really screechy. Of course, in what has truly become a worn out, played out show of theatrics, the Idol Tabnernacle Choir came onstage in their blue robes to back her up. The problem is there wasn't anything the least bit "gospel-y" about the song. Sure, it will play well on soft rock adult radio stations, but it doesn't require thirty backup singers.

The lyrics were predictable, following closely in the footsteps of songs like A Moment Like This and Inside Your Heaven, but honestly, was this the best of the 200+?

Randy told Kat three things:

1. You look amazing. (Uh-oh - Linda Idol Rule 465: When a judge starts with a comment about your looks, RUN.)

2. You sounded really good. (Really good is not exactly really overwhelming now, is it?)

3. I did not like the song. (Tough beans, Randy - Kat had no choice in the matter.)

Paula called her "brilliant" - I assume she was referring to the lights at the beginning of the song?; Simon said he was sorry, but that she went "from brilliant to quite good in one song." He then encouraged anyone who wanted to vote for her to remember and vote for her 2nd song.

The last break brought us back to Taylor, burdened with a blob of lyrical molasses titled Do I Make You Proud? I hated the beginning, not because of his voice, but because it seemed disjointed and hard to follow. But as the song moved forward, he managed to work his magic, taking this sugary bowl of custard and torching it till it turned into musical creme brulee'. The choir did not seem as out of place backing his throaty vocals, and despite the saccahrine words which I'm sure he choked on when he was intially presented with the song, he delivered a feel good performance.

And while I know it chafes some people's keisters when he shouts Soul Patrol, it was totally endearing to see him bouncing up and down chanting it after he sang. Again, it was organic - not contrived.

Randy said that compared to Katharine's, it was a slightly better song and that Taylor Hicks knows who he is; Paula said that he is "better than the song" (&**^&%&*@#!! Again, I HATE IT WHEN WE AGREE.), but that he infused it with pure Taylor; Simon stated that, assuming he was right during the first two rounds, and the show was tied, Taylor's performance just won American Idol.

(OK, I held back my excitement because he used a variation of those same words to Clay Aiken after his amazing Bridge Over Troubled Water performance, and Clay still lost.)

Of course, at this point, Paula was jumping around like a pile of puppies in search of kibble, overjoyed at how she and Randy had been the ones to put Taylor through the auditions when Simon wanted no part of him.

Trust me, I don't think there is anyone more surprised or repentent than Simon about his initial reaction. I have no doubt he began to see the dollar sign aura around Taylor very early in the game.

So that's it. I am not even going to call a winner at this point because either one of them could take it. But in terms of show stopping, moving, performances - I have to give it to Taylor. Kat was simply an opening act, certainly not the main attraction.

Tonight we will be subjected to two hours of pomp, circumstance, GROUP SONGS, guest performers, and finally the results. Personally, it's not the results I'm waiting for. I have it on good authority that Kevin Covais will be singing the Tom Jones classic, What's New Pussycat?, and all I can say to that is "Whoa-oh Whoa-oh Whoaaaa-oh-oh..."

Oh well, I guess it could be worse.  He could be crooning, "Having My Baby".

Some Things Will Just Have To Be Worth Waiting For

Hey kids - Well, John Lennon certainly said it best when he stated, "Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.", for that was certainly my experience tonight. 

Halfway through Taylor's performance of Levon, while scribbing notes full speed ahead, I began to experience crushing pain in my chest, to the point that I had a neighbor take me to the hospital.  For the record, I am 40, take care of myself and have no history of crapola like this...then again, I am 40 and apparently my body is intent on crumbling piece by piece...

Long story short, because I am now back home and wiped out - EKG: Fine, Chest X-ray: I have two lungs, one heart, and a partridge in a pear tree - all in good shape.  Their best guess is that I have pleuresy, compliments of the miserable virus I complained about in last week's recap.

So, please forgive me for the recap being late - I promise it will be up in the AM - just know that the pain had to be pretty damned bad to pull me away from Taylor and the biggest night of Idol.

Who Needs Diets When We Now Have Trick Photography?

I am contantly amazed at the ability of the human race to continue to invent new and innovative items each and every day.

Sure, some of them are way "out there" and serve no real purpose other than winning a Rube Goldberg contest - ie: a can opener with 128 moving parts including Legos, ball bearings, and a Barbie doll head.

And take last week's entrant into the Look What We Created Just Because We Can category: Play-Doh Perfume.

Yes, in honor of its 50th birthday, the makers of everyone's favorite childhood plaything, and every parent's worst carpet nightmare, have come out with a special, limited edition bottle capturing that heady, clay-like, artficially fragranced blob in the cardboard container, and to quote their marketing gurus, it is "Scent-Sational!"

According to the media release: "For the first time that fresh-out-of the can, eau-de-PLAY-DOH scent is available for fun, highly-creative people who seek a whimsical scent reminiscent of their childhood."

Um - yeah.

Methinks some marketing gurus spent a tad too much time sniffing that "whimsical scent" during their childhoods.

Or maybe they were all the weird kid in Kindergarten that ate his Play Doh with a Elmer's Glue gravy chaser while sticking his scissors up his nose and threatening to cut the area separating his nostrils...

Not that I knew anyone like that...

Anyway, it never ceases to amaze me what human beings can create - finding market niches, filling voids, creating whole market segments. But nothing takes the proverbial cake as much as this little invention from the geniuses at Hewlett Packard: the HP Photosmart R927 Digital Camera!

What's the big, you ask? It looks like a regular digital camera, right?

Right!

But the magic hidden beneath its silvery exterior is tailor made for a country like the United States in which we cover everything in real gravy and eat all-you-can, just because you can. A country which regularly releases studies detailing its fattest cities and states. A country in which we Supersize everything and then sue other people for making our seams split!

This wonder device says Hell, No! to fad diets. This camera opens its glass eye and screams Carbs Are Your Friend!  This wonder gadget proudly proclaims that Personal Responsibility Is A Joke!  And THIS CAMERA HAS A HUGE MARKET!!!!

All because this camera has a slimming device.

Yes, you read that right. This camera, with the push of a button, can digitally alter your heft, making you a tad more aesthetically pleasing (and insure you actually fit in the frame.)

See? Amazing, isn't it?

No. No, it's not.

Is this really what we have come to? Are we really that desperate and deluded that we would buy a camera and believe we look like the picture it produces? Are sit-ups and leg lifts truly that difficult? Is self control that hard to come by these days?

Don't answer. Those were all rhetorical questions. All with the answer of "YES".

Yes, we have really sunk this low. Yes, we are a nation of overweight, lazy people who obviously don't own mirrors. And yes, self control is harder to come by than the final clue in the Da Vinci Code.

So as people rush out to buy this camera, determined to snap svelte new pictures of their porcine old selves, I would caution them to remember this: A picture may indeed be worth a thousand words, especially when you're uploading your sleek "new" hotness to your MySpace page or eHarmony profile, but those thousand words will all be reduced to one when someone you hook up with online actually meets you in person...

F*CK.

Ah heck, maybe it won't be that bad. Just slap on some PlayDoh perfume and offer them a bottle of Elmer's and some scissors.  I bet they'll follow you anywhere.

My God, we're a stupid people.

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, May 17: From Funky White Boy To White Boy In A Funk

Once upon a time there were a bazillion people. Large and small. Tall and short. Hot and fugly. They came out in droves, like ants do when their colony is stepped upon - excitement spurring them onward and upward.

They packed convention centers, auditoriums, stadiums and hotels - all hoping to be remembered for more than their poor taste in clothing (Rhonetta and her Reynold's Wrap tube top and "Flawless" in his Yellow Pages mascot attire), their looser than loose lips (Brenna Gethers and every word she ever uttered), or their obviously deluded take on their talent (damn near every other person who showed up on our screens.)

Yet, with hope springing eternal, show up they did. Making us laugh, roll our eyes, throw up a little bit in our mouths, and chuck things at our TV screens.

And after embracing and discarding 21 finalists, from the lisping, Egg-shaped head of Kevin Covais, to the grating, helium infused voice of Smurfette Bennett, from the larger than life Chicklet laden smile of Gedeon McKinney to the Pickled Minx that was Kellie Pickler, and from the hot, young buckle wearing, long haired stud that was Ace Young to the hot, young, chain wearing, bald rocker Chris Daughtry - we have loved them and left them each week as AI 5 has chugged forward.

Faced last night with solid performances by the three remaining contestants, Internet-water cooler chatter was constant today as speculation heated up. Who would America throw under the bus tonight? Kat, with her sultry looks, but chilly persona? Elliott - the true underdog who has stayed steady and true throughout this competition? Certainly not Taylor, who heads up a Soul Patrol comprised of everyone from grandbabies to grandmothers?

Betting sites stated their odds-on faves, speed dialing sites compiled their data, and America sat and waited. So, as it has been a loooong day and I am far from the patient sort, let's get this recap started...

Ryan the Woodsman greeted us dressed in a gray suit and striped tie and a quickly thickening growth of facial fuzz. As the lights were set to serious (pulse up, pulse down) the camera panned past the faces of Taylor, Kat and Elliott assembled on stage. Nervous smiles worn by all...

A quick scan of the crowd showed Ace in his lucky beanie and Pickles with newly shortened locks. See? I told you people they repossessed the hair extensions when these girls get voted off.

Ryan then announced this season had seen an unprecedented total of over 515 million votes, with over 50 million of them coming in after last night's show. Amazing to think how much higher that number would be if anyone could ever actually get through, huh?

A quick howdy-do to the judges showed Randy in a black T and Mr T's gold jewelry, and those swim goggles still firmly in place; Paula in fake hair, a barely there yellow blouse and a bar of gold hanging around her neck down into her cleavage. Simon must have called Randy before the show because he was all matchy matchy in black too.

A quick video recap of last night's performances (as if we haven't all burned out the replay on our TiVo's all day long) and we went to the first commercial break, only to return to the Satanic Selling of these Young People's Souls - the Ford video. This one was done to a rap version of Young At Heart, and even I, who makes no bones about how much I detest this particular portion of contestant abuse, actually enjoyed this one enough to watch it twice. The theme was a pool party attended by aged versions of Cheeks, Elliott and Taylor, getting their freaks on with other octogenarians. Elliott was dressed in an argyle gold sweater, pink shirt and liver spots, Cheekbones was obviously a patron of the Scooter Store, and Taylor was T Diddy - decked out in an Aloha shirt, gold chains, a hat, and a snake topped cane. While all their Geritol inspired dance moves and scenes were funny, the one of Taylor getting jiggy with the Hot Tub Hussies (average age: 75) took the prize.

In order to fill an hour's worth of ad time this evening, we then got treated to a sneakily placed trailor for the new X-Men movie when they played video of Rebecca Romijn and Hugh Jackman visiting the kids backstage after last week's show, to gift them each with a special DVD of the new movie. Now don't get me wrong - the preview looked pretty bombastic, but I have a feeling that after the months of nonstop work these three have endured, the only thing they wanted to watch on their journeys back home was the inside of their eyelids.

Taylor's homecoming video was first, as he headed back to Birmingham, Alambama and what he called a "Southern Food Tour" which included ribs and pancakes for breakfast. In his stretch Expedition, he was police escorted everywhere - first to radio interviews, then TV interviews, then to a rooftop concert with his band. The boy looked totally at home during that brief snippet - surrounded by his friends, doing what he loved, and, forgive me, but it was also pretty hot to watch him play the guitar while singing. Sue me - again, I'm 40, not dead. After an incredible parade through the city, then into a Mall, which I daresay exceeded fire code on national TV, Taylor then received what I predicted last night: Key #1 to a city from the Mayor - a lovely man with absolutely no sense of rhythm.

But back to the Mall - it was packed like a tin of Soul Patrol Sardines. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans, and you could see a brief moment of WHOA-KINDA-FREAKED-OUT in Taylor's eyes as he took it all in. Talk about realizing how your life will never be the same.

He then spiffed up to go meet the Governor and his wife (who was dressed like a bottle of Pepto Bismal) and tour the mansion. Governor Riley then declared the first of what I also predicted last night: Taylor Hick's Day! Caling it "one of the greatest days of my life", we then returned the the live studio where Taylor, dressed in jeans, boots and an untucked black striped shirt took the stage to sing Takin' It To The Streets - his recording off the American Idols Encore CD coming out May 23rd. It was a truly great performance - with no votes on the line, no judges comments to endure after, he was completely relaxed, sounded awesome, danced around, even coaxing Elliott and Kat into joining him. This is why I am not ashamed to say I will be trolling eBay for some front row seats when the tour rolls into my town this summer. Go Hagtift!

Another break and it was Cheekbones turn to go home, unfortunately for her, home was a mere 10 minute limo ride across town to Sherman Oaks, CA. No private jet for Ms. Katharine. After a TV and a radio interview, she hopped into a helicopter to take her to her high school where she was greeted by ... by ... well, not quite as many people as there were at Taylor's mall gig. It was nice and small and sweet and the cheerleaders did pom pom origami for her, but it truly paled in comparison to the type of turnout T experienced in Alabama. I bet she didn't even get any ribs OR pancakes. The Mayor of Los Angeles then declared official day #2 : Katharine McPhee Day and she sang in the gymnasium - where the acoustics were matched by the dreadful sound in the Alabama mall. A quick stop at her parents' home where family and friends waited to greet her, and then we got a sweet peek at Kat's new goddaughter before Cheekbones was spirited away to get back in the limo for the long ride to the studio (afternoon traffic in LA is a beeyatch).

Back on the stage, she exhibited a small bunch of sour grapes when she muttered, "Even though I didn't have thousands" in regards to her fan turn out vs T's. Kat, I don't care what Paula told you last night, "green" is so not a good color on you, so stop.

Dressed in an unflattering leopard print blouse and jeans, she launched into her song from the new CD, Aretha Franklin's Think. Like Taylor, she had nothing at stake tonight and it showed in her performance. She was relaxed, had fun - even chucking her 4 inch heels so she could better move about the audience and dance on the mini stage. She was light, comfortable, natural, and sounded awesome - everything that seems to get caught in a choke hold when votes are at stake.

The next commercial break brought us back to Elliott's tour of home: Richmond, VA, which he did (as he has done this entire AI journey) with his wonderful Mom at his side. With our #3 day declared: Elliott Yamin Day, he went from his private jet to the radio station to the pharmacy where he used to work, people crowding the streets and aisles everywhere he went. He did a mini concert downtown for a huge crowd which included people lining the office building rooftops all around. Watching him was a truly feel-good experience. He was overwhelmed, humbled, honored, saturated by the surrealness of the experience, and when they showed his Mom, tears streaming down her face as they rode through the parade? Well, maybe I'm a wimp, but I was really touched. I'm a Mom - it's what we do.

His day moved on to the ballpark where he threw out a totally decent first pitch before heading back to the airport and Hollywood.

As the show returned to the studio, Elliott was in tears, his Mom was in tears, Paula was in tears - in fact, Paula's face was actually dissolving. I swear her left eye was down by her mouth...

E quickly dried his eyes and, dressed in a brown blazer, jeans and a black shirt, sang what has been touted as his "personal best" in terms of songs this season, Moody's Mood For Love. Like his competitors before him, he was cool, smooth, relaxed, happy and put on a great show. Nothing about it even made me contemplate the fast forward button - it was totally enjoyable.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, in order to suck up even more ad revenue, Clive Davis was presented with a lame plaque (seriously, my 9 year old turns in better projects at school) honoring his involvement in the 33 million + CDs sold to date by former Idol contestants. While this was all a tad overdone and contrived, I did like it as he addressed the initial skepticism AI received when it first went on the air. Of course all the critics panned the idea of a TV show being able to actually turn out a singing star with staying power. I find it fitting that the very first American Idol, Kelly Clarkson, has seen the most success of them all. He then thanked anyone and everyone he has ever worked with, met, sat beside on an airplane, ordered food from in a restaurant, spoken to at a Help Desk and riden with in a taxi. Your welcome, Clive. It is our pleasure to keep you in snazzy ties and Viagra with our hard earned dollars.

ONE. MORE. BREAK and we finally got to the point. Using the big screen, Ryan called up three numbers:

33.06%

33.26%

33.68%

He then rolled it back to the lowest, 33.06%, and after a few Who? Who?s, ended the suspense by having them reveal the name of the contestant who only sucked by a mere .2% - Elliott, putting Taylor and Katharine in the finale. (Pardon me, but it was at this point that the whole Taylor-HUGE-Homecoming vs Katharine-Puny-Sad-Get-Together videos began to emit a strong odor - that of freshly minted BS. So now the country has been manipulated into feeling sorry for poor little Katharine who could only fill a small gymnasium? Sorry but it's not working on me. It's Taylor's finale to lose.)

For once, Ryan actually sounded sincere when he said that this was "not I'm sorry. This is congratulations." to Elliott. And it is. The Amish Buggy driver with the bad haircut has morphed into a confident performer, with a sense of style and cool hair to boot. And through it all, he has stayed completely humble. In fact he said he felt "truly blessed and privileged" to have been given this opportunity.

As his Bad Day video rolled, I wasn't so much sad for him, as I was intrigued by watching his hair grow. Seriously dude, never again let someone cut it by putting a bowl on your head. His video ended with his recorded comment that, "I'm just a counter clerk in a pharmacy. I've been waiting my whole life for this." And that is why Elliott stayed around as long as he did - America is nothing but a bunch of counter clerks and everymans and it has been heartwarming to see one of "us" - the not so beautiful people, the person who loves his Mom and works to make ends meet - live out the dream.

Singing one last time on the Idol stage, Elliott reprised I Believe To My Soul, and I found the opening lines, "One day, it won't be long. You're gonna look for me and I'll be gone", especially poignant, but not even close to true.

No way, Elliott, not by a long shot.

American Idol Recap: Tuesday, May 16: In This Night of Triple Plays, A Few Homeruns Too

So here we are, a week removed from the devastating event which will surely go down in history books alongside the sinking of the Titanic, the World Wars, the time I had a wart frozen off... yes, I am talking about the big one, Elizabeth: The Night Chris Daughtry Took It Up The A ...

I admit that I, too, held onto my shock and awe for well over 36 hours, and am still, seven days later, fielding emails and having IM discussions with total strangers who continue to need to vent their severe discontent, umbrage, and disdain for the entire AI process.

But with time comes emotional distance, and as I mentioned last week, I am now even more firmly convinced that Chris ultimately dodged a bullet.

In getting voted off when he did, he actually achieved a public relations Trifecta:

1. Untold millions are indignant on his behalf.

2. He received a job offer within 24 hours (although I think Fuel was sucking the PR bong a tad hard by making it via Entertainment Tonight) and once the AI tour is over, he will be free to do his music, his way.

3. By not winning the title, he will not be forced to sing and record something along the lines of Flying Like This Inside A Moment Without Your Heavenly Wings.

And yes, I am well aware of the phone line CHRISpiracy theory - that many a voter reported dialing Chris's number only to have Katharine's voice thank them for voting for her. While I did not personally experience the glitch - my calls got through to his recording - I will say that DialIdol.com had predicted his ouster a good twelve hours before the show.

Basically, I think Chris has the world by the waggly sack, and will do incredible things in the industry, so his boss had better look into permanently filling his position in the service department back home.

That being said, Ms. Cheekbones had better step up - because she has those very same millions giving her stink eye in defense of Chris, and their votes are not going to go her way unless she sings with emotion, remembers her lyrics, and ... does both while wearing a thong and pasties made out of Fruit Rolls.

The latest interview with Simon has him predicting a Taylor/Cheekbones finale with a Soul Patrol win in the end, but as he freely admitted, "What do I know?"

Paula, while enjoying a delusional high brought on by Ego and OxyContin, took full credit for Elliott still being around, saying, "I feel like I changed the face of the competition by making America wake up and see the talent that Elliott possesses.""

Listen, I don't dispute that our Amish Buggy driver can sing beautifully, but does she seriously think anyone listens to a word she says? Paula, darling, you are a train wreck, a car crash, a human Hindenburg exploding each week for our entertainment. You are not, nor will you ever be, a source of actual information or valued opinion - unless of course, someone needs the name of a reliable dealer or wholesale hair hawker.

Now, onto the recap...

Opening the show with the ominous words, "This is where it gets serious, America", I was reminded of the words of historic figure, Winston Churchill, that "The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you are likely to see." And thanks to the wonders of "Save File" and Blogging, I was able to look backward to when we pruned the AMerican Idol tree down to ten branches and see how Ryan pulled those exact same words forward to tonight. So, I guess since we are now down to three, back then we were only getting semi-sorta-kinda-if-you-wanna serious?

But I digress...(and lord kids, it's early in the recap for me to be digressing - I hope you packed a lunch...)

Dressed in a black suit, crisp white shirt, striped tie, and he-man stubble - good God, who is he dating now? - Ryan quickly acknowledged Chris's ouster and then used it to admonish us all to "VOTE, VOTE, VOTE". Listen Stubblette, we TRY, TRY, TRY, but constantly get BUSY, BUSY, BUSY signals or the WRONG, WRONG, WRONG freaking contestant. How about AI gets some GOOD, GOOD, GOOD phone lines because after five seasons, this is getting OLD, OLD, OLD.

A quick nod to the judges showed that Randy (or someone who dresses the man) has obviously been reading the recap because his stripes were AWOL this evening. Instead he was decked out in navy blue, a white tee, and my daughter's swim goggles. Seriously dude, what the hell were those glasses supposed to be? Paula, at least on my screen, initially appeared to be wearing ... NOTHING. She honestly looked naked. The camera then widened out a bit to reveal she was simply wearing something seriously strapless. On her wrists were the leather restraints from her latest round of electro-shock and on her ears, a couple chain belts that were so popular back when, well...she was so popular. Poor colorblind Simon simply stuck with gloomy gray.

Ryan then introduced the night's theme - or themes, if you will - A Vocal Triple Play: Clive Davis' pick, Judges' pick, Contestants' pick. The first would be chosen by music legend Clive, who of course, deserved a video retrospective of his career, but then he has been in the recording industry for three hundred years. He looks good too.

OK, seriously, old Clive has had his hand and talent in the careers of more superstar recording artists than any other music executive on Earth. From Barry Manilow to Aretha Franklin to Justin Timberlake (he also has Britney Spears in his current stable - look for her new hits Cheeto Stained Fingers & Worthless Sack of Sh*t, Talentless, Moocher Husband off her soon to be released CD Oops, I F'd Up Again). He is also responsible for discovering Whitney Houston, something I'm sure he used to brag about, but after multiple stints in rehab and a continuing stint with Booby (sorry) Bobby Brown, he probably now wishes he could burn from his memory.

Needless to say, with tenures at Columbia, Arista, J Records, RCA Music Group and BMG, Clive truly is, "the most influential recording executive in the world."

Elliott drew the short straw this evening, having to go first - THREE times. Ouch. Clive chose the Journey power ballad, Open Arms for him to sing and counciled Elliott to "use the power" of his voice.  Whoa - that was amazing advice, and so perfectly apt ... for a singing contest.  The man is a genius.

The song is a classic, but this one opened with a whimper, not an emotional bang - whoever did the musical arrangement? - it sounded like it was being played on a child's keyboard - it was seriously weak. Elliott was dressed in a beige suit, untucked shirt, with hair that keeps getting better and better each week. He looked downright handsome. While he sounded fine (fine being code for "eh"), he did not even hold a nightlight, much less a candle to Steve Perry's original vocal. And even though I went back and watched several times, I still can't figure out if he botched the lyrics at the end or if someone did a total rewrite and mixed them up intentionally. I'm leaning towards the former because there really was no reason, nothing gained, by shifting the lyric positions.

Randy did his predictable Journey bragging (clearly, as demonstrated in the photo, a thing worth bragging about), then dropped cliche #1 of the evening, "You worked it out."

 

Paula, who practically conceived Elliott and nurtured him at her bosom (from the way she tells it) gushed about his "excellent voice tonight" and that he did a "great job"; Simon warned him to "loosen up" and that it was "not a great performance".

Next up with Clive's choice was Cheekbones singing the R Kelly hit I Believe I Can Fly, because he thinks she has "big range, a great voice" (she does) and that they need to find the "Katharine McPhee sound" so she can "soar". Katharine, of course, enthusiastically assured Clive she is "looking forward to soaring", but the only thing moving up was her way-too-short skirt. She was continually pulling it down while seated across from him. Note to you young things out there: If your skirt is such that the person across from you can tell if the carpet matches the drapes, IT IS TOO SHORT. Save the denim bandaids for venues that do not require you do anything more strenuous than leaning against a wall.

Standing at Matilda the Mikestand, Cheeks looked amazing as usual in a Kermit the Frog satin dress, cut down to her navel, and a new box of hair. I almost hope she wins this thing because the girl has developed a serious addiction. If she gets voted off and they repo her Lady Godiva tresses, it may prove too much for her to bear. She sounded clear and strong, but again, her tendency to oversell a song kicked into high gear before the midpoint. Pointing, chasing the cameras with her eyes, all her dreaded trademark moves. And then there was an awkward moment when she just stood there waiting for the background singers to do their thing before she sang again.

Randy started with "you look amazing" which was followed by one of the most gratuitous camera shots in Idol history as the camera slowly panned up from her feet to her head. Anyway, any comment that starts out about how a contestant looks is never good, and it wasn't. Paula could not offer more than "the color for you is gorgeous, but..."; Randy picked back up saying the song choice wasn't good, which to her credit she defended with the fact that she "didn't pick it". Simon actually said they were being "unfair" and that "apart from a couple bum notes", Katharine "created a moment" for herself.

Taylor's turn came next and Clive had not only chosen the Bruce Springsteen classic (I think Bruce would argue the loose use of that term), Dancing In The Dark, but had phoned The Boss personally to get permission for Taylor to sing it. Dressed in a brown blazer, black shirt, jeans and boots, he seemed to lack a decent connection to the song in the beginning. Things picked up when he started to move, even pulling Paula - who I could now see was wearing a full length hot fudge sundae (with two scoops) tonight - onto the mini stage behind the judges to dance. He danced his way back to the main stage and although he did not quite have Bruce's constant sexy gravel throat, he ended well.

Randy said what he loves about Taylor is that he "knows how to have a good time"; Paula apparently did not use double sided tape and a scoop of her "ice cream" almost fell out, but she said he "was incredible"; Simon called it "ok" and that it was "pale by comparison" - I will agree with that statement, but then there truly is only ONE Springsteen. He then told Paula that "for your age, you were incredible", a sarcastic remark that somehow sparked the doobie that is Ms. Abdul's cerebrum and she acted like that was the funniest thing EVER, falling on him in the process. Come on guys, who's in charge of the net tonight?.

AFTER. THE. BREAK. we moved on to snippets from their trips home and the Judges' Choices. In Richmond, Virginia, Mayor Wilder (who I guarantee had to be brought up to speed on this whole American Idol thing by much younger, hipper aides) read a fax from Paula to Elliott that her choice for him was What You Won't Do For Love, a song she defended in person because Elliott is "full of love" and a "funky white boy who can get into it".

Eeeewwww.

Taking the stage, he looked less like a "funky, white boy" than he did a Best Buy Audio Salesman - nicely dressed in jeans, an untucked black Henley, and an air of relaxation that was seriously missing during the first song. He sounded better, connected more, and seemed to be enjoying himself. I think what is ultimately going to send him packing is that, while he is great to listen to, most of America has pretty good vision, and he just isn't the most aesthetically pleasing out of the bunch. I know, I know, it isn't fair, but think back to high school when you voted for cheerleader or homecoming king. I seriously doubt you ever checked the box next to big Bertha or elephant ankles Ethel, much less Freckled Fred or Acned Alvin. We're just shallow that way. (Now that I've typed that, I'm going to vote fifty times for Elliott because I want to be a better person.)

Randy said it was a "good song choice", but "sharp most of the song"' Paula asked if he would like some ice cream? OK, fine - she didn't, but she wanted to...She actually babbled on about Elliott being "the kind of artist you are"(?), and that he just pierces "to the heart". So does a six inch shishkabob skewer, but that's not necessarily a winning thing. Simon said that while it "wasn't the best song in the world", the "style suited" him and that he "sang it pretty well".

Mayor Villaraigosa of Los Angeles (Kat's hometown - any bets on how pissed off she was she didn't get a private jet ride home?) was then shown in a video reading an email from Simon stating she would be singing Somewhere Over The Rainbow. In fact, Simon "knew from the beginning this was the perfect song for her." Smug, clairvoyant SOB...

Sitting on the stage, because she no longer possessed the stength to stand under the weight of all that hair, Cheekbones was dressed in jeans, heels and a beige beaded top. Lovely as ever, blah, blah, blah - were this America's Next Top Model/Singer, she'd be the winner - she began the song by cleaning the wax from her left ear - wait, sorry - she was extracting her ear piece for some reason. She did a wonderful, clean a capella and then was joined softy by some strings. I think it sounded really nice, but while she had bogarted Fantasia's pose, she did not have any of her Summertime magic. Plus, the parts where she leaned her head waaaaaaaay back for big notes seemed more contrived, planned, than an actual emotional nuance that "just happened".

Randy declared that this is what he had "been waiting for", that it was the "best vocal of the season" for Kat, and announced cliche #2, "America, we've got a hot one tonight." Paula told her to "soak in this moment"; and Simon said he was "very happy" for her tonight, that it was the "single best performance of the competition to date". With that rhapsodic waxing I had to TiVo back and rewatch it.

Nope.

It was nice. It was in tune. She is hot. But there is still something that just doesn't make me want to dedicate two hours of voting to her.

Coming back from another break, Taylor was in his video standing with Alabama governor Bob Riley who was reading a fax from Randy regarding his song choice for Taylor of You Are So Beautiful by Joe Cocker. I could almost hear the Soul Patrol cheers ring out across the land. OF COURSE that was a perfect song for him. Dressed in a gray suit and white shirt he walked out to Matilda and proceeded to grab her by the neck and squeezed till I swore I saw microphone juice oozing out of her.

OK guys - I watched, and I rewatched, and I even watched it a third time - AND my love for Taylor Hicks is by no means a state secret - but he looked completely constipated throughout the first half of the song. Either that or he was trying to do some really high level calculus in his head while singing. On the screen saver behind him, when they showed his face in movie theater screen close up, he looked like a tick about to pop. Bright red, plus the way he kept pulling away from the microphone coupled with that "look" on his face, you would have thought that Matilda stank like old socks full of cooked brussel sprouts.

I mean, there's soulful and then there's just plain unhappy. Thankfully, he really opened up towards the end and brought it home, but man, the journey to get it there... And then POOF!, as soon as the lights came up, the old Taylor was back, smiling like he was at a family picnic with a glass of sweet tea in each hand.

Randy said it was a "great, tender moment" (Yes, tender like he had hemorrhoids) and that he "did the song proud"; Paula said "you look like a star, you are a star" (very true); Simon called it "so far and away your best performance so far" and that he "loved it".

I love Taylor, ergo I loved it too, but I was seriously, briefly, concerned for both T and Matilda...

The next break brought us back to the chat chairs and Elliott & Ryan auditioning for Star Jones' seat on The View. Elliott chose to sing I Believe To My Soul and took the stage dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and a white blazer with black pinstripes against a screen saver of what looked like flaming plus signs.

Now, he sounded in fine form, but this being his last chance to impress the masses? He should have chosen a song more young dialers could sing along to. He sold it, but I fear not many people were in the market for a song that was decades off the charts. And when he changed the middle lyrics to, "You said Oh Nellie, when you know my name is Elliott Yamin"? I mentally began to pack his suitcases for him. (Elliott, your toothbrush is in the Zip Lok inside your carry-on and I rolled all your socks into compact little sockballs.)

My daughters began to scream at the end of the song, at which point I got completely confused. I looked up from writing notes and TiVod back to see what I had missed about Elliott that had set their little hearts on fire.

Sorry, but it had nothing to do with the funky white dude on stage, but the hunky white dude in the crowd - Zac Efron of High School Musical fame - now there is a vocal god. Don't believe me? It comes out on DVD May 23rd and it's on 300 times a week on The Disney Channel. Check him out.

Randy said it was "not the perfect song" but that Elliott "can definitely sing" - what a lame comment. I would certainly hope the boy can sing after this many weeks of being voted through. Paula made my skin crawl with the whole "funky white boy" comment again; Simon nailed the coffin shut with "those songs won't carry you through to next week, but you'll make your Mum proud." Awwwww....

Next on the Small Talk Stools was Cheekbones, decked out in black boots, a short black dress and cleavage. Someone must have given her a B-12 shot because she was once again standing on her own and not crumbling under all the polyesthair. She chose to sing I Ain't Got Nothing But The Blues, another one that made 75% of the viewers go, "Huh?" But while it started with some sad dance moves on the ramp - seriously Kat, this is American Idol, not the Vegas strip - you have to commit if you're trying to sell sexy - I have to admit, I honestly enjoyed this performance. She seemed comfortable, was truly enjoying herself, shared the fun with the audience, even had a twinkle in her eye that is always lacking as she tries to keep up with the cameras. In my humble opinion, the only drawback is the fact that the song was unfamiliar.

Randy mumbled "this was OK, I don't know..."; Paula said her "magic was Somewhere Over The Rainbow" (is that the name of the clinic she goes to??); and Simon said it was "overall a good night" but that she continued to take "five steps forward, one step back".

Taylor was up last with his choice of Try A Little Tenderness, dressed in a black suit and white shirt (I know the stylists probably get frustrated and bored, but he always looks great in a suit). A slow start in which he changed a single word - shabby to shaggy in describing "her dress" - and then he picked up the tempo. (Small tangent here: I get "shabby". "Shabby" is ragged, old, worn out, drab. "Shaggy" brings to mind haircuts from the 70s, a Scooby Doo character, my sister's dogs, but not a woman's dress) Taylor began to move around, bringing the audience with him, growling some lyrics, feeling them all, even squeezing himself at one point - it was all classic Taylor - and it was great. Need proof? My nine year old watched him and immediately made me promise to "vote for him all night" because he was "awesome, dude".

Randy gave Taylor a new name: Have A Good Time Funky Taylor or HAGTFT, a mouthful of rocks pronounced Hagtift for you Hooked on Phonics buffs. Personally I like Taylor better, but maybe Hagtift will grow on me if I say it enough... Hagtift Hagtift Hagtift Hagtift Hagtift Hagtift Hagtift

Nope. It sounds stupid or like the fake name of a server in a Medievel Times restaurant.

Paula had "waited all season" for Taylor "to sing this song"; Simon lauded his "smart choice", slammed his "hideous ending", but ended with "I'll see you next Tuesday." Of that, I am sure.

So that wraps up our oh-so-serious night of triple plays. My guess for striking out tomorrow night is going to remain with Cheekbones, only because I think so many people are P.O.d she stuck around instead of Chris. Elliott has been pulling some high numbers lately and I think it is safe to say we now know where the Kevin Covais voters migrated.

Tune in tomorrow night when we get to watch whole cities come out to cheer for three contestants they didn't know or look twice at six months ago, but who now claim them as their own. I expect we'll see at least one official Taylor-Elliott-Katharine Day added to a local calendar, a couple gold keys to the cities, and finally get a real glimpse at just how demographically diverse the Soul Patrol really is.

What do you think, kids? Who's out, who's taking their game to the finale?

Hagtift! Hagtift! Hagtift! Hagtift!

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, May 10: "Don't Ask Me Why" But Chris Has Left The Building

Well, after last night's Elvis tribute show, it came as no surprise to me that the Internet was ablaze with conjecture as to just who would be receiving the Bad Day serenade this evening.

(It also was no surprise that there was frantic speed-Googling for revealing photos and video of Cheekbones, who certainly left the stage last night, ripe for the kicking when tonight's results are revealed.)

Yes, I am typing this intro ahead of the broadcast too - sue me - I'm pooped and on top of being tired, the cold I have been fighting morphed into a full fledged snotapalooza in the space of three sneezes earlier today. Pardon me for my mental train jumping the tracks, but why is that?

I. WANNA. KNOW.

You can be fine one moment and then WHAM!, sneeze a couple times and the game is over - your entire body goes on strike, your head fills with enough cotton to keep Hanes in business for a year, your sinuses expand to the point your teeth actually hurt, and you suddenly feel like you are way back behind your own eyeballs - staring down two long eyeball corridors...

Sorry, it must be the Sudafed typing...this must be what Paula feels like 24/7...'scuse me while I go tie a rope around my neck like she did last night to keep my head from falling off...

Yes, we are down to four solid competitors - who could not be more different if one had four heads, another seven arms, the third six eyes, and the last, tentacles instead of hair. (I bet if I down Nyquil on top of this Sudafed, I might actually hallucinate those things tonight.)

Taylor, Chris, Elliott and Katharine have certainly made for an entertaining season of American Idol. With talent, unique style, and charisma to spare, they make past finalists like Diana DeGarmo, Jasmine Treas, and even Kimberley Locke seem like performance nonstarters.

Whether you are a member of the Soul Patrol, have McPheever, are a staunch supporter of Vanilla Elliott, or went out and purchased some new boxer briefs in honor of Chris D, you have to admit that these kids have raised the bar for what we will expect, nay demand, out of future Idol contestants.

Now - since I am obviously waxing way too rhapsodic - you gotta love good meds - let's get on with the recap before I start typing in complete Craponese...

Ryan kicked off the show dressed for his audition to host the next incarnation of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, channeling Regis' monochromatic wardrobe. Black on black on black. Come on Ryan - we already understand the import of this evening without you telegraphing a funereal vibe to us. No one is dying, for the record, these four are all headed to bigger lights and stages.

A quick hello to the judges revealed - NOTHING. Seriously, did Randy sleep in last night's shirt? The stripes looked suspiciously familiar. Paula was wearing a hot pink negligee - nothing new there either. And Simon, who I am firmly convinced is simply colorblind, was again wearing black - no colors to get mixed up, no patterns to deal with.

A quick video recap of last night's Elvis performances - I stand by last night's recap - and then the cameras cut to Simon, who was alligator wrestling Paula into submission. Again, someone just get a net. Before cutting to the commercial break, a fast pan of the Idols showed that Chris was not amused - I imagine his children are better behaved than the judges. Cheekbones was simply scared to death - she literally looked like she was ready to hurl.

Returning from the commercial, we headed straight into,,,the commercial. Yes, tonight's Date With The Ford Devil showcased the kids butchering Wonderful World, in order to pimp Ford's Hybrid SUV. In the video, Cheekbones pulled into a driveway, opened the garage door only to find it filled with a metaphor for how screwed up and wasteful is the world. Luckily she had three filthy houseboys standing at the ready to clean it up, recycle her garbage, and lay down sod inside. Yes, they turned her car space into a veritable Garageden of Eden, complete with grass, trees, flowers, and a koi pond. Personally, living in Dallas, where my daytime garage temps already exceed 130 degrees, not even plastic foliage would survive. My garage would be filled with a green plasticky soup in no time. But Cheekbones drove on in, ferrying Kermit the Frog, no less, who recited the Ford Hybrid company line, "Gee, I guess it is easy being green."

Puke.

I hate seeing my childhood hero whored out to sell cars. He's a frog for God's sake. He can't drive and tastes like chicken.

Ryan continued tonight's total-waste-of-time-in-order-to-extort-advertising-dollars by offering up additional video of the kids visiting Graceland. In this snippet, we got to see more of Priscilla (not a good thing) giving them a personal tour - Gold and platinum records, history making jumpsuits, and, of course, The Jungle Room. Taylor totally grooved on that - in fact, you could see that he was completely in hog heaven - the only way it could have gotten better is if someone had offered him a Peanut Butter and Banana sandwich and a revolver to shoot out one of the TVs.

But back to Cilla. It was almost painful to look at her - the girl who was always so delicately featured and lovely, now somehow has Jay Leno's jaw. She is puffy, stark, her face frozen - and has that hair color - which I do believe matched Taylor's Jailhouse Rock suit from last night - Burgundurple.

She is not letting herself age gracefully, but rather Gracelandfully - trying to cling to a facade that is now only a memory.

The kids did get to meet Lisa Marie Presley, who looks a far sight better than Mom. You can really see her father in her face - in a good way. She seemed hospitable, gracious and it looked like she enjoyed the golf cart ride as much as the kids.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and the golf cart deposited us at the doorstep of (insert sound of Titanic ripping in two) THE GROUP SONG.

A medley of Elvis tunes, kicked off by Elliott singing Don't Be Cruel, revealed Chris, Taylor and Cheeks to be the worst background singers in the history of recorded sound. These things are always so painful to watch - we all know how busy these kids' schedules are, and it is always evident that they get precious little time to rehearse. I am never impressed, just bathed in embarrassment and discomfort for them, waiting for it to pass like a bad burrito in an IBS laden colon.

Relief was not quick in coming tonight...

While the guys segued into Blue Suede Shoes, Katharine gyrated like a pole dancer at center stage. Taylor then eased some of the pain with a snippet of Heartbreak Hotel, but it was over too quickly and Cheekbones took over for a treacly piece of Are You Lonesome Tonight. She was gorgeous, but the song was so sweet my teeth curled. Chris gave a truly heartfelt, into-the-camera-into-his-wife's-heart verse of Love Me Tender, but then it was over and they were all serenading Paula with The Girl Is Gonna Stay (yes, we know she reupped to 2009 - HELP). They finished with Burning Love, dancing on the stage behind the judges - I take that back - Taylor was dancing, the others were jerkily moving around. He was the only one who truly seemed to be feeling the music, not just the pain of humiliation.

AFTER. THE. BREAK, and still wondering how they were going to fill so many remaining minutes, my pondering was answered when Ryan stopped by to talk to Rebecca Romijn and fiance' Jerry O'Connell. How convenient, as her next X-Men movie comes out in a couple weeks - does the pimping never end? I feel dirty! While she declared love for them all, she conveniently asked Taylor to reprise Jailhouse Rock one more time. Ryan asked producer Nigel if that would be ok (as if this wasn't completely scripted - ugh) and Taylor got up to sing one more time.

Anyone else feel your bowels turn to juice, thinking this was a total set up and Taylor was out tonight? I bet you the Soul Patrol laundry baskets will be full of skid marks tomorrow...

While I missed the cache' the burgundurple suit brought to the proceedings last evening, any chance to watch Taylor perform is a good one, so I spent the performance enjoying his dancing and repeatedly telling myself that HE. COULD. NOT. BE. OUT. TONIGHT.

When he finished, Ryan immediately asked him to stay put, and had the others join him on stage. Elliott to stand with Taylor, Chris and Cheekbones standing together on the opposite side of Ryan. He then announced that one set represented the Top 2 and the other set the Bottom 2.

Of course we had to wait six million more dollars to find out who was who.

Immediately after the break, Ryan cut to the chase, sending Taylor and Elliott to the Safety Sofa. At that point, Chris took a breath so deep, I though he was going to explode. I then had my second bowel curdling moment of the evening - sure I expected Katharine to be standing there - she deserved to be in the bottom two - but Chris? Chris?!?!

Someone get me some Pepto-Abysmal.

Ryan then asked Simon for his thoughts on who should be leaving, and he bluntly stated Katharine should be going.

But what does he know? Ryan lowered the boom with the shocker, "Chris, YOU are going home tonight."

I seriously thought the audience was going to rush the stage at that point. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that Nigel had gone into hiding during the last commercial break.

Chris? Out?

The crowd was stunned, Cheekbones was stunned, Chris, himself, was speechless - not in a cocky, what-the-hell-do-you-mean-I'm-out? kind of way, but in an I-know-I-have-delivered-week-after-week-what-just-happened? kind of way. Paula apparently was so distraught that she gouged her eyes out and could not bear to lift her head from her hands.

Watching Chris view his Bad Day video, you could see he was totally broadsided. As are many a faithful viewer tonight. I honestly never envisioned a finale without him in it. But then, I also know I have told many people, I hope he doesn't win.

Hear me out.

Chris has an amazing voice - he is ready for radio play. Now. He is sexy, confident, controlled, and a true performer (sunglasses debacle aside). Having the AI albatross hanging around his neck for all eternity would actually diminish some of his inate coolness and undeniable heat. So perhaps, once the shock wears off, we will all see that his future is actually brighter for having dodged this PR bullet. He simply doesn't need the title - he could record Mary Had A Little Lamb in a bathroom right now and people would line up to buy it. And I guarantee you, he (along with Taylor) will be a driving force in why the AI Live tour sells out city after city this summer.

That all being said, however, there will be no shortage of Suspicious Minds tonight as people burn up the online boards with talk of an AI voting conspiracy, and behind-the-scenes-producer-cheating resulting in his ouster.

So what do you think? Can Katharine turn things around with this final chance to get into the finale? Will Elliott continue his strong showing and increased viewer appeal? Anything can happen, I suppose - but one thing is certain - the silver haired soul singer, who Simon hated from the word "GO", is in it to win it. Taylor is the man to beat and is not leaving the building anytime soon.