Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

American Idol Results Recap: Wednesday, March 28: Every Little Thing He Does Isn’t Magic So Chris Slighdes On Home

Now that we are down to the final ten and the heat has been turned up in this contest, it is quickly becoming evident that there is a certain comfort zone each player is gravitating towards.

With Lakisha and Melinda, it lies in their overly obvious song choices. Phil has found his personal feng shui inside his many hats, unfortunately it really bugs the yin out of most viewers yangs.

Blake is clinging like Saran Wrap to alternative rock and beating his box. While others must be buying into their own press and believing they can get away with either vocal (Haley) or visual atrocities (Evil Malaknievel & Jordin Stefoney).

Yes, they sin. Who among us doesn’t? But as I am fresh out of stones to throw, I thought I would share with them, and you, the newly discovered Ten Commandments For Season Six Singers (unearthed from beneath a mountain of Paula’s discarded hair extensions)

1. Haley – Thou shall acknowledgeth thy time is upeth when thy inseam weekly upstagethes thy vocal reacheth.

2. Phil - Thou shalt not haveth both Bette Davis’ eyes and Joan Crawford’s brows uponeth the sameth faceth.

3. Melinda - Thou shalt consulteth a stylist who defineths thy neck and thou shalt finally kill in an ageth appropriate, fashion savvy-eth outfit..

4. Blake - Thou shalt not rippeth off every songeth thy sings frometh a certain groupeth with three numerals. Reference Psalm 3:11

5. Chris S - When thou’s commandment readeths like you talketh, perhapseth tis timeth to seeketh the services of thy friendly neighborhoodeth thpeech therapith.

6. Jordin - Thous shalt never again mixeth thy Betty Crockereth cookbook with thy car cover when you performeth in front of 30 millioneth people.

7. Lakisha - Thou are allowethed, nay commandethed, to searcheth the kingdom for the power and glory ofeth songs sungeth by thoseth who may noteth be blacketh divas. (see Book of Aretha, Whitney, Donna, and Billie)

8. Chris R - Thou shalt taketh vocal Pepto Bismal beforest thy performance so as to thwarteth thy vocal runneths. Thou shalt also snorteth some Afrin as your nasal twangeth is a scourgeth uponeth the earth.

9. Gina - Thou shalt embraceth fully thy rockedness, or thou shalt do awayeth with iteth completely. No more pretendingeth with funny chains and hookereth boots. (The Gospel According to "John")

10. Sanjaya - If thou haseth testicles, thou shalt not sing a song recorded byest a person with ovaries. You will always forgetteth to switcheth at least one he to-eth she. Also, thou shalt not performeth wearing a helmet from an actor at Caesar’s Palaceth, or looking liketh Marvineth the Martian.

And now, because anyone so obviously flipping (or wearing) the bird to viewers as Sanjaya is deserves what he gets, may I present the following video from one Fanjaya to Sanjaya...

Now, let us pray...I mean ... recap.

With the lights down low, the kids look like figures in Madame Tusseaud’s as Ryan states, "Tonight we hit single digits, but whose number is up? Two very important questions will be answered: Who is going home? And How will Sanjaya wear his hair?"

Wait! I saw the wax figures move! They must be animatronic! Cooooool.

As the doors slide open, Ryan’s head is not engulfed in bright white lights, but he appears to have Paula Abdul sitting upon it.

No, wait – it’s a just a faux hawk made of all of her polyesthair – good one Ryan. But seeing as how the image of Sanjaya’s nightmhair was with us on every TV station, website, and newspaper today, can we move on?

A quick pan of the judges shows Randy and Simon bookending Paula in gray. Paula, however, spent her day planning the fashion brown nose of all time. Could she have sucked up to Gwen Stefani anymore than this? Hair again ponytailed back like Gwen’s, clothes straight from Stefani’s L.A.M.B. line – tie, Jiffy Pop white shirt, jumper with little girl straps.

Gwen, just make her an honorary Harakookoo girl and get on with it, please.

A quick video recap allowed us to look back on what was surely the most awkward theme in AI history – Songs Sung By Gwen Stefani or By People She Digs. Seriously, how do you top a mishmash of music which included everything from Donna Summer to Sting? Songs I Hum On The Toilet? Songs Playing While I Stand In Line At The Bank? Songs Sung By People Who Have Choked On Sandwiches Or Their Own Hork?

I think Melinda could really do Mama Cass justice.

But I digress...this is only a half hour show and I did not warn you people to pack a lunch.

After the first break, we come back to the Ford vommercial (vomitous + commercial, you people know I hate these exploitation flicks - all that's missing is Quentin Tarantino, 300 gallons of blood, and Kurt Russell driving an unstoppable Ford Focus) this week set in the wild, wild west – at least the Wild, Wild West if dressed by Abercrombie & Fitch.

The scene opens with Sheriff Jordin nailing up a Wanted poster of Chris Richardson – I surmise he is wanted dead or alive for robbing Justin Timberlake and the Phoney Express.

As he trots into town, he looks down at Jordin, who has all the fierceness necessary to rid the west of Barney and the Teletubbies, with a sleezy gaze that says, "Yeah, I could nail that at fifty paces." ICK.

Then Oh. Thank. God. Three Ford Mustangs pull up to Anachronism City and out pop Hussy James Scarnato, Sanjaya The Lone Stranger, and Philly the Kid!

They corral old Chris and do what all lawmen back then did to the lowdown, dirty mongrels they nabbed – made them wax their horses.

Moving on...

Assembled on the Divans of Destiny, the kids are sitting thusly:

Back row: Chris S, Gina, Jordin, Haley, Sadjaya

Front row: Blake, Lakisha, Phil, Melinda and Chris R.

Tonight’s elimination strategy? Pull the bottom three to center stage for proper humiliation. Kind of a hanging in the town square as it were.

Blake, cute as an LSD tripping bug in that technicooler hoodie – SAFE

Lakisha – NOT her Last Dance with Idol – SAFE

Phil – must not have had time to wash his hair – wearing another hat – oh wait – HE HAS NO HAIR – Get your chapeaued tush to center stage.

Melinda – SAFE to explore more fashion options next week.

Chris R – wearing more labels and names than a NASCAR racer – SAFE

Sanjaya – suddenly looking far too normal – SAFE – do you hear that, "J"? Now eat something. He has enough hair on that head to work into at least four more week’s worth of vote inducing styles. Next week? Princess Leia Cinnabons on each side of his head.

Haley – who tonight, I believe, surpassed Paula’s all time record of fifty two pounds of fake hair, setting a new record of 54.3 pounds – if you can walk under all that weight, please head to center stage, you are in the Bottom Three.

Jordin – Hey Baby, that’s a much better outfit tonight – SAFE

That left Chris S and Gina to test the limits of their antiperspirant while we sit through another break, the AI Challenge To See How Stupid We All Are With Our Money, and finally, a performance by Gwen Stefani. I hope they are using something powerful like Degree or Secret solid – strong enough for a man, but made for a ... oh hell, just give some to Chris Sligh before he oozes off that couch, please.

The American Idol Challenge question this evening? Which of the finalists from Birmingham, Alabama was dubbed The Velvet Teddy Bear?

A. Bo Bice, who would hit anyone who called him that with Matilda the Mikestand

B. Ruben Studdard – hmmm...big, cuddly, velvety? Could it be?

C. Taylor Hicks, who might appreciate a velvet teddy, but only if it had a southern woman inside it and she was carrying a pitcher of sweet tea and a plate of chicken.

D. The producers should skim all this 99 cent text cream off the top and pour it into Idol Gives Back.

Finally Ryan gets around to introducing probably the biggest currently relevant pop performer (don’t get your purple britches in a Princely uproar) to the stage. Gwen Stefani comes out, and I guarantee you, if she had not been on national TV, she would have gone all Hollaback Girl on look-a-like Paula Abdul.

They looked like two sixth graders who had called each other before school to plan what to wear. And I seriously doubt that was Ms. Stefani’s intent.

There Gwen was in a white shirt, tie, ponytail, and short shorts jumper complete with little girl straps. I didn’t see Paula’s feet, but I dare say they were sporting white ankle strap pumps like Gwen.

Seriously, someone tell me what Abdon't was thinking? Did she envision that Superstar Stefani would fly down to the judges' table, holler "Wonder twin powers activate!" and help Paula morph into "Shape of a mega-popstar!" and allow her to perform with her? Sorry Paula, but all you managed to do was assume "form of a giant brown nosing ass!"

Singing The Sweet Escape, Gwen was surrounded by her now trademark Harajuku girls, who tonight looked like toy soldiers ... toy soldiers in the Fantasyland Santa visits when Mrs. Claus is away from the North Pole, that is. Crisp back and white striped mini dresses with petticoats, high heels, baby doll socks, and their hair rolled on top of their heads like, well, dinner rolls.

(Wait! Did I see Sanjaya sketching their hairstyles?!?)

Gwen sounded terrific, she always does, and she worked the stage among her girls and the four nondescript male dancers dressed in black. But then, who’s that off to the side dressed in a bright red sweater and the brass knocker from my front door? Akon!

OK, I know he was hyped as appearing with her tonight, but did he actually contribute anything beyond several Woo hoo’s and a dangerous near encounter with his buttcrack in those low riding JEANS?

Ryan then chatted with Gwen after the song and she hyped her upcoming Sweet Escape tour which kicks off in April – yes, Akon will be on hand to Woo Hoo and Moon Hoo his way across the country.

AFTER. ONE. MORE. BREAK. Phil and Haley were once again at center stage and Ryan asked Gina and Chris S to stand. A quick recap of what they sang last night and then Gina was SAFE (she deserved to be) and Chris was NOT (he deserved to be).

Of course, this Bottom Three thing is just one big scam, so Ryan set about sending one person back to the safety of the couches...

Haley... (insert dramatic pause) ... youneedtostandtheresomemore...PSYCHE!

Phil, you are SAFE. Now go and pick out another hat, you big goofbald.

Randy and Paula opted for political correctness and did not predict who they thought was going home. Simon, however, not burdened by all that bourgeois BS, simply stated, "Bye, bye, Curly."

If you look closely you can see Chris’ hair actually wilt at that comment.

Ryan stated that, "After over 30 million votes, Haley you are SAFE. Chris this is the end of the road."

That’s when Chris’ entire body wilted. I don’t think, despite his poor showing last evening, that he actually thought he would go home before Miss AmHairica.

Watching his video journey, I truly have liked him since the beginning for his sense of humor and willingness to be self deprecating. He has no illusions about himself and therein lay much of his appeal. Unfortunately, he really did Slighde downhill with each performance.

Reprising his echo-y take on Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, he sounded breathy again, but at least tonight he also had the raw emotion to go with the song. Too bad he couldn’t have been heartbroken last night...

I was yanked from my reverie by the lines, "My silent fears that grip me, long before I reach the phone..."

Do you hear that Sanjaya?

Fear is a powerful motivator, my boy. We may be worried about you making it much further, but we have the telephones...so be afraid, be very afraid.

Then again – I’m sure Gwen would give you a job when we finally get you gone – you seem open to just about anything...

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, March 27: No Doubt That Gwen Stefani Was A Little Disappointed Tonight

It has now been a week since Stephanie Edwards was jettisoned out of the Starship Idolprize and back into the lowly orbit of the real world. I still think it blows to have seen her leave before some of the less vocally gifted (I am being kind), but such is the American Idol machine.

Talent ultimately will win out, we all know that, but by now we also know that each season gifts us with contestants who manage to stick like gum to the bottom of a shoe. This season’s Hubba Bubba being Sanjaya and Haley. And if I’m being honest here, Phil Stacy is developing a rather Bazooka Joe-ness all his own.

Post elimination interviews with Stephanie have her taking full responsibility for her less than stellar performance of You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me last week, but truth be told, if she had been able to build a bigger fanbase in the previous weeks, she could have survived the Top Ten cut. As it was, for viewers, the girl who drew repeated comparisons to Miss Bootylicious, was apparently less Beyonce’ and more BeYAWNce’.

In other Idol updates – the hunger strike continues – we are now in Day 11. I know, I know, I , too, am really upset about it - so much so that I ate an entire box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch – but then, I’m an emotional eater, and that stuff is as addictive as crack – there ought to be a law.

Yes, "J" posts her struggles with tummy pangs daily on her MySpace page, so I can tell you that as of Monday evening, she is feeling weak, hopeful that this Tuesday will have Americans rallying against Sanjaya that she may once again hoist a Kristy Kreme to her lips, and oh yeah, she has lost ten pounds.

You know, out here in the real world, where 25% of American adults are classified as obese, and 98% of us know that American Idol is just a reality TV show, a ten pound weight loss is a thing to be celebrated. And while "J" can certainly withstand the loss, what she is doing is dangerous and for an incredibly irrational "cause". That she lives with her parents and they have not kicked her in the stupid starving ass by now is shameful.

Were this one of my daughters? Well, screw that– it wouldn’t be. They have a much firmer grip on reality at the ages of 14, 12 and 10, than "J", at 23, obviously does. And yes, they are completely aware of her Starvation for Sanjaya strike – their thoughts?

14 year old: "Great example, huh? Maybe I should starve myself till you give me a TV in my room? Starvation For Toshiba, maybe?"

13 year old: "How completely lame. It’s a TV show. Can I have a Snickers?"

10 year old: "Get a life."

Sadly for "J", Sanjaya is quickly becoming bulletproof thanks to all the reverse PR being generated on his behalf. Forget about The Website Which Shall Be Nameless, Howard Stern has now taken up the cause to keep him on the show. Combine that with the starry eyed-rhinestoned cell phone-Hello Kitty demographic and "J" will be catching up with Kirstie Alley in terms of weight loss in no time – that is, unless she ends up in the hospital first.

Finally, on a happier? note. An American Idol has already been crowned! OK, fine, actually it’s an American Idle, but still, the show went on and a winner was chosen this week!

Out in the deserts of Arizona, home to Warden Joe Arpaio’s tent camp prison – Motto: We’re Prettier In Pink Than Molly Ringwald – the first ever Inmate Idle was held among the prisoners. With elimination rounds, karaoke machine music, and special guest judge Alice Cooper, the contestants vied for the title, performing a battery of songs by Creed, Beyonce, Garth Brooks, and such, committing many crimes against aural humanity in the process.

At the end of all this Jailhouse Rock, it was Corey Brothers, in on a probation violation who walked away the winner for his rendition of My Girl. (Click to see his "audition" )

His reward? Fame? Well, a little – the story has been picked up by the major news services. Glory? Not so much. In fact, fame being the idiot magnet that it is, he will probably have to be extra careful now when he bends over to pick up the soap – you know how those fans are, always trying to get close to celebrities. Then again, maybe he has a posse like Paris Hilton and they can pick it up for him?

Actually the prize was much more palatable than a slippery surprise in the shower. Corey and his inmate podlets received Big Macs, pizzas, milk shakes and cake. Just desserts, you might say.

Now, as many of you out in TV land consider Sanjaya’s presence to be a true crime, let’s get onto the recap, shall we?

~~~~~~~

Ahhh sweet Morley Safer! American Idol is only 60 Minutes tonight! Tick, tick, tick, tick...

Ryan, in a voice every bit as serious as his undertaker’s suit and tie, intoned, "And then there were ten."

To which I replied. "Yes, duh, we know that." In fact the only people who don’t know that are the ten people who don’t watch this show every Tuesday and Wednesday night. After all...

THIS. IS. AMERICAN. IDOL.

Rising like a bubble in a glass of Alka Seltzer (which we all may need, depending on the stomach turning potential of this evening’s theme being realized), the idolvator ascended to the neon colon...

The spaceship doors then opened revealing Ryan’s head engulfed in a solar flare. Come on, can they not get this light situation worked out? Raise them. Lower them. Put them to the side. Because I swear, he looks like a human sparkler every time the show opens.

As we are limited to 60 minutes (which translates to approximately 20 minutes of Idol and 40 minutes of sponsor rape), the hello to the judges is brief, however, it was long enough to see Randy, paying homage to Inmate Idol in dark stripes; Paula, channeling a schoolmarm at Little Whorehouse On The Prairie – hair up high, cleavage down low; and Simon, basic and boring in his usual dark pullover.

As Gwen Stefani is the mentor this week, we are treated to a video montage of her career.

I have to pause to give American Idol serious props here. Gwen Stefani is, by far, the hippest, coolest, now-est guest they have ever managed to snag. The woman is a goddess.

Fronting No Doubt, Gwen helped power that group to over 28 million in album sales before setting sail on her solo career. She has tallied up over 8 million in her own music sales. As a singer, songwriter, actress, fashionista, and kickass performer, she is truly something to admire in the pop universe.

That she snagged Gavin Rossdale and is now a mom? I like her even more.

Greeting the kids, she looked like a student in Paula’s schoolhouse. Navy sweater with woven suspender accents, over a white dress shirt and tie on top; cuffed jeans and 4 inch white pumps on the bottom.

Her first student was Lakisha, singing Donna Summer’s Last Dance, about which Gwen said Lakisha’s singing makes her "sweaty" (that was a compliment) and that she "should be asking her for advice." (definitely a compliment)

Lakisha took the stage looking fab in a kimono inspired dress containing every possible pattern – stripes, checks, plaids, and flowers. But combined with some sexy black boots and the smoothness of her locks, it somehow managed to work.

I was, however, extremely nervous about her dropping that upside down naked baby she had in her dress, when she started dancing around...

I really like Lakisha, and I am not saying her voice wasn’t in good form tonight, but I kept waiting for her to rip into the song, obliterating the vocal memory of Ms. Summer. It never happened. Again, it wasn’t bad at all – it just wasn’t as good as the original.

Randy liked that she did an "uptempo joint" (what is that? Musical marijuana?) and said that she looked like "a true fly diva"; Paula just shook those black icicles in her ears back and forth and babbled something about an "excellent job"; Simon loved the boots, the vocal, and the fact that she looked "30 years younger this week".

Next up, Chris Sligh sitting in the Chat Chairs with Ryan to take a viewer question about what he does in his downtime? Chris’ response? Knitting, crocheting, playing bongos in his boxers...(where did I put that Alka Seltzer?!?)

His serious response? He tries to get as much sleep as possible to stay healthy. And I can believe that. They work these kids like villagers in a Kathy Lee Gifford sweat shop.

Gwen’s main comment on his rehearsal was to "watch the tempo and stay on the beat."

My comments when he took the stage? Don’t perform in the clothes you wore to bed last night.

Seriously, he looked bedraggled – like Rumpleslighskin – in his untucked shirt, bulky brown, frayed blazer and JEANS. He did remember his subway token around his neck though – so he can get back home to bed when this is over.

Singing Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police, I kept thinking he needed to be arrested for kidnapping Matilda and then abandoning her on the side of the stage. His vocals were breathy, but not in a good Sting-breathy kind of way – Chris just sounded out of breath. And he clearly had not stolen the gravely emotion from Sting’s original.

Randy echoed Gwen, that Chris was at a "different tempo" than the band; Paula said that by not being on the beat the audience can’t "groove" with him; Simon nailed him with "It was a mess. All over the place. Didn’t feel right."

Loved when the music came up while Simon was still talking and he stated, "This is not the Oscars."

No, it’s not. But not much more really needed to be added to it after Chris summed the song up with, "My bad."

Gina dissolved in the face of her idol, Gwen, but then pulled it together to rehearse I’ll Stand By You by The Pretenders. I love this song and truly did not wish to hear it beaten up. Like Gwen though, I was really pleasantly surprised.

Not by the outfit... Standing alone with Matilda, Gina was wearing a shiny minidress that stretched the boundaries of both good taste and Lycra (play it back, the hologram effect made it look like you could see her internal organs), boots emblazoned with silver crosses from the Frederick’s of Vaticanwood collection, and an assortment of necklaces highlighted by a pat of butter around her neck. Oh, and I kept waiting for a falcon to interrupt her performance and land on her leather bound wrist.

Gina’s vocal cords were dressed to kill, however. She kept it restrained, controlled, and ended up with a grand slam of a performance. There was emotion, there was nothing manic, and finally, in terms of vocal supply and demand, she owned it and had everyone wanting to buy.

Randy liked her "fly boots" and said it was one of her "best performances"; Paula, wearing a Sta-Puf marshmallow on her hand, said the song allowed her to "soar vocally"; Simon said it was NOT one of her best performances, but that it WAS her best performance.

After the break, Sanjaya rehearsed the No Doubt tune Bathwater for Gwen whose only comment was that it was "going to be a hard song for him, but he chose it."

Cut to the stage, and I somehow thought I had accidentally sat on the remote and had flipped to a cable station broadcasting from a Medievel Times restaurant.

But no. That was Sanjaya who looked like a Lipizzaner stallion.

It’s official, with that Fauxhawk nightmare, he is now Evil Malaknievel, and as a confirmed daredevil, decided for his first feat, to jump a metaphorical Snake River Canyon with his head.

As he sang the words to Bathwater, I kept thinking, "we need to throw this baby out with it." The vocals, well, were there vocals? I was too mesmerized by the way he kept the beat with his hair to listen much.

He did mangle the pronoun switch from women to men, her to him, she to he a couple times, and neglected a lyric at one point (Lyrics, shmearics! Who needs to know the words - LOOK AT MY HAIR!), oh, and I did catch, "I’m know I’m diving into my own destruction."

It was then I decided that the kid is either so desperate to get voted off this show that he will try anything (God help us – if he makes it to next week, I’m prepared to see him come out in drag), or that he is brilliant, has balls that would make a Texas longhorn proud, and does consider himself bulletproof, so the wilder, the better.

The only positive thing I wrote down is that he actually looks good with the hair out of his face.

Randy was "speechless"; Paula said that if he had "the gumption to just go for it, it would fit the wackiness of the faux hawk", but that he didn’t "go for it"; Simon said he presumed "there was no mirror" in Sanjaya’s dressing room, to which Evil spat back, "You’re just jealous that you couldn’t pull it off."

OK, right there – any warmth I had been feeling for this drowning little boy, froze over. There he stood, looking like a horse's ass, or the ass of a horse, or a rooster on meth, and he gets disrespectful.

Yeah Sanjaya. We’re all jealous. I wish I could prance around in front of 30 million people with a dead animal strapped to my head.

He then went on to model the hairstyle for Ryan – it was actually made up of 7 separate, but equally floofy, ponytails – seven for good luck. Screw a four leaf clover. Next time you need some extra karmic power from the universe, channel My Friend Flicka on ganja.

"J" – I feel for you, sweetie. If he makes it through with that, you really are going to give Ghandi a run for his money.

Haley met up with Gwen next to practice True Colors, the official American Idol death dirge for any singer – has Haley never watched the show??

Sitting on the stage steps, she looked lovely in a basic black mini dress, but I was distracted from her beauty by the giant hand of God playing the guitar behind her on the screensaver. And look! She likes good luck charms too. If seven ponytails is lucky for Sanjaya, well gosh darnit, I’m going to wear 57 necklaces! Her neck looked like a salvage yard.

Vocally she actually sounded decent. Haley has a pretty voice, just not a winning voice.

And then she stood up. Well, let’s just say that camera angle darn near showed us her True Colors...

Randy said she "started a little shaky, but got better towards the end"; Paula babbled something about being contemporary, ending with "pretty girl"; Simon said "It was sweet, but forgettable". I agree, and sandwiched at number 5 in the performances, that’s probably what she will be by Wednesday night.

Another break brought us back to Phil sitting with Ryan to talk about how it feels to go from being unknown to a household name in a matter of weeks. Phil, decked out in a red t-shirt, JEANS, hoodie, a blazer with liberal Bedazzling, and my grandmother’s knit cap, responded that it’s "strange, crazy and exciting".

I’ll take "Strange and Crazy" for $200, Alex. Answer: What is a Bedazzled blazer and an I-just-had-brain-surgery cap?

Gwen was "pleasantly surprised" by his rehearsal of Every Breath You Take, but cautioned against doing "extra stuff" and to just sing the song.

On stage he began singing, but I was fearful for him because it looked like the big hand was reaching in to give him a big wedgie. Can we kill the guitar/hand close-ups, please?

Phil sounded stronger tonight than he has for a few weeks. There was nothing manic or forced like the Tobacco-Road-disaster-nightmare-debacle of last week. He was subdued, controlled, a little breathy – not Sting, but not bad either. Overall, he was really solid.

BUT. THE. HATS. HAVE. TO. GO.

Either grow some hair on your damned head or embrace your baldness. Wax that bowling ball and roll with it.

Randy "kinda liked it" and said it was a "solid performance"; Paula said that on the verses he "plays it safe", but "soars on the choruses"; Simon thought the song was a "good choice" and that he felt that Phil "was actually trying to take this seriously."

Melinda got her chance to impress Gwen and that’s exactly what she did. Gwen said, "She blew me away...amazing performance."

As the disco music for Heaven Knows started, so did the smoke machines! And look! A ginormous disco ball on the screensaver! All that was missing from this Studio Fifty More was the Bee Gees singing back up!

Melinda was definitely heeding all the advice to dress younger this evening, but I still think she and the stylists need to convene at Camp David for a Fashion Summit. Tonight’s ensemble included a Farrah-flip hairdo (better than the Dorothy Hamill she sported last week), black leggings, pumps, and a satin tunic made from the American Idol opening credits – all waves, neon blues, and whites. Even the belt looked like the AI logo outline. Well, that, or a slice from a really big hard boiled egg.

What more can be said about Melinda’s vocals – they are always spot-on. She worked the stage, had energy, her voice was really strong, but ultimately I found myself kind of, "Eh." when it was over.

Randy called her a "pro singer" in that she "interprets the words"; Paula said she "tells a story" when she sings; Simon said that vocally she was, as usual, "outstanding", but that he hated the outfit.

AFTER. THE. BREAK. Blake sang for Gwen and her video comments included the usual, "be careful about when he chooses to do the beatboxing because it can detract from the melody".

Taking the stage, Blake not only heeded her advice, but mine as well: Less is more. Gone were the fifteen layers of clothes, replaced by a dark sweater funked up with a zipper and warring stripes, black pants and tennis shoes. Even his hair was on "Low" tonight.

And it all worked.

Singing The Cure’s Love Song, he kept it low key, on key, and sexy. But as it went on, it kind of veered from easy to a little bore-y. With no beatboxing and a fairly steady rhythm, there was nothing to get up and lick the TV over.

(Which is good. I still have streaks on mine from five weeks ago when he first sang.)

Randy "liked it" but was not "jumping out of my chair"; Paula – well Paula practically slid out of hers like Olive Oyl being courted by Popeye. Could she have possibly oozed over him anymore than she did, calling it "risky, original". Huh? There was nothing risky or original in that performance. The arrangement was the same, the words were the same. But I guess Blake has The Cure for what ails old Paula, so what do I know? ; Simon said he is the "strongest guy in the competition" but warned him about being indulgent and in "the Chris Daughtry zone and doing your own thing".

Jordin’s turn – and she has chosen No Doubt’s Hey Baby – a song penned by Ms. Stefani about her personal experiences backstage at the No Doubt concerts. It’s a catchy tune, but also one that is Gwen's.

Gwen told her to "get the booty going" in order to sell the song, but I feared for Jordin a little bit because attitude and sexiness aren’t something you can rent, you have to own them, and she doesn’t quite have the down payment yet..

I outwardly cringed for my girl when she came out on stage in an unfortunate outfit which combined a red picnic tablecloth for a top and a grey tarp for a bottom. She finished the look with grey boots (All right - did these girls get a deal at These Boots Are Made For Gawking, or what?), a ponytail, and O rings from the Space Shuttle in her ears, but none of it worked. Everything was out of proportion, the top was too tiny, the bottom like a big weather balloon. I know she was trying to channel some kind of school-girl sexiness, but she ended up looking like the lovechild of a rehabbing Britney Spears and Gwen Stephoney.

Vocally I wasn’t swept away either. Again, Hey Baby requires attitude, spark, condescension – Jordin can sing, but she is not exactly a diva yet. She tried to work it, but it all seemed forced, fake, uncomfortable. Which I hate saying because I love this girl, but bad is bad, and this was a mess. It could have only been worse if she had chosen Hollaback Girl.

Randy called it a "very, very risky thing to do", but that she is "brilliant"; Paula said she was "adorable"; Simon said she is the "most improved contestant", but that the song was a bit "copycattish".

Finally, Chris R met with Gwen and rehearsed the tune which put No Doubt on the charts to begin with, Don’t Speak. Gwen commented that Chris always tries to do "vocal Olympics" but that he just needs to "focus on the song".

Standing at the mike, dressed in an untucked shirt, plaid tie, army jacket, JEANS, and tennis shoes, he got off to a shaky start and didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He even looked at them once like Whoa! What are these things? Are they mine? Where should I put them?

Vocally, there was no desperation – the trademark of the song – and he sounded his normal nasally self. He did get stronger towards the end of the tune, but I found myself nodding in agreement when he sang, "It’s all ending, I gotta stop pretending..."

I know, I know – the guy could sing the I-Love-Linda-Sharp ballad and I still wouldn’t be impressed. Sue me.

Randy liked his "flavor" on it, or was it "flava"? Hmmm, it’s Randy, so I guess it was "flava"; Paula was stuck in auto-babble mode this evening, "You’re good Chris, you’re good, you’re gooooood."; Simon wasn’t "crazy about the vocal" and said Chris "struggled in the middle". He warned him to "pay more attention to the vocals".

And that’s it for this night of Stefani worshipping. Is it just me or did anyone else think the evening came off as just slightly better than average karaoke? I really can’t think of anything that I’m taking away from this evening like I did last week with Jordin’s gut wrenching rendition of I Who Have Nothing.

My guess for elimination has to fall to Haley. She was placed to disappear from memory tonight, and as I said, the road to Idol-land is littered with the dead careers of those contestants who took on True Colors and faded to black and white.

Tune in Wednesday night as Gwen Stefani takes the stage and we find out for certain if Haley has what it takes to Move On towards superstardom or if Underneath It All she really is Just A Girl.

(For you diehard Idol fans...wouldn't you have loved to be a fly on Nadia Turner's wall when Sanjaya came out on stage tonight? I'm just sayin...)

Can't get enough American Idol? Check out Liz Finn-Arnold's take on the proceedings at the TV Squad blog!

Just One Question...

What If You're A Wadder, Not A Folder?

(I'm just asking...did these highly intelligent (read: we have too much time and beer on our hands) and inventive UC Berkley students think of that????)

Which are YOU?

Come on, 'fess up. Do you do Charmin origami whilst you toil on the lette, as it were? Or are you more of an abstract Mr. Whipple with your paper products?

All Shook Up

Ahhhhh, Spring. The time of the year when the flowers begin to poke through the dirt, children can play outdoors after dinner in the Daylight Savings time twilight, and couples the world over unite in holy matrimony.

And while I love a good petunia or game of Kick the Can better than anyone, it is the latter subject upon which I would like to touch today.

The Spring Wedding Invitation.

(insert Jaws theme music)

We all get them. And whether we RSVP in a timely fashion or not, we all also feel obligated to follow up with a gift for the happy couple who share a 50/50 chance of making it to anniversary one – traditional gift? Paper – as in a ream of the stuff from their friendly, neighborhood divorce lawyer.

But I like to be more optimistic than that. I just passed the sixteen year mark in January – traditional gift? He let me hold the remote control in bed that night – and know that it is possible to go the distance.

That being said, I like to channel this optimism into the gifts I choose for newlyweds. I want to get them something that can last, something that holds up, something that, sixteen years from now, can still make them a batch of margaritas to take the edge off ... well ... sixteen years.

Yes, a blender.

I have, lo these many years, purchased all and sundry brands for both myself and as gifts. I have dabbled in all price ranges. I have shown no brand loyalty as I search the world over for the one blender which will make all others look like a spoon with buttons.

In my quest, I have tried cheap brands which emit smoke when you even think about crushing ice in them. I have invested larger amounts only to find myself still humping the thing back and forth on the counter as it attempts to deep throat some roasted tomatoes and garlic. My current blender is a gorgeous piece of artwork – etched glass container, brushed copper base, space age buttons.

Does it work?

Hell if I know. It’s too pretty to mess with. But damn, it looks good on my counter.

But as I sat here over the weekend, staring at yet another wedding invitation on my desk, I was determined to find a better, way, a better gift, a better blender.

And boy howdy, did I ever.

Allow me to introduce you to the Blendtec Company, a division of K-Tec, founded by a man named Tom Dickson.

Tom initially revolutionized the home wheat milling industry (no, I did not know there was one either) by harnessing a versatile vacuum cleaner motor with a rotor and stator micronetic-milling chamber (just nod like you know what the hell that is and keep reading).

With that being such a successful invention, Tom set his sights on the rapidly expanding smoothie movement. (No, that has nothing to do with those celebrity endorsed high colonic spa treatments.)

Long story, short – Tom created what is now the most desired, most used blender behind the scenes in restaurants, smoothie joints, and yes, that corner cappuccino stand with the mermaid lady in the green circle. (Forget the Prince – that Ariel chick really wanted legs so she could get her daily Mocha Frappuccino fix.)

With its sturdy base hiding a motor which rivals the energy once housed at Three Mile Island, and a unique square blending chamber, the BlendTec blender is a godsend for any user frustrated by repeatedly having to stop mid-blend and shove a spoon, spatula, or hand grenade into the blender to get the items to move downward.

But why should you believe me or Tom? Especially when the average price tag on one of these blending babies is just shy of $400. After all, seeing is where the real believing takes place.

Tom already thought of that. And for quite a long time now has been quietly making short videos to demonstrate the power behind the machine.

Starring in Will It Blend?, Tom doesn’t just show us that the Blendtec can make a smoothie out of fruit and yogurt. Hell No! He makes a smoothie out of a whole chicken and a can of Coke!

Cochicken, anyone?

Not impressive enough for you? How about watching the power of the Blendtec disintegrate a rake handle? An entire plunger?. A golf club shaft? Forty ball point pens? An iPod? Marbles? Or my favorite – a dozen glowsticks, resulting in, to quote Tom, "A 12 hour lantern."

I promise you, once you watch one Will It Blend episode, you will be hooked (It truly appeals to the destructive little eight year old boy in all of us.). I have included both the plunger and the glow stick episodes for you here, but they may all be found via YouTube.com by typing in the words Will It Blend. Personally, I think the backing music is so 70's groovy, I want to don some bell bottoms and watch an old episode of The Love Boat.

So next time you are stuck trying to come up with the perfect wedding gift for those starry eyed newlyweds, give them something they can really use. A Blendtec blender will insure that that can effectively crush ice for their margarita parties in the beginning, and effectively destroy all their partner’s belongings when he/she catches him/her cheating with a coworker in the end! ("In the end" as in the end of the relationship, not as in the location where the, ahem, cheating took place. You people are filthy... no wonder I like you all so very much.)

Will It Blend? His shoes? Her hair extensions? Her Coach purse collection? That stupid book of poetry in which he declared his "unwavering devotion"? Her Lee Press On Nails? His Xbox controllers? Her precious Manolos? His Boston Red Sox bobble head collection?

Sure it will! And I bet if you surf YouTube long enough, you’ll find Tom demonstrating all of the above!

(Personally, in looking at my own spouse's collection of things that drive me insane, I would love to see if the Blendtec could take on 40 holey pairs of Fruit of the Looms and 85 tshirts he refuses to part with, all of them more closely resembling tshirt molecules than actual tshirts ... Skidmark Smoothie, anyone?)

This Burns Me Up

Human beings are animals. Which means, like our less evolved four legged friends, we are made up of baser instincts, natural reflexes, fight or flight reactions, and a tendancy to bite someone’s head off if they rub our fur the wrong direction.

Sure, we can do quantum physics, solve the Da Vinci code, and have learned that The Secret to success lies in simply willing the universe to drop a new Mercedes, a laundry bag full of cash, and Brad Pitt onto our doorsteps. According to the highly touted, Oprah blessed tome, if you will it, it will come.

But, apparently, sometimes wishing won’t make it so. Sometimes all the positive outlook in the world won’t resolve a completely negative situation. And sometimes, a person has to become actively involved in correcting what they perceive to be wrong in their lives.

That’s when our animalistic side tends to take over.

Take relationships, for instance. We all know that the amount a person purrs in the beginning of a relationship is ultimately in direct proportion to the amount of growling we do when a hook up begins to go sour. We rant. We tear things up. We pace, we pounce, we pee on the rug and chew on the furniture.

OK, ok – maybe not that last one, but you get the picture. Hurt feelings, betrayed trust, broken dreams – they are all perfectly capable of pushing us all but one step away from peeing on the rug.

Most of us, however, settle for changing the locks, throwing the belongings of the offender out on the front lawn, and contacting the divorce lawyer.

But there are others, who are obviously closer to their animal instincts, yet somehow insanely creative in their resolution strategies.

Meet Rosanita Nery dos Santos, 52, of Sao Paulo, Brazil. A woman who must fancy herself a good cook, but who will never appear on an episode of Top Chef with her ... ahem ... recipe.

You see, Rosarita had it up-to-here with her spouse, and what is being reported by relatives as "many years of humiliation from her husband."

So she fried his ass.

Literally.

She drugged him. She stabbed him. She chopped him into 100+ pieces. Then she turned on the stove, prepared the pans (Cooking tip: hot pan, cold oil – food won’t stick), and both boiled and fried his remains. She then put them into a big garbage bag and hid them under the stairs for two years.

Of course, she tells authorities that masked assailants entered her house, killed her husband and then forced her to cut up the body and fry it because that would prevent the stench of a decomposing body from alerting neighbors.

Um. Ye-ah.

Most masked assailants take the time to break out The Joy of Cooking book in order to hide their transgressions.

Rosarita is currently in jail, awaiting trial, the bag of Kentucky Fried Husband discovered after an anonymous tip was phoned in to police.

Forgive me, but I just have to go one logical mental step further...

Even in my refrigerator, a box of cooked Chinese take-out begins to fester and smell like ass after two weeks hidden in the back. And leftover grilled steak, thrown into the big blue garbage can smells like a herd of dead cattle after three days. I simply cannot believe that a bag of cooked person, regardless of the spices used in the process, didn’t reek after just a few days.

But I digress...(and hork up a tad.)

Anyway, when I read about this yesterday, my initial thought was, "Wow. She must have been pissed off." But I also thought, "You don’t read about this kind of domestic dispute everyday. This is unique."

But, oh, how 24 hours can prove a person wrong.

This morning’s news headline out Houston, Texas?

Sheriff: Student murdered, burned on patio grill

I’m not kidding.

Yes, just a couple hours drive from me (Texas does everything big – I am so proud to live here.), a19 year old student at Texas A&M was the victim of her ex-boyfriend’s Lion King-like rage when he discovered she had begun a new relationship – and he wasn’t in it.

Timothy Wayne Shepard, 27, confessed to authorities that he strangled Tynesha Stewart, then dismembered her, and over the course of two days disposed of her via his grill.

Residents of the apartment complex have told authorities they noticed both thick black clouds of smoke and an acrid smell coming from the two grills on his porch, but he told nosey neighbors he was cooking for a wedding. At one point the flames from the grills were dangerously close to the roof over his balcony and a neighbor called 911, however, by the time the fire department arrived, the flames were under control and they left.

That their loved one was killed to begin with? As a parent, I cannot even begin to imagine the pain they feel, but to have it compounded with such a heinous, sickening act after the fact? You would have to sedate me for the rest of my life. One – so that I would not be awake to deal with reality, and Two, because I would be stalking that young man with a lasso, machete, and George Foreman grill for the rest of my life. (And should I find him? Anthony Hopkins would be on speed dial and some fava beans would be simmering on the stove.)

Thankfully, while domestic tragedies do occur daily, they do not typically play out to such a sickening degree.

But I am also aware that when push comes to shove, some people do react in a King of the Beasts type way. To that end, I made it clear to my own husband – if he ever gets that angry with me, or just wants out to pursue his animal lust for another big breasted mammal, the answer is fairly simple...

Leave the cutlery and olive oil out of it. Just ask me to leave.

I might be steamed. But I will certainly not be burned up about it.

Probation For Deer John Booty Call

Several months back I wrote about the young man in Wisconsin, Bryan James Hathaway, who had been caught in a ditch getting jiggy with an animal.

Now, your average bestiality offense doesn’t pop up in the media all that often. Sure, every now and then you get a stray story like the one about the Irish woman who found her husband having sex in the barn with a chicken – yes, I know, it does sound like the set up for a good joke, doesn’t it? – the man, embarrassed at being caught bare assed with some poultry, and the fact that his wife trumpeted the story to the local media, hanged himself.

Yes, instead of continuing to "choke his chicken", he decided to "off’ himself.

(Look - I like a good piece of ass myself, but I prefer mine with grill marks and a liberal shaking of Mrs. Dash.)

And there was the one out of Enumclaw, Washington last year, about the man who had been engaging in sex with a horse – a horse! – and died in the emergency room with a perforated rectum.

Nearly a year after the fact, I am still stuck trying to figure out the physical logistics involved in not only enticing the equine, but arranging oneself in such a position as to receive the affections. Do you stand on a chair and dangle a carrot or a sugar cube?  I guess I need to fly to London and see Daniel Radcliffe in Equus...

Never mind.

Anyway – as I said, these stories are thankfully far and few between. And when they do show up in the media, it is because there have either been profound consequences or truly titillating circumstances surrounding the offense.

Such was the case of Bryan James Hathaway’s story making national headlines. Had he simply been molesting a dog, sheep, or some other small, but passion inducing piece of livestock, the story would have been but a blip on the reader radar. However, Bryan took his urge to merge species one step further into the murk.

The animal was a deer. And the deer was dead.

I’ll pause while you swallow the wad of bile you just horked up.

Bryan was arrested – having frozen like, well, a deer in the police car’s headlights, and was taken to jail to await a trial and sentencing.

Compounding Bryan’s legal problems was that at the time of the Bambi banging, he was still serving two years of extended supervision (he had already completed an 18 month jail stint as well) after he had been found guilty in April 2005 of felony mistreatment of another animal.

He had killed a horse with the intention of having sex with it.

Which brings us to the present day and the verdict handed down by the judge: Bryan received probation this time, but the sentence also requires him to be evaluated as a sex offender and treated at the Institute for Psychological and Sexual Health in Duluth, Minn.

According to Assistant District Attorney Jim Brougher, "The state believes that particular place is the best to provide treatment for the individual."

Ya think?

Look, I don’t know what the answer is to the question of a person obviously insistent on really loving the animal kingdom, but I do wish the mental health workers luck in trying to sort him out.

Personally, I’m sticking with the plan I laid out for him when the story first came to light. Perhaps, like people addicted to heroin or even nicotine, the answer is to wean him away from his addiction.

Start him off with one of those blow up reindeer they sell at Christmas, then move him down to twice weekly viewings of Bambi and Black Beauty. Finally, supervised appropriate role playing with some My Little Pony figurines.

Because if you make this guy go cold turkey, I just know he’ll be found with his pants down in some freezer case in Walmart by Thanksgiving.

American Idol Results Recap, Wednesday, March 21: Stephanie Edwards: You Don't Have To Say You Love Me, But Your Votes Sure Would Have Been Nice

I am a big supporter of a person’s right to protest. Freedom of speech, freedom of expression, freedom to take a stand for or against an issue that gets under your skin.

Whether it’s genocide in Darfur, the war in Iraq, PETA, or global warming, worthy causes have legions of people rallying behind them to keep their specific issue in the spotlight and bring more people to the fight.

And face it, without people willing to sacrifice, skip work to hold banners and signs, pass petitions, and participate in peace keeping/humanitarian missions, many issues, and in many cases the people they affect, would die from neglect.

But sometimes a protest seems ill fated from the start.

Let’s say a group decides to boycott lima beans. They make signs. They gather outside a grocery store here and there. And then what?

No one really gives a damn because, quite frankly, lima beans aren’t anyone’s best friend, and people are too busy laughing at the protesters.

Well, courtesy of a tip from regular blog visitor Jacquie, I would like to introduce you to someone who has launched a protest which makes the Coalition Against The Satanic Paste That Is The Lima Bean look worthy of international attention.

The person? "J", a 23 year old woman from New York.

The name of her cause? Starvation For Sanjaya.

The upshot? She has launched a grassroots campaign (beginning with herself, but quickly gathering speed via YouTube converts) to wage a hunger strike until America pulls its collective head out of its ass and votes Sanjaya Malakar off American Idol.

I’ll pause while you laugh amongst yourselves...

Ready for me to continue? Good...

As you’ll see in her YouTube video below, she is serious about her cause and thoughtful in stating her case. And while currently she may not be full of food, she is certainly full of %[email protected]#.

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Listen, you all know how I feel about young Mr. Malakarpel Tunnel Singdrome. I don’t think he should have made it into the Top 24, I don’t think he should be sharing the stage with the likes of Jordin, Blake and Melinda, and I certainly don’t think he should have ever usurped Sundance for a spot in the final 12.

But I also don’t deny his appeal to a very specific demographic – little Ashley Abdul, ring a bell?

I rewatched his Kinky performance from Tuesday night, I studied the tears of joy streaming down the face of Ashley as he not only sang to her, but embraced her afterwards. And you know what? He’s really not so different than all the idiots I worshipped growing up.

Shaun Cassidy wasn’t exactly Pavarotti, but man, I loved his feathered hair, Pearl Drops smile, and Da Do Ron Ron-edness. Same with his half sibling David – hair, eyes, smile, breathy vocals. When David sang "We gotta get outta this place...", I had my Holly Hobby suitcase packed and waiting by the door. And Davy Jones? I’m with blog commenter Susan in PA – he still melts my cardiac butter.

On the vocal Richter scale, none of these guys were exactly earth shaking, but they had "it", whatever "it" happens to be that grants a young man access to the wallspace in a young girl’s bedroom.

And teeny bopper Sanjaya, whether we adults understand it or not, has "it" in spades, clubs, diamonds and yes, the hearts of millions of little girls.

So to "J" and her small cadre of disciples – I hope you had a big lunch before you decided to go all Ghandi and start this ridiculous protest of yours because, 1.) No one really cares, 2.) I may not enjoy his lapping my TV with his tongue, but I’m certainly not giving up Twinkies to send him packing, and 3.) He’s simply not going anywhere for some time to come. Ashley and the Hannah Montanas of the country will see to that.

Oh, and one last thing, J. Please look around and find a cause worth starving for. Darfur obviously comes to mind. But check out that lima bean thing too, because those Satanic little pods are just way grosser than any tongue wagging poor Sanjaya may do.

Now, let’s get some results, shall we?

~~~~~~~

Ahhhhh, thirty minutes.

I am a huge advocate of the half hour results show, however, they do tend to be like a flash fire. They happen quickly, scorch your retinas, and leave you breathless – so I will do my best to catch it all for you as they throw some fame retardant on another hopeful’s dreams of glory.

As the lights swept back and forth across the assembled contestants – smiles on their faces not because they were happy, but because their mouths were so dry with nerves that their teeth were stuck to their lips – Ryan reminded us that "Last night we lost ourselves in the 60’s. Tonight one of our finalists is heading back to reality."

And of course...THIS. IS. AMERICAN. IDOL.

I have to pause a moment to ask. Do you think there is ever anyone watching who hears him say that and actually goes, "What?!? I thought this was the National Geographic documentary on endangered moss in the Amazonian rainforest!?!? Crap! Quick, change the channel!"

But I digress...

Ryan took the stage dressed in his usual somber, Wednesday night Dream-Dashing-Duds – a dark suit and tie. The judges, however, knowing the cameras won’t be on them near as much as on a Tuesday, all but show up in their pajamas. Randy was wearing a white Hanes T and a V neck with an octopus thrown over the shoulder; Paula continued the underwater theme, decked out in what looked like golden seaweed; Simon just rolled out of bed and showed up in a gray night shirt and JEANS.

A quick video recap of last night’s nostaligia-fest – made mercifully short with the fast forward button on my remote – and it was time to welcome last night’s male guest mentor to the stage: Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits fame.

What can I say? The guy is just so damned likable. He came out on stage, all smiles, singing There’s A Kind Of Hush – a truly seasoned performer, but then he has been singing that song nonstop since 1967 in every nightclub and Indian reservation casino possible. Don’t believe me? You can catch him April 7 at the Riverwind in Oklahoma, and he has a three night set April 11-13 at the Potawatomi Casino in Wisconsin, just to name a few of his listed concert dates.

He was decked out in a satin jacket, perfectly matched to his cheery blue eyes, a striped shirt and dress pants, and he sounded so much like the original recording, I could not help but be impressed. I actually found that when he got to the final "Huuuuusssssshhhhh", that I didn’t want him to – I was really enjoying watching him.

Hmmm...where’s the nearest Indian casino to Austin, Texas???

AFTER. THE. BREAK. We slammed headfirst into the weekly selling of the kids’ souls to Ford. This time the video was set at a laundromat as they sang Another Saturday Night.

Ok – you people all know where I stand with these shameless dances with the devil – but even I have to admit that I didn’t actually mind this one. Usually they chafe like a sandpaper thong, but watching Melinda handspring along the washing machines and all of them frolic in the suds – I found myself smiling.

That sneaky devil...

Assembled on the couches, the kids had a visitor – Brad Garrett of the new show Till Death. Look, it’s bad enough when the audience is routinely littered with actors from every FOX show the network is trying to pimp, but to now allow one to crawl UP onto the stage?

Can we get on with this?

The lights went down, Brad was voted off the island, and Ryan turned to the kids, assembled on the Stardom Snuffing Sofas thusly:

Back Row: Chris S, Kiki, Phil-Take-Off-The-Damned-Hat Stacey, Stephanie, and Sanjaya

Front Row: Gina,Chris R, Melinda, Blake, Jordin, and Haley.

And what’s this? Ryan incorporated the newly devised lottery ticket scratch off method tonight! (Come on, you know you don’t scratch off those little silver spots in a neat row – you jump around)

Phil, Melinda, and Blake – Stand up. You are NOT in our bottom three tonight, so sit down, fall down, or lay down – you are SAFE.

I don’t believe I have ever seen a happier camper than Phil at that moment. To go from sucking hind tit in the bottom three last week, to owning the whole cow this week? Woo Hoo, for Phil.

Next to stand? Chris S, Lakisha, and Jordin.

Slight pause here to note that Chris’ Christian brethren back home have been vocal in the media of late – worried about his recent song choices – do you think they were heartened to see him wearing a crest with a skull on his shoulder? Just asking...

Lakisha actually looked scared as they all stood, but Ryan quickly allowed them to reclaim some cushion space – all were SAFE.

Next up – Sanjaya, Haley, and Gina – and yes, like you, I thought for sure at least two of them would be setting up shop at center stage – but Noooooooooo. They were all SAFE too! Not in our bottom three!

OK – at that point, every contestant on the stage, and every viewer in America broke out their mental calculators.

If Farmer Seacrest has eleven chickens, and he sends three to market, three to lay eggs, and three to get jiggy in the henhouse, how many chickens does that leave for dinner?

Dammit! I hate word problems.

Only Stephanie and Chris R were left to fill out a bottom three that tonight contained only two – crap. It must be that new math I’ve heard about...

Sadly, these two chicks will have to sweat it out through another commercial break, the weekly grifting of the viewers via the AI Challenge question, and a performance by female mentor Lulu, before finding out who gets served for dinner tonight.

This week’s question and the chance to win 10K, a trip to a Ford video shoot (I seriously need to win this), and the chance to have Nigel Lythgow breathing down your neck like last week’s winner Christy, was:

Which of these American Idols has recently been cast to star in The Color Purple on Broadway.

A. Fantasia

B. Smurfette Bennett

C. Vonzelle Solomon

D. 30 million people watch this show every week and know the answer to this question. You can see how much Nigel loves this new math. 99 cents multiplied by 33 million equals a new Lamborghini, four new villas in Paris, Rome, Costa Rica, and Bali, and another ZOOM whitening for my teeth! My God that man has teeth the color of a brand new toilet, doesn’t he?

Ryan then reminded everyone about the upcoming Idol Gives Back telethon, and again mentioned that AT&T and Coke have "promised a generous contribution", but no firm dollar amount. He then opened the sponsorships up to corporations, encouraging them to email [email protected].

Look, I think this is great and I hope they raise twice the amount of money they are predicting, but if Bill Gates wants to shunt some cash from Microsoft, I highly doubt he’s going to drop an email to an address flashed on his TV screen.

Moving on...

Ryan intro’d Lulu singing To Sir With Love, at least that’s who was supposed to be singing. At first the stage was bare, then someone began singing. Oh wait – the spaceship doors finally parted and there was Olivia Newton John coming up the steps.

Tell me she and Lulu don’t share the same face, or at the very least, the same plastic surgeon.

The woman was born in 1948 – that makes her almost 60 years old, and there was not a wrinkle to be found. She looked amazing. Dressed in a sparkly black piece of Astroturf with cut out shoulders, satin pants and heels, she took over the stage and reworked To Sir With Love into a real show stopper.

Her voice was strong and clear, but I did find I was momentarily distracted by her earrings. They were so big, I kept waiting for Bart Connor to mount her head and do an iron cross.

Seriously, like Peter Noone, the woman is a seasoned performer, age be damned, and she sounded great throughout the song, especially that huge finish. Twenty million of the people watching might not have clue one who she is, but they had to admire her vocal strength.

One more commercial break and we returned to find Stephanie and Chris R standing center stage with Ryan. He quickly recapped their performances and then announced that after 30 million votes, America would rather hear Chris R sing through his nose some more, and that Stephanie would now be watching her Idol Journey on the big screen.

She teared up as they played it, and I admit, it does get harder each week to watch them go. She handled it well as they showed her journey from the kitchen of her home to the big stage, tears silently making their way down her cheeks.

But look – the girl is stunning and can absolutely sing (not that she was given the chance tonight). We have definitely not seen the last of Stephanie Edwards. The world is wide open to someone that talented, beautiful, and grounded.  (Then again, I did say that about LaToya London also.  What was that?  Did you just say LaToya who?  For shame...good luck Stephanie...)

So that’s it for another week, kids. As I said, Sanjaya isn’t going away anytime soon. So "J", just in case you find that the hunger pains get out of control, I’ll leave a small snack here for you ... don’t worry. It’ll be our little secret.

(Hope you don't mind I had a little nibble.  I told you I like Twinkies...)

~~~~~~

** Photo Addendum to recap - lest you think I am off my rocker about the Sanjaya-Davy-Jones-Shaun Cassidy connection - think again.  Bring back any memories?

Da Doo Ran Ran Away With My Heart

I don't think - I KNOW I Love You!

The Star of all my Deep Purple Dreams

Shadow Dancing, anyone?

Man, he could fill out a pair of hiphuggers, couldn't he?

Robby Benson was always more Beauty than Beast, wasn't he?  I'd still build Ice Castles with him.

Made a Daydream Believer out of me...

He was made for dancin' and hanging on the wall, baby.

Get it now?  You'll have to excuse me...I am suddenly overcome with the need to go buy a Tiger Beat...

American Idol Recap, Tuesday, March 20: The British Aren’t Bumming! The British Aren’t Bumming!

As tonight’s episode is another two hour musical Bataan Death March, I’ll keep this intro fairly brief...

I live in Austin, Texas – motto: Keep Austin Weird.

Yes, that motto is probably how I have managed to gain such easy entry into the eclectic society that is to be found down here. They embrace those who are slightly "off", and yours truly fits that description fairly well.

To those of you who just raised an eyebrow and snorted, "Fairly well?", I say shut up, I’m talking.

That’s better.

Anyhoo – Austin is a clearinghouse for artists and musicians – there is always a poetry reading, sculpture exhibit, or jam session to be found on any given night. In the musical realm, groups of every shape, size, genre and decibel level filter through this fair city.

Last week (ending this past Sunday) was no exception, in fact, it found over 160 bands from everywhere participating in what amounted to roughly 100 nonstop hours of jam sessions in every nook, cranny, church, and patio bar with available amp space in town.

The event? SXSW. (or South By Southwest for the tragically unhip.)

A veritable cornucopia of talent, with names like, well, The Tragically Unhip, Turbo Fruits, Mau Mau Chaplains, and Wax Fang.

No, like 3-11, I have never heard of them either. Get over it.

Of course there were bands with more recognizable names thanks to their radio friendly (read: constantly played tunes on Radio Disney) songs, like Bowling For Soup, and of course, Mr Soul Patrol, Taylor Hicks who even rolled through on the fifteenth.

So this city, always teeming with the talented, and the talented?, was overflowing for a few days.

As luck would have it, although I did not get to enjoy their music, I certainly got to take in many of the bands, as we were all at the Austin airport on Monday. They were leaving, I was picking up my daughter from her Spring Break trip to my sister’s.

And boy-howdy, was the people watchin’ guuuud.

Clumps of grungy, alt-rock, greasy haired, t-shirted, ripped Converse wearing young men were everywhere, their luggage carts full of musical equipment, very little in the way of actual clothing carrying suitcases. (But how much space do a couple pairs of tighty whities and a few ironic t-shirts take anyway?)

As I stood in line with many of them, they waiting for boarding passes, me waiting for a security pass to pick up my child, I marveled at how close I was standing to possible greatness. How a younger, hipper, more in tuned young lady would probably have been soiling herself to be surrounded by all these music gurus, nay gods.

As the line inched forward, one group of them accidentally ankle bit me with their luggage cart – of course I turned around, and of course, they apologized. One even gave me a slow smile and a once over through his face obscuring coif.

Flattering, I suppose, however, I like my men old enough that I can't confuse them with someone I could have birthed.

But as I walked away to security, it dawned on me...was it possible I had just been run over by, and possibly flirted with, 311?!?!, the greatest band to ever lay down a musical note, and I. DIDN’T. KNOW. IT?!?!?

Holy Blake Lewis, Batman! Could it be?

Who knows? But as I completely love irony – I’m going with it.

I was run over by 311 and you weren’t, nanny nanny boo boo...

Now, ow’s about a British recap, luv?

~~~~~~~

In honor of tonight’s British invasion theme, Ryan channeled Saville Row in his proper suit, dress shirt, and purple striped tie, as he intoned, You are calling the shots. You are in control."

Note: As he spoke, did anyone else see Paula and Simon making out in the dark? Major hugging, playing with hair... thhhhmmpppppppppgggggggghhhh ... sorry, threw up in my mouth a little ...

Ryan’s head burst into flames as he stepped from behind the sliding doors – wait, sorry – no such luck – it was just the always-in-the-wrong-place lights again – although his head combusting is always a possibility. That much styling product near that much wattage? Careful Ryan or you’ll be sporting the Phil Stacy look...

As he intro’d the kids, they each bounced across the stage – well, some more bouncy than others. Haley was truly embracing the 60’s theme – she must have burned all her bras because those bad boys were partying hard under that silk top with each step she took.

A quick hello to the judges showed Randy wearing the DNA test from the Anna Nicole paternity lawsuit, and Big Ben on his wrist; Paula’s hair was tied to the side revealing strands of gold spaghetti in her ears, a string of candied yams around her neck, and an outfit worn by Shirley in an episode of the Partridge Family – a green floral blouse and a rust colored naugahide blazer. Simon chose to wear black. The 60’s, 70’s, new millennium – black is always in style, right?

Watching a video montage of the British invaders – the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, The Kinks, Dusty Springfield, etc – I was very fearful that the potential for musical butchery could threaten our relationship with this country's only true ally left on this planet...

Dear God, please, please, please don’t let Sanjaya near The Kinks...

Peter Noone of Herman’s Hermits fame, and Lulu were on hand to mentor the kids. I loved that Lulu pointed out how none of these contestants were even alive when these songs were hits. Heck, it’s not a stretch to say a couple of their parents weren’t alive then.

Drawing the short straw out of tonight’s performance broom – Haley, choosing to sing Tell Him. Her goal? "To be more aggressive, not as sweet." Lulu’s advice? Nail the lyrics, "be more staccato".

Quite frankly, I don’t think anyone really noticed whether she took that advice or not, but she certainly was more aggressive in how she dressed. She knows she cannot outsing girls like Lakisha, Jordon, or Melinda, but she sure can out-body them all. Dressed in shorts shorts, 4 inch heels, and a piece of gold silk tied around her top, she completely worked her assets – the girl is, no argument, gorgeous – head to toe.

Singing-wise, however? It’s just not there. She had fun with it, worked the crowd, but I really kept waiting for Chuck Barris to come out and bang those gongs hanging from her ears and end it for everyone.

She wasn’t awful, in fact, with the exception of a couple spots when she really seemed out of breath, it was ok, but certainly not strong enough to withstand the memory of having taken Sabrina’s spot, and going first. If anything was a winner about the performance, I would have to hand it to the double sided tape that worked so hard to keep the silk scarf in place.

Randy said it was "the perfect song" for her and that it had "Yo factor all over it." (That just doesn’t sound like a compliment to me.) Paula cited the "girlish quality" about Haley – you think? All I saw was GIRL, Paula; Simon who loves a good leg and pretty face said, "You naughty little thing." And that "People will be talking about a lot more than your singing tonight."

Up next, Chris R – but first! - Ryan is with a little girl in the audience who is in tears. Happy? Sad? Oh wait! I understand – she’s right in front of Nigel Lythgow – that would scare anyone, sweetie.

In Chris’ session with Peter Noone, he declares he "finally wants to nail a song." What a novel approach!

He chooses to sing Don’t Let The Sun Catch You Crying, but is warned by Peter to stick with the melody and shy away from too much vibratto. Basically, "just sing the damned song, kid."

With the stage bathed in the glow of a fake sunset, Chris and a lone guitarist sat together. Wearing JEANS, tennis shoes, a button down shirt and what looked like a Ward Cleaver cardigan, Chris actually sounded pretty good ... to start. Then I got distracted by the big ass guitar on the screensaver.

When I finally refocused on Chris (hard to do when he looks like he is being attacked by a 20 foot Fender) what stood out was how nasally he always sounds. Tonight was no exception. I swear, people, I’m trying, but I just cannot get behind this kid. He simply is not appealing to me. He did, however, end with one of the strongest falsettos I have heard from a guy on American Idol. Usually when one of them tries to hold a high note that long they sound like someone just racked them in the ... you know... but Chris actually kept the vocal balls in the air, so to speak.

Randy liked seeing "another side" of Chris and said that "every note was in tune" and it was one of Chris’ "best vocals yet"; Paula declared the "whole thing" to be "sexy and charming" (did you catch the look of concern on Chris’ face when Paula called him sexy?); Simon liked that Chris "did not make it sound old fashioned" and said it was probably his "best performance yet."

Over on the Chat Chairs, Ryan and Stephanie – decked out in a sapphire blue strapless dress, boots, and solar system earrings – took on an question from a viewer about the "hardest part in getting ready for the show each week? Stephanie declared that "picking the song" is the most stressful because they really are aware of how it can make or break a performance.

Well, when I heard in her video that she had chosen You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me, all I could think was "PERFECT CHOICE!" I love this song, and she really has shown the ability to bring one like this home. Lulu even compared her to Beyonce.

Unfortunately, even with the huge band intro that is the trademark of the song, Stephanie sounded weak, wobbly, in the beginning. I waited for her to really open up and work the chorus, but that didn’t happen either. Her lower notes continued to go AWOL, and I just found myself spending the whole song wishing it was better.

Randy called it a "good song choice" but that it was "pitchy"; Paula started with the Abdul Death Knell: "great news first: I love what you’re wearing"

We interrupt this recap to bring you this breaking news...

Paula Abdul changed her earrings. We repeat, Paula Abdul changed her earrings during the commercial break. In a daring, mid-show costume alteration, she peeled off the gold spaghetti and was now wearing the wind chimes from my mother-in-law’s sun porch.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled recap...

Simon cautioned Stephanie that he thinks she is losing "her edge", that it was "a bit night clubby", that she is losing her "soul". (See! I told you that’s what happens by appearing in those Ford videos!! Next thing you know her eyes are going to roll back, her head will spin round, and pea soup will shoot out her nose.)

AFTER. THE. BREAK. Blake Lewis met up with Peter Noone to rehearse Time of the Season. Peter liked that he was going to try to update it, but didn’t care for the spitting and warned against him beat boxing too much.

Taking the stage, he was wearing those damned plaid pants again (Blake, honey, I love you, but you are short, and plaid does not exactly stretch you up, in fact, it stretches you out), a peach shirt, white v-neck, and a brown blazer (he certainly enjoys layering, doesn’t he? He’s like a human piece of shale.)

For anyone unfamiliar with the song, Blake’s use of subtle beat boxing at the beginning was perfect. That song originally opened with heavy breathing and vocal tics (in a sexy way), basically beat boxing before beat boxing had a name. But when Blake sang? I know he has a good voice, but the background vocals and orchestra really drowned him out in many places. In fact, he sounded like he was trying to shriek to be heard above them at times.

OK – I have to say that when he got to the "Who’s your Daddy"" lyric and coupled it with that Brandon Rogers reject leg move – I felt oogy, not horny. Blake, please don’t wiggle your leg like that, especially in plaid polyester pants, ever again. It reminded me of an old man fishing for change in his pockets at the 7-11.

And I do not lust old men.

Yet.

Randy enjoyed his "cool, vibey, edgy" performance; Paula said "This is the season for Blake"; Simon said he was " a million times better than last week".

Yes, my Blake is a showman, but I am still wanting to hear the quality of vocals he showed many weeks back on Somewhere Only We Know.

Lakisha met up with Lulu to decide between Diamonds Are Forever and You’re My World. Lulu really cheerleaded for the latter, but in the end, obviously seduced by the opportunity to wear an entire Harry Winston store, Kiki went with the diamonds. With her hair curled, diamonds dripping from every possible surface, and a low cut green dress by Scott's Turfbuilder, she took the stage and commanded the audience to listen to this James Bond theme song.

(Age gap alert: My husband is 8 years my senior which is never an issue unless James Bond comes up. For him there is only one: Sean Connery. For me: Roger Moore melts my bullets.)

Diamonds Are Forever sings like a soundtrack song, but Lakisha did it well. And she ended big as the stage lights swirled like diamonds all around her.

Randy said it was a "good choice" but that he "didn’t feel enough Lakisha in it"; Paula noted that she is "a very, very smart girl" for going with the diamonds; Simon told her she is a "fantastic singer" but that he felt that he was watching Lakisha "in 50 years time – the dress, the hair, etc" calling the performance "too old, too old fashioned".

I’m with Lakisha – if she still looks and sounds like that in 50 years, more power to her.

Phil had his chance to impress Peter Noone next, choosing Tobacco Ro-o-o-oad. Peter thought it was a good choice and actually said he had never heard it sung as well as Phil did at the piano.

He attacked the stage in JEANS and an untucked button down shirt (where are the stylists? He always looks like it's a Saturday afternoon at the mall, not like he's on the biggest show on TV), grabbing poor Matilda the Mikestand and jerking her around without warning. He sounded fine, but all I could think in my head was "Chris Daughtry is the real thing", this guy is like... Blue Man Daughtry. He so wants to be thought of in the rocker Daughtry vein, but his head is only missing the blue paint, jumpsuit, and paint filled drum.

And halfway through the song, was that flop sweat? Nipple sweat? Staining his shirt? Poor Matilda, she felt dirty, used, defiled. Wet.

Phil had his usual strong finish, but the whole thing just seemed forced.

Randy called it "pretty good", but "pitchy" in spots; Paula liked "the various ranges" in his voice (huh?); Simon said he "wasn’t crazy about it", called it a "third division bar band performance" and said there is "no grit" in Phil’s voice which is needed to pull of a song like that.

Sitting on the Small Talk Stools with Ryan was Jordin, gorgeous in a black dress accented with horizontal sequins, and her hair completely straightened (props to the stylists who can tame a mane like Jordin’s). She answered a viewer question about what song would describe her best. Beginning with the classic buying-time-to-think-pageant-line, "Wow, that’s a really good question..." she then answered I’m So Excited, apparently her catchphrase for everything from what song she sings to what flavor potato chips they serve backstage.

Lulu was very impressed that she is only 17 and called her "amazing".

Standing at the mike, she looked amazing as she began the oh-so-serious I, Who Have Nothing. Her vocal was smooth, restrained, and full of emotion for one who admits to not having a boyfriend to sing of.

Personally, I was completely blown away. Yes, I know I adore the girl, her smile, her personality, but after tonight, there is no disputing that the child can hold her own with Lakisha and Melinda – and there is something about her that really sets her apart from the 17 year old Parises and Dianas who have gone before.

Randy said the song was "a very tall order" for her but that it was "one of the best performances tonight"; Paula simply called her a "wonderful performer"; Simon said she "sang it beautifully" but joked that due to the seriousness of the song he felt "like jumping off a bridge".

Before the break, Ryan warned that AFTER. THE. BREAK. they would "release the wild side of Sanjaya". I don’t know about you, but it was enough that they released the tongue of Sanjaya. I swear I flinched as his tongue swiped at my plasma screen.

After the commercials, we saw Sanjaya meeting with Peter Noone to decide between The Kinks You Really Got Me (Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo) and Herman’s Hermits’ I’m Into Something Good.

You could practically hear America chanting, "Not the Kinks, Not the Kinks..."

As Sanjaya admitted in his voiceover that "I’m not the best singer in the competition", my husband, an avid Kinks fan, was lying on the floor begging, "Please, please, please, pleeeeeeeease don’t sing the Kinks..."

All I could think was "if Phil doesn’t have grit, Sanjaya doesn’t even have oatmeal."

Oh, and "Please, please, please, pleeeeeeeease don’t sing the Kinks..."

And then – He. Chose... The. Kinks.

As he stampeded the stage in his JEANS, silver lettered blazer, white shirt, and odd thumb catcher sweater cuffs, the lights were flashing and the band was ripping. Then Sanjaya began to sing and got to the words, "I don’t know what I’m doing.."

I sang back, "Oh, yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh"

Cut to that poor child crying again in the audience...

That’s what my husband looked like as he writhed in pain on the floor. And poor Ray Davies of The Kinks – if CNN reports him dead of a heart attack on Wednesday, I won’t be surprised.

Sanjaya, to his credit, had better hair, and more energy than all his previous performances combined, but there’s bad, and then there’s baaaaaad. Seriously, the only way this could have been more painful was if he had chosen to sing the Kinks’ ode to drag queen love, Lola. Talk about a "mixed up muddled up shook up world".

The camera cut back again to the child who was dissolving into a puddle, and that face encapsulated Sanjaya's entire voting pool. SHE is why he is still on the show. Forget the Website Which Shall Be Nameless. It is the little girl contingent who adore Sanjaya, his fluffy hair, and sweet smile. Someone give her something to cry about and take away her cell phone.

In all, Sanjaya did step out of his comfort zone. Hell, he pushed everyone else out of their comfort zones. I started out in my comfy chair, and ended curled up on the floor in the fetal position crying under a pillow.

Randy said "you shocked me tonight"; Paula said "you went for it"; Simon left it at "The little girl’s face says it all."

But then Sanjaya solidified his fanbase even further by being allowed to go into the audience and give little Ashley a hug. Make no mistake – Sanjaya will be coming to your town this summer when the Idols roll through. We may not WANT him on that tour, but they NEED him on that tour. He is sold out show gold.

Gina sat in the Chat Chairs next speaking of blogs (Hi Gina! I like the new ‘do!), critiques, and nerves. She looked great decked out in black, aside from her top looking like it had lost a battle with a feral cat.

Lulu encouraged her to "devour" the Rolling Stones’ Paint It Black, but what she did was further abuse poor Matilda. I swear that mike stand needs to get a restraining order.

Gina rocked out, even kicking Matilda to the ground at one point, and she sounded OK – certainly not on a par with the Stones’ original – and I don’t recall Mick ever getting lost in his hair either.

Randy "loved the edgy vibe", but in the end called it "just aiight"; Paula said she "was miles better than last week"; Simon, however, cited "moments of complete torture" and wrote it off as "style over content" warning her that she "will have to sing a heck of a lot better" to stay in.

Chris Sligh was up next and began bantering with Peter about possibly singing Henery the Eighth I Am, which was completely ironic (remember, I love good irony) because just last night I was emailing with Marnie at AmericanIdol.com and teasing her how I was jonesing for a "Chris Sligh take on Henery the Eighth". Second verse, same as the first!

Having accused me of planting that incessant lyric in her head, I just know she started screaming at her TV right then.

Luckily for Marnie, not so for me, Chris chose She’s Not There instead, and started the song by making his way through the audience. But he also ignored the audience completely, following the camera the way my dog follows me when I have a liver treat in my pocket.

He carried Matilda around the audience, up on the small stage, up onto the big stage, back out into the audience, and then back up onto the big stage where he seemed to forget he even had her n his hands – holding her like an old man carrying a metal detector on the beach.

He did a good job overall and Randy said that even though "he started a little rough" he "wound up good"; Paula pushed him to be more personable with the audience (thmmffffffffttttttpppppppghhhhhhhhh – sorry, a little more urp came up – I hate it when Paula and I agree on something); Simon said that while " it was not the best vocal tonight, it was a lot better than last week."

Finally, Melinda had her time with Lulu to rehearse As Long As He Needs Me. Lulu said she was "shining", which she always is – she is effortless with anything she sings.

She started the song by sitting on the stage steps - a little hokey when anyone does it, but I’ll forgive Mel a little hoke here and there. She went with a gray satin tunic top, black pants, and Paul McCartney’s Beatles’ haircut tonight – better than the usual office manager hairdo, but not the most flattering cut for her face and short neck. Keep working with the stylists, Mel.

Coiffure aside, she was mesmerizing - although there was a Flying Loogy Alert at one point. I'm sorry, but in all fairness to the other contestants, I have to point this out. She flung a wad that was so evident, so shiny under the lights, it looked like one of Lakisha's diamonds. But she did sound great - even little Ashley was crying again. I swear, that child must be an Abdul.

Randy said that "tonight, we saved the best vocal for last"; Paula said that when she sings, she "tells a story"; Simon called her "absolutely sensational" and loves that she "really is that nice".

A quick recap of the performances and all the kids were assembled on the stage to wave goodbye and give little Ashley Abdul the thrill of her life. She got to come up on stage and get hugs from all of them. I swear she was crying so hard, they probably needed a mop and a bucket to return her to her seat after the camera stopped rolling.

So that’s it for British invasion night. Not too bad after all. I think Tony Blair will still accept calls from the White House, don’t you?

So who do you think will get the Boston Tea Party treatment Wednesday night and be throw into the harbor? My guess is Phil will be anchoring the bottom three, bookended by the lovely Stephanie and Haley.

Because Sanjaya is here to stay kids. Oh yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh...... (thmmffffffffttttttpppppppghhhhhhhhh – sorry...)

My Two Cents About 50 Cent

Call me stodgy. Call me old fashioned. Call me out of touch. Hell, call me white and nerdy.

It won’t change the fact that I simply don’t like rap music.

It has nothing to do with the mysogynism that runs through nearly every line of rhyme. I could care less that the more bullet holes the artist has riddled through his body increases his riddling street cred at the mike. I don’t even mind that every video features an overly blinged rapper and his posse cavorting with a cadre of underly clad females.

Freedom of speech, artistic expression, these people are adults, et al, cover their right to chant about killing cops, their "Lamborghini Gallardo", and "kicking it like Tae Bo" while they "smack that" booty. (Yes, I know the words to Smack That – sue me.)

I just don’t enjoy rap. Personal choice, plain and simple. (Although I will say that I think Weird Al’s parody of Eminem’s Lose Yourself track from 8 Mile is one of the most brilliant, tightly crafted pieces of all time.)

So, you would think my disdain of the music would color my opinion of the latest controversy surrounding a man who truly needs no more of the stuff, right? Not really.

The man? 50 Cent.

The hoo haa? More bullet holes to punctuate his body art? Another throw down with a rival rapper?

No – it would seem that Fitty has decided to eschew the big boys and back alleys for a while and pander to the little guys and gals of the Sesame Street set.

Fitty Cent has lent his image to a coloring book.

Yes, for quite a bit more than two bits (retail price $8.95), your child can now embrace his inner diapered gangsta and color the heavily muscled and heavily armed 50 in the Gangsta Rap Coloring Book.

Yes, I know you would think that, considering the content, I would be ready to pop a cap in his ass, the cans of the other hip hop artists featured, and the rump of the creator, Anthony "Aye Jaye" Morano, but I’m not.

And here’s why.

Despite the kid-friendly medium of a coloring book - I truly don't believe the Barney demographic is the target market.  AND, even if it were, parents don’t have to buy it.  Parents can step up to the plate and keep it away from their kids, whether they are three or thirteen.

That’s right. There’s that nasty little attribute I always write about rearing its ugly head again: PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY.

The world is full is dangerous, suggestive, offensive, questionable, and illicit items. And if you, as a parent, choose to not get in between it and your child, then you are actively asking for trouble and frankly deserve what you get.

Children don’t build MySpace pages littered with scantily clad photos of themselves in a vacuum. They do it on unsupervised home computers. Kids don’t play shoot ‘em up video games in some deep dark cave somewhere. They buy them with their allowances and play them in the living room. Youngsters don’t drive themselves through the Golden Arches, they sit happily in the back of the minivan driven by the equally obese parent.

And this coloring book is no more a threat to a child’s mental health than a Happy Meal is to their physical well-being, if you exervise control and keep it out of their hands.

Are 50 Cent and his rapper brethren media whores? Sure they are. They are celebrities – their job is to stay in the limelight. Britney Spears shows her kooch and shaves her head, 50 Cent and Ice T brandish blades and 45s in a coloring book – it’s all PR – and the more titillating the better.

Do I think this coloring book is a necessary addition to the marketplace?  Do I think it is a brilliant artistic expression?  Of course not.  But then I don't consider burning the flag as really accomplishing anything, I don't really understand the appeal of a blow up doll, nor do I believe a pile of poo in an acrylic box is is a stunning piece of art.

But like these things and many others in this world, it’s my choice to look or look away, buy it or keep my wallet in my pants.

So to groups like Mothers Against Guns who are lobbying so hard to have this book pulled from shelves, I say this: Refocus your energies. 50 Cent isn’t your problem.

The parent who actually does allow this coloring book to get into the hands of their child is

And I would say the damage was already done long before the kid breaks out the Crayolas.

American Idol Extra: Sanjaya Malakar: A Hair Raising Dilemma

Maybe I am just having a hard time reconciling myself to the fact that he looks to be headed to the Top Ten and onto the Idols Live Tour this summer.  Maybe I have an overactive imagination.  Maybe I am morally opposed to 17 year old boys with fluffier hair than mine?  Or maybe, I just have too much free time on my hands...

Whatever the reason, with Sanjaya Malakar now taking aim at a Chariots of Fire length run to the finals, and spurred on by the admirably warped mind of Sandy from North Carolina, I have created a gallery, ne, a photo essay if you will, of possible coiffure options for the upcoming weeks.

Enjoy - and on behalf of Sanjaya, may I just add, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

British Invasion Week?

FAVORITE CHILDHOOD THEME SONGS WEEK?

We're Gonna Keep On, Keep On, Keep On, Keep On letting Sanjaya suck through the night!

What a SHARP style, huh?

Chaka San?

The Women Just Love Flava Flavakar

In Sanjaya We Trust?

SANJAULA ABDUL

SANJAYANA ROSS

PINKjaya

VANILLA NICE

Use The Force Princess SanLeia

Sanny & Cher

Beat it, Sanjackson ... OOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh

Doh?

SILLI VANILLI

Top "10" Here I Come

Do you smile to tempt the voters Sanja Lisa?

You certainly are an Angel.

SO BICE

Sanjaya Maughtry

Sanjaya Miranda

Sanjaya Top

MALAKARATE KID - WAX ON, WAX OFF- GRASHOPPA

San Jovi

"Son, we live in a world where I get to stay in a singing competition because I'm sweet, when instead, I should be given a Code Red for my bad singing..."

"You WANT me on that tour.  You NEED me on that tour.  But YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!"

~~~~

And now - due to popular demand via my inbox - here are a few possibilities Chris Sligh may wish to ponder in the upcoming weeks...

WE'RE NOT WORTHY! WE'RE NOT WORTHY!  (Well, at least one of us isn't...)

TIS THE SEASON

CHRIS CLINTON

CHRIN DIESEL

SLIGHANA ROSS

ON THE GOOD CHRIS LOLLIPOP... 

I WISH THERE WERE LYRICS TO BOLERO - I COULD SO KILL WITH THAT SONG

THE SLIGHCHEL

DONALD SLUMP

I LOVE THE. GROUP. SONG!!!

~~~~

Finally, in all fairness - I must test my theory that the shape of a bald head has a lot to do with the sexy-factor...

PHIL DAUGHTRY - I REST MY CASE.

(Having hair, however, isn't always a good thing...)

PHIL SLIGH, ANYONE?