Thousands of families are watching. The lives of ten girls hang in the balance. This is American Idol. Really? Their lives? Are we going to hang the evicted houseguests from a digital gallows on the jumbo screen behind the set? Okay, let’s see what little cute gestures the girls are going to use to pry our votes out of us tonight:

Carly Smithson: One hand finger wiggle.
Syesha Mercado: Hey! And one hand window washer.
Brooke White: It’s all too much shrug and toothy grin, followed by wooden arm wave.
Ramiele Malubay: Two hand window washer and babydoll oooh! mouth.
Kristy Lee Cook: Two hand window washer and ironic wow-mouth.
Amanda Overmeyer: One hand raised, shows the palm, then retracts. So superfly.
Alaina Whitaker: Pin up girl hand on hip, blows us a kiss! And wearing royal blue! Gah!
Alexandrea Lushington: Double peace sign.
Kady Malloy: Thumbs up and rocker RAWR face. Seems to have spilled a jar of buttons down her front.
Asia’h Epperson: Two handed stress-ball squeeze wave. And nose wrinkle. Her skirt ate her torso and burped up a big black belt.

Judges are Randy, Paula, and Simon. They seem to have forgotten their scarring experiences from last night, because they recall the show for us as “on fire.”

Carly Smithson is Into You

CARLY SMITHSON: Carly’s secret is that she works at an Irish bar to support her failing tattoo parlor. To fully lock in my worship, she makes a bed on camera. She sings “Crazy on You” with angry, scary eyes and jouncing, gelatinous boobages. Not everyone can sing Heart, and Carly is no exception. If you know what I mean. She does the whole microphone in-and-out thing that Simon calls old fashioned, and lifts her leg carefully at the end to show her deep firey passion for rock. I have trouble swallering that load when I’ve just seen her picking flecks of lint off a beige duvet cover. Randy and Paula were ambivalent. Simon notices she is out of breath, and says she still hasn’t found the right song yet, but that she is an incredible singer. Carly reveals it has always been her dream to sing that song on American Idol. Ryan points out she needs a new dream now. Aw shucks.

Simon is doing the moose antler hand again. The mitten hand. The thing where it looks like he’s trying to jam his thumb into his temple. When the camera goes out wide, it just looks insane. Simon, what’s going on?

SYESHA MERCADO: Her secret is that she acts in commercials. She remembers her most famous line from a commercial where she played a succulent cut of mutton and said, “Duane, find me a big beautiful shell!” Then she imitates a baby crying. Wow, big deal. My kids could do that when they were… like… born. She’s wearing her hair in two symmetrical lumps behind a headband that says, “It’s seventies night.” She sings “Me and Mr. Jones” At certain times, she kills it with honor, but at other points, it is a little dull. The song is a snooze, let’s just all face it. Randy doesn’t like the song choice, Paula liked it alright, and Simon thought it was indulgent, given she had to switch the gender in the song, which he found silly. Ryan asks what her plan was with changing the arrangement up. She says, “I don’t know. I just made it my own.” Translation: “The band did that. I just showed up tonight.” EVS. Tonight is aggravating. My favorite people are making me want to chew my wrists open with boredom.

BROOKE WHITE: Brooke shocks us to our very collective core by revealing this chilling secret: she went to beauty school. She natters on about how hair is an art form, voicing over clips of her cutting a random guy’s hair in a very small bathroom. Halfway through beauty school she discovered music. Wow, where was music hiding during the first twenty years of your life, Brooke? Was it hiding behind rigorous intellectual inquiry, all coy and small where it knew you’d never find it? Brooke uses supercute air quotes to tell us she’s a “beauty school dropout” and my husband looks up from his laptop to ask if she went to beauty school for bunnies. Tonight Brooke accompanies herself on the guitar. I love, love, love her orange top and her Suzanne Somers hair. She sings “You’re So Vain” and I have to say, when I read the spoiler song list, I was worried about Brooke with this song, but SHE ROCKED IT. She does a little too much stool-bouncing and smiling, but I think she really “told a story” as they say. Randy speculates she was singing to Simon. Paula thought the song was perfect. Simon absolutely loved it. He admitted that he actually did think the song was about him. Brooke says thank you a million times. Finally one of my favorite girls pulls one out.



RAMIELE MALUBAY: Her secret is that she hula dances. This bores me. She sings “Don’t Leave Me This Way” as if she’s forty. What is making me fixate on her thick, thick, trunklike knees, her flaring nostrils, her pointy skull, her extra teeth, and all kinds of other physical details that I should be daintily overlooking in order to better appreciate the artistry. Maybe the awkward clips of the stumpy hula dancing have invited me in to this secret room. Your fault, Ramiele. Randy didn’t like it. It was just really okay. Paula didn’t like it much either. Simon has heard the song too many times at ghastly weddings. He thinks she is one of the top three singers in the competition, but this was not one of her best. Ramiele reveals she changed to this song in order to avoid the nickname “Lullabye Malubay.” Great choice, Ramiele. Enjoy your new nickname, “You Bore the Shit Out Of Us With This Dumb Song Choice Malubay.”

KRISTY LEE COOK: America would be surprised to know that Kristy is a tomboy, she speculates. She also reveals that she rides horses in ponds. She looks like an absolute star from the neck down tonight: great pewter top, sparkly black pants, boots. I want this outfit for my daughters’s Barbie. Her hair looks like a pile of spaghetti and she sings “You’re No Good” like she has a stray piece of pasta stuck in her throat, but hey, you can’t get everything right. Randy thought it was better than last week. He liked it. Paula says Kristy is back. Simon agrees it’s an improvement but doesn’t know what type of singer she really, really is. He recommends she goes down the country route. Kristy promises to go country next week and the folks at 19 Ent see big juicy country dollar signs.

AMANDA OVERMEYER: Amanda’s secret is that she’s a bookworm. She likes reading biographies of rock stars. She sing “Carry On My Wayward Son” wearing speckled flaming chaps. Her hair is absolutely a disaster: Think Delta Burke with white streaks all around the front. Amanda looks like she’s working too hard. It’s a struggle. Her hair is too stiff. Randy calls it pitchy and says it wasn’t the right song. Paula gives her props for her dance moves. I just feel terrible for Amanda standing there under that awful deathburst of streaky, stiff, plastic hair. Simon calls the hair terrible, the song indulgent, and says he couldn’t wait for the performance to finish. I’m afraid for her, with that shouty, dismal vocal and that car wreck of a wig. Lord. Robbie Carrico yesterday and Amanda Overmeyer today – I think the hair and makeup interns are shopping the Salvation Army for used extensions.

Why are the geese wearing hoodies on the Whirlpool commercials? Creepier than a herd of thestrals.

ALAINA WHITAKER: Alaina’s secret is that she doesn’t like her food touching on the plate. The worst thing is when green bean juice runs over and touches other stuff. That is really like bad. Alaina is trying to do Suzanne Somers hair and failing because of her unfortunate apey features. Face like a smashed dish. It’s better when she lifts her chin a little, but baby, when she’s making eyes at the camera, she is mercilessly chimpy. She sings “Hopelessly Devoted To You” and makes a perfect O with her lips on all the oooo sounds. Randy disagrees with the song choice. Alaina looks hunchy on the criticism. Paula calls her young and mature. Simon calls her old fashioned and speculates that her grandmother had prepped her for the audition. He thought it was pageanty, but calls her a dark horse in the competition.

Blonde #1

ALEXANDREA LUSHINGTON: Her secret is that she was the go-to girl for her Dad’s fire department when they needed the national anthem sung, or someone to do an impromptu song at Ground Zero. Cute footage of her belting it out as a preteen. She sings “Baby Please Don’t Go” and looks very pretty really with her hair pulled back on the top. She puts in a reasonable, solid, unremarkable performance. At the end she is weepy. Randy says, “What did you think?” and she says, “It’s over.” Randy tells her not to make safe choices. Paula felt she stretched it and made it her own and calls her relevant and important. Simon diagnoses her as struggling, and makes antler hand. ANTLER HAND TO YOU, SIMON. I like Alexandrea. She looks very comfortable in front of the camera.

KADY MALLOY: Her secret is that she sings opera. She sings it in the bathroom, looking at herself seductively in the mirror. Not a secret: She has an ape face like Alaina Whitaker has an ape face. They are the sisterhood of the low brow. The literal low brow. She sings “Magic Man” without hitting the correct pitch once. The button tree on the front of her tunic bobbles rhythmically as the disaster unfolds. Randy says it was a bad song for her. Paula suggests she define herself more. Simon feels frustrated because when she does the impromptu interview films, she’s charming and awesome, then comes out on stage and lays a giant rotten egg. Kady glowers and hefts her brow up and down. When she smiles, you see she has a chin to match the brow. Balance. But not in the sense of pleasant. In the sense of a cement block clunking down into a well and landing on both of its sides with equal finality.

Blonde #2

ASIA’H EPPERSON: Asia’h was a cheerleader. That’s her secret. She says it’s kind of like being on American Idol. You have to put your all into it. Dressed like a secretary, she sings, “All By Myself” which I believe was originated by some Canadian woman or other. Asia’h’s’ terrible night begins on the first “By” of the song, which she fails to sing. Her voice cracks. After that, though her skirt creeps helpfully up her torso and attempts to swallow her whole, things just get worse down to the last chin-quivering “more.” Randy gives her props for her high degree of difficulty. Paula thought it was great, though she had problems with the song, she brought it home. Simon thought she wasn’t enough singer to pull it off. She shouldn’t have attempted that song, and choosing it was silly. Ryan asks, wouldn’t you be criticizing her for playing it safe if she hadn’t taken the risk? Simon makes antler hand and Ryan’s head explodes.

Best Performances: Brooke White and nobody, really, although I liked Alexandrea Lushington.
Worst Performances: Amanda Overmeyer and either Kady Malloy or Alaina Whitaker.

Maybe America will have mercy on Amanda and just get rid of both the eye-rolling, knuckle-dragging blondes. Is there hope?

Labels: american idol, recap, season 7, summary, television

A simple stage, from which a superstar will emerge. This is, apparently, American Idol.

Tonight for our boy parade, let’s take a special look at the little ways the boys differentiate themselves with their gestures to the camera:

Michael Johns: Head duck and wave. The height of modesty, our MJ.
Jason Castro: Minnie Driver lip squeeze and eye boggle.
Luke Menard: Many teeth and the window washer wave.
Robbie Carrico: Fist on the heart thump. His heart, right to ya, camera.
Danny Noriega: Crazy eyes and fangirl scream mouth. Dannny is irony.
David Hernandez: Rocky fake punch. Pow pow, America!
Jason Yeager: Kiss two fingers, and bam, layin’ it on you, baby.
Chikezie: Index fingers pointing at each other with thumbs up.
David Cook: Tiny toddler two-finger wave.
David Archuleta: Distracted what’s up? His large amount of soul prevents further gesturing.

What’s up judges? GIVE IT UP.

Randy: Bring it hard. Make sure you’re in it to win it.
Paula: Thinks the nerves will be better. Growing into their own comfort level.
Simon: Be better.

Wax Simon

Tonight is seventies month!

Also, tonight the idols’ intro films will reveal a secret about them – something America doesn’t know. In literary terms, this would be character development.

MICHAEL JOHNS: MJ’s secret: He’s a jock! (in air quotes!) who likes to play tennis. A lot of his best songs have come to him while he was playing tennis. What a flying tool. He says tennis takes his mind off everything that’s going on. He sings “You Can Go Your Own Way” with bouncy shoulders and total lack of control on the high notes. Worse than Karaoke. Sounds like he’s singing through a strangle hold. Total crash, absolute disaster, sheer panic on the face. Randy liked it. Paula thinks he’s consistent, charismatic, seasoned, and charming. He is already there, people. Simon thought it was okay. The crowd heartily boos his faint criticism. Clearly, I am insane. Pass the port.

JASON CASTRO: Jason’s secret is that he’s not good at talking. Then there are lots of cute sound effects over clips of his fouled-up interviews. The cute is getting thick in here. Thick and dreadlocky. He sings “I Just Want to Be Your Everything,” very nicely, accompanied by his own guitar, and then the band, and then back to just the guitar. The camera affords us many close-ups so America’s female youth can pass out over his eyelashes. Quite lush, those. Randy says this is a singing competition more than it is anything. Paula recommends losing the guitar, so he can be more vulnerable as an artist. Simon thought the song was horrible, schmaltzy, and average. Simon is making a hand gesture that looks like a mitten with the thumb jammed into his temple. He made it last week, and he’s making it this week. What the hell is this gesture?

Feel the Soul

LUKE MENARD: Luke’s secret is that he is part of a gay army called Chapter Six. Chapter Six has invaded Africa and Hong Kong as well as college campuses in the US. He has been “touring” with this “group” for six years. He sings “Killer Queen” and twiddles his fingers on the microphone painfully. Note to reality show contestants: DO NOT TRY TO BE FREDDY MERCURY. There is only one him. And he is dead. You are just making yourself look like a squirting, puckered asshole. Luke, my studiously scruffy friend, you will be gone next week. No doubt in my mind. He actually snaps his fingers and kind of wiggles across the stage at one point. At the end of the song he fist-pumps. No, no, no. Randy says his degree of difficulty was high. Paula says it was a great week for him. The perfect song. Simon says it was theatrical and whiny.

Gun-Toting Militant

ROBBIE CARRICO: Robbie Carrico is wearing a wig. Yes, I am breaking this now. He is not only wearing a wig, he is wearing the ash blond wig that came with his Carrie Underwood Halloween costume. From the looks of it, he’s been giving it a lot of use. His secret, America, is that he drag races. He says it is a rush. I don’t believe it – he looks like he’s pissing his pants, sticking a helmet on to participate in a danger sport while FOX films him to make him seem more like a rocker. His real secret is probably that he likes to dry flowers in his Emily Dickinson first edition. He sings “Hot Blooded” and when it calls for him to say he has a temperature of 103, he raises first one finger, then three. Thanks for that. Randy says it sounded weak and that he’s not a real rocker. Paula says he played it safe, and lost his character and personality. Simon thought the vocal was okay. Ryan asks Robbie why he closed his eyes during Randy’s comments. Dude, he was trying to make with the cry. It’s working for Jason Yeager.

Wig, yo!

DANNY NORIEGA: Last week I got a lot of hits from people googling Danny Noriega plus the word “gay.” Is this something we really need to research, America? Danny’s secret is that he was in a punk rock band in 9th grade. They played one show and broke up. He describes it as a “bunch of rebellious kids playing instruments” yet somehow he makes it sound like the gayest thing ever. He sings, “Don’t You Remember You Told Me You Loved Me Baby” or is it “Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby, Baby.” The singing is quite terrible and the way he touches his butt lovingly is supergay. He does kind of a Mariah Carey hand routine. And he’s wearing a checkered sweater. Randy says he was overthinking it. Paula says he should just let go and sing. Simon says it was better than last week, and that he looks terrific on camera. Hmm? Terrific?

DAVID HERNANDEZ: David’s secret is that he was a child gymnast. He talks nervously about wearing a leotard. Then he does the “comin’ down the stairs, baby” entrance and sings “Papa Was a Rolling Stone.” I think I really LIKE this performance. Definitely musical theater in flavor though. Also, I do not appreciate the way he’s wearing a hoodie under a sport coat. On the last note, he gives America the eye. On behalf of America, I’d like to say, David, we get you. This was the best performance of the night. Randy loves it, and says that’s how to put it down. Paula says his voice is so pure it pierces right through the heart. Simon agrees with me – best vocal of the night so far. Simon has sparkles in his sweater. It’s a black sweater and it has sparkly threads in it. No kidding.

Between each contestant, there are commercials for mascara and cars.

DAVID YEAGER: David’s secret is that he plays guitar, piano and drums. Wow, what a terribly deep and dark secret, there, David. That was a pimp secret. A pimp secret is when you make up a fake secret to pimp yourself to the public. “My secret is that I am a firefighter who designs spaceships and I am also the butt in that most recent Calvin Klein ad. That’s my secret.” He sings “Without Love Where Would You Be Now.” Super cheesy vocal, grinning like an ape, dancing like a white boy in a crowded club, totally vile in every way. His wet lips, his tidy paunch, his double chin – these are making me forget that I’m supposed to like him because he’s a father. Randy didn’t get it – it sounded karaoke. Paula didn’t think the song showed his range enough. He should pick singer songs. Simon calls it awkward and ordinary. He says the ending was like he was drunk at a party. Keep in mind that Simon is making mitten hand throughout this commentary. Extreme, purposeful mitten hand. How can I describe this? I pause the TV and ask Dan, and he says it’s Bullwinkle hand. But, just one? It looks absolutely bizarre. David Yeager is weepy. Wobbly lips. Petulant reaction. Ryan asks him, as he is OBVIOUSLY CHOKING BACK TEARS, how he remains composed. He warbles something about how he has an amazing range. I fear for David’s future in this competition. Mostly because his name isn’t David – it’s JASON. Or, wait, is it David? See what I mean:

David/Jason Last/This Week/Year

CHIKEZIE: His secret is that his name is Nigerian. Apparently we have all been mispronouncing it. He doesn’t mind though. Tonight he is wearing a mint green polo shirt inside a royal blue polo shirt, some friendship bracelets, and bowling shoes. I would like to tell you I’m lying, but… he is also wearing jeans. He sings a song I have never heard before, maybe it is called “I Believe To My Soul.” Fantastic performance. Great, great rendition. Spirited, confident, fun, entertaining. Randy agrees that Chikezie is in it to win it. Paula says it is brilliant and fun. Simon likes the outfit, says he was a million times better than last week. Simon makes mitten hand. It’s kind of like his hand is in a cast down to the fingertips. I am mystified by this hand gesture. Only my pimp secret (I CAN’T READ!) prevents me from getting down with the google on it right now.

DAVID COOK: His secret is that he is a word nerd. He likes crosswords and stuff. Also, he has a rotten tooth up in the front of his mouth, but he doesn’t mention that one for some reason. Tonight he’s playing an electric guitar and singing “All Right Now.” It’s mixed weirdly and the guitar is sticking out of the mix like a work boot in a tossed salad. The whole thing seems regrettably unrehearsed. He actually tries to play a tiny, pinched, ridiculous solo and botches it. The one positive thing is that he’s abandoned the banker vest in favor of a black t-shirt. Good choice. Good move. Randy calls him a real rocker. Paula loved it. Simon says it was solid and believable, but calls the crossword thing boring. He says David doesn’t have any charisma, and David explains that he doesn’t have to win Simon over, but rather the public. Simon slashes back. There is blood on the Marshall stack. Simon makes mitten. I have to google it.

Well bollocks. All I can find are screen caps of the time he supposedly flipped off Sanjaya or Chris Bligh or Barack Obama or something. I need a screen cap of the hand antler! Where is my freakin’ screen cap!

DAVID ARCHULETTA: Um, how many people on this show are NOT named David or Jason? David’s secret is that when he was 11 he sang “You’re Gonna Love Me” in a hotel lobby for the season 1 finalists of American Idol. We get video, with an arrow pointing to Kelly Clarkson in a baseball cap. Yeah, this is much sexier than drag racing – his little fat voice hadn’t even changed yet! Yikes. Now all he can hope for is the grandma vote. Tonight he sings “Imagine” with a piercing stare that says, “I know you are imagining cheeseburgers and coin, you assholes.” His only accompaniment is one acoustic guitar. He oversings the song until it brays like a sweaty donkey and gives out under him. Again, thank you very much, he sounds like a drag queen. Less so this week because no drag queen would sing this song. One more thing: Don’t impromptu on the Lennon, okay? You prepubescent little excrescence. Randy said it was one of the best vocals he’s ever heard on this show. Randy asks why he didn’t sing the first verse. Um, he doesn’t want to say “Imagine no religion” because that screws him out of the Grandma vote. Duh. Paula cries, and says it’s one of the most moving performances she’s ever heard. Cut to his father, who is also crying. With Paula. Paula says he’s destined for superstardom. Simon says he is the one to beat, and that there are 19 very miserable other contestants sitting here tonight. He squints and grins and shakes his head and waves and ducks. Ryan asks how he feels, and he squints and grins and bobs his head. Cut to Simon, MAKING ANTLER HAND! Where is my screencap!?

Top performances: David Hernandez and Chikezie.

Bottom of the barrel: Luke Menard. Jason Yeager.

Labels: american idol, danny noriega, recap, robbie carrico, season 7, simon cowell, summary, top ten, wig

Labels: academy awards, best picture, john stewart, oscars, recap

Ryan in a brown shawl collar.
Guilana in lavender with a sequined bandolier.
This picture is old:

Kimora Lee Simmons postulates that girls are having babies and eating and therefore gaining weight. Giuliana says, “I hope we see a lot of that tonight.”

Heidi Klum in bright red Galliano, made for her, which you can buy after the show. Ryan asks who she’s looking forward to seeing tonight, and she says, “No one.”

George Clooney says it’s fun this time because it’s a film they’re all really proud of. So, last time they thought it was a big turd?

Anne Hathaway in bright red with rosettes across the bodice and over the shoulder.
Patrick Dempsey’s arm candy in bright red.

Saiorse Ronan in emerald green.

Ryan Seacrest referencing Steve Carell’s wife’s tampons. Double plus ungood. Steve Carell looks irritated.

Amy Adams in dark green sweetheart sleeveless.

John Travolta’s arm candy in orange.

Miley Cyrus in bright red.

Jessica Alba is pregnant and a purple swan has died on her boobs.

Seth Rogen’s arm candy having savage tits.

Ryan Seacrest dangles Amy Adams’ mesh bag in front of his privates.

Daniel Day Lewis with hunted eyes, pirate hoop earrings, grey hair in a frazzled mom bob. His tuxedo has brown piping around the collar.

Cameron Diaz in a folded napkin and fuck-me bangs and a messy ponytail.

Jennifer Garner and Laura Linney both in sleeveless black dresses.

STOP! Gary Busey has attacked Ryan Seacrest! And then he tongued Jennifer Garner on the neck! He is accompanied by a girl in a lime green tank top. Look for it on YouTube, I’m sure it will be there. Letting Gary Busey out on live television is stoopid.

Keri Russell in a flesh-colored corset dress and great jewels.

Kristen Chenoweth in a Cameron Diaz wannabe contest and has back cleavage.

Marion Cotillard in a mermaid dress with real! scales!

Jessica Alba has beautiful hair but a pregnant woman should not be in a sleeveless dress.

Jennifer Hudson in a white empire waist drapey goddess dress with snakeskin trim. There is no doubt how many boobs she has. Two.

Tilda Swinton with bright red hair, wearing a torn Hefty bag, no jewelry, and looking like an angry young fetus.

Hillary Swank in an upsweep, black feathery dress, one strap, no those are flowers on the bodice.
Colin Farrell has been aggressively tanning.

George Clooney’s girlfriend is wearing my grandmother’s quilt as a corset.

Tilda Swinton has Emma Thompson eye skin and the whole “mumbling through a large mouthful of loose teeth” thing going on.

Diablo Cody who wrote Juno is in leopard and diamond. Lips like a monkey butt.

Ellen Page in a black flapper dress with spaghetti straps, long, long rope necklace.

Harrison Ford as the abominable snowman and Calista Flockhard as an emaciated Nely Galan.

Katherine Heigl in bright red.

Johnny Depp looking studious and devilish.

Viggo Mortensen looking like Kris Kristofferson in a thick multicolored beard.

Cate Blanchett looking like she’s out getting lettuce. Pregnant as a bumpkin and hasn’t combed her hair.

Renee Zellwegger wearing a living diamond, absolutely stunning amazing dress, short hair, she looks great. And I do not like her much. She should have had this haircut years ago. And she should always walk around wearing a crushed chandelier.

That is all. I may add pictures at a later date.

Labels: academy awards, fashion, oscars, red carpet

Last week, Joshilyn and I spent a few days stomping around New York City. One of our exciting adventures took us to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It was completely a coincidence that we went to this museum the day after we watched the episode of Project Runway where the designers visit to get inspiration from the classical sculpture garden, the European paintings, and the Egyptian temple.

The fact that we did visit all of those exhibits means nothing. We were totally already going to see that Temple of Dendur. Aparently, the US paid Egypt $17 million at some point, to help them with some flooding or some other issue. In return we got to pick one of four temples to have. Have in its entirety -- just uproot and transplant. We picked this one, and he Metropolitan Museum won possession in a lottery with other museums.

Seeing it was wonderful. I always get choked up in the presence of antiquity. It's the same reason I cry at rocket launches. It moves me when our little crawling species attempts to do something fine -- whether it's sending a metal needle up into space, or developing a calendar, or making up a religion. That plaintive reaching, that earnest attempting -- gets me crying. So we were walking up to the temple, and I was having my little emotional moment, and then we got closer where we could look at the carvings and hieroglyphics and whatnot, and I saw this:

You know what that is? GRAFFITI! Graffiti from 1820! Some guy (from New York no less) had scraped his rancorous little name into this Egyptian temple from like 3000 years ago. Now, when we first saw it, we could hardly believe it, because we'd been running a little joke about finding fakes. Like, "Oh, this is a total fake! I see John the Baptist holding a cell phone on this medieval reliquary!" or whatever. However, when we asked the museum guy standing there, he said, yes, it is graffiti, and showed us lots of other places where the temple was marked up. Insane.

The reason it was so interesting (I think) is that 1820 is now antiquity. The day that this guy stood there scraping away with his pocketknife, thinking himself very modern and fresh, is now 200 years ago. Some guy named Biltmore had marked up several different parts of the temple. Biltmore is now dead. His record is now antiquity as well. The graffiti of those early explorers is now part of the historical record. And I, standing there, all shocked and appalled by Biltmore and his buddies, and their defilement, am looking at a temple that has been ripped up out of the earth and transplanted to the middle of Manhattan for dorks like me to get misty over. Layers, my friend. Layers.

New York was fun. We also saw this:

Picasso's portrait of Gertrude Stein. Having finished it, he was unhappy with the face, so he scraped it off and painted another one on later, more overtly mannish and coarse. Interesting. But no one has Sharpied their name into it yet, so it didn't merit its own blog post.

Labels: metropolitan museum of art, new york, temple of dendur, travels

Since I have been writing about American Idol for two days, I feel the need to elevate the tone of this blog a little. Of course John Irving called this book "entertainment" as opposed to "literature." I'm not going to get into it with John Irving on the merits of various books. John Irving and I have never had a problem before, in all the many times we've exchanged thoughts on art and pop culture.



After I recover from the effort, I will read another book by Tom Wolfe. Maybe I Am Charlotte Simmons. Want to trade your copy of that for my copy of this? Wolfe takes a long time to write his novels. I like that about him. A Man In Full was just wonderful. I highly recommend.

Labels: a man in full, book reviews, books, literature, reading, tom wolfe

Give it up!!!! Give it up for the boys, the judges, and the flu virus, which has apparently laid waste to the Idols this week! Ryan Seacrest, ever one to sum things up in an insightful and meaningful way, uniquely specific to the situation at hand, says "The show must go on."

Let's go! It's the First Impression Girl Parade:

Kristy Lee Cook: Brought out Amazing Grace multiple times. Looks like my sexually irresponsible neighbor. No, not that one. The other one.
Joanne Borgella: Plus size.
Alaina Whitaker: No recollection.
Amanda Overmyer: Rock 'N' Roll Nurse!
Amy Davis: Can't remember.
Brooke White: Birdboned blue-eyed blonde. Therefore, my favorite girl.
Alexandrea Lushington: I do not recall.
Kady Malloy: No memory of.
Asia'h Epperson: Dead father.
Ramiele Malubay: Renee Zellwegger of the Phillipines. Round of shoulder.
Syesha Mercado: Extremely beautiful.
Carly Smithson: Irish.

Judges are Randy, Paula, and Simon. Randy prevaricates about dogs. Paula advises the girls to bring it, including their vocals. Simon claims to like a saucy contestant now and then. He is not upset about being sauced last night.

OMG! PARKER POSEY IS HAVING A SHOW! A SHOW THAT HAPPENS EVERY WEEK! Let's all pinky-swear to totally watch it so it doesn't get cancelled. It's by the people who brought you The Gilmore Girls. Which I never watched. And it subsequently got cancelled. So there you go.

KRISTY LEE COOK: This is the girl who sold her horse to go to Philadelphia and try out for AI. Slut. She sings "Rescue Me" while tapping her fingers on the microphone. Remember when Jasmine Trias used to do that? Jasmine didn't have any facial expressions either. Randy calls it rough, Paula says it's okay because she's sick (apparently bronchitis -- wah), Simon calls it robotic and points out that Paula's done the show when she was sick and no one ever knew. Uh, yeah, we actually did know. Except what you're calling sick we're calling drunk and high.

JOANNE BORGELLA: She lets us know that not all plus size girls are about soul and neosoul. She also announces her intention to touch my life. Hands off this life, sugar. She sings a weird version of "I Say A Little Prayer for You" that's simultaneously muzakish and rhythmically experimental. I can't wait for it to be over. Randy attributes her awfulness to nerves, Paula reminds herself that Joanne has been alright at other times. Simon calls it average caberet. "Every one of you has a head start to become a superstar with this show. If you don't take it and run with it, you don't deserve it." Well said, Simon. Joanne's hair looks like a pile of garter snakes that have given it up.

ALAINA WHITAKER: Alaina's birthday is tomorrow. She wants our votes as a present. Sorry, Alaina, I gave my vote to Hillary Clinton, but I'm putting some dried out Play-doh in an envelope for you. I found it under the dining room table. Happy seventeenth. I do not like this smug dumb teenager, but she does a good job on "I Love You More Today Than Yesterday." Randy said it was going on, Paula looks like she was blow-dried by a tall person who wasn't paying attention. Simon says it was good. This girl's mother looks familiar: another hesitant woman that spawned a dead-eyed, narcissistic, bigmouthed blonde. Alaina is one of those hearty blondes. Tan. Guffawing. Chomping gum. The kind you'd like to stuff in a sack.

AMANDA OVERMEYER: I love Amanda and feel confident that she will make it to the finals. When she comes out to sing "Baby Please Don't Go" the band suddenly breaks out of the horns-and-strings crap it's been shovelling up and rocks like a bee sting. Amanda burns up the song by scat-singing the guitar solo. First performance of the night. Randy compliments her pants, Paula calls her authentic, and Simon really likes her. Amanda makes me miss smoking. I'm sure she doesn't smoke any more, now that 19 Ent owns her lungs, but you don't have that voice at 23 unless you were sucking Camel blowpops in your mama's arms.

AMY DAVIS: There's at least one of these every season. I can't recall the faces of any examples to make my point, and that is my point. She's what Simon likes to call forgettable. She seems like a nice girl but I can't even remember her name and I just typed it. She sings "Where the Boys Are" in a superschmaltzy tone with a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade arrangement. Blah. She does that thing where you hit a note by starting several notes below it and sliding up to it while making sultry eyes. Unless Santa is coming on the next float, I do not appreciate. Randy agrees with me about "scooping" up to the notes, Paula says she looks great on camera, Simon calls her boring. Forgetme McAnyone looks like she's been punched in the face, and it's not just her unfortunate bone structure.

BROOKE WHITE: Brooke is a nanny, a self-proclaimed good girl, and wears big, huge horizontal stripes any time she can. She needs the illusion of weight gain to make her look less like an upside down dust mop. She sings "Happy Together," and apart from the repetition of "buchoo" I liked it. The fashion wasn't there -- she looked like she ran out of the house in whatever she was wearing to watch Dr. Phil. Also, the band kind of overpowered her once it kicked in. Randy recommends that the contestants slay their songs. Paula calls her an original. Simon wonders if she's selling dish soap, and scorns her perpetual happiness. I can't help but love her, what with the pallor and all.

ALEXANDREA LUSHINGTON: Ms. Lushington is one of those girls who lifts up her chin and sings right out through her nostrils, maximizing the air flow through her sinuses. She won America's heart by bringing her ancient grandmother to her first audition. Tonight she gives a spirited if adenoidal performance of "Spinning Wheel" which I actually completely enjoyed. It was animated. Randy reports the doors have been blown off. Paula calls her spaghetti suspenders "dope." Simon compares it to one of those horrible little sixties musicals. Randy and Paula defend her relevance! Simon refuses to bend the knee to Alexandrea's dope outfit. When she pimps her number she makes it look like a gang sign! Dope!!!

KADY MALLOY: Kady looks like that other tanned pie-faced blonde, but without the nose job. She sings "Groovy Kind of Love" in an arrangement I feel the judges will call relevant. Especially at the beginning, I thought she sounded great. If only she didn't have all those eyebrows, and all those dead eyes. When I don't look at her, I quite enjoy it. Randy was disappointed, Paula calls for more life, Simon calls it "Night of the Living Dead." Kady looks completely pissed, like she's going to pull the Kady mask off and eat Ryan's face off with her dripping skeletal jaws.

ASIA'H EPPERSON'H: When she put in a solid audition on a tear-jerking song the day after her father died, I thought she was just a robot. I mean, Paula cried more than she did. Tonight she takes the stage in mason jar lid earrings, and belts out "Take Another Little Piece of My Heart" except she pronounces it "My 'Art" and it's way way too happy and fun. Makes me want to give her a reason to cry. Oh wait, she already has one, and yet, she doesn't. Randy says great, Paula says great, Simon says best performance of the night. I resent Asia'h for not being more destroyed by personal tragedy. She says it is just her, she is just bubbly, and that makes me want to peel her fingernails off. One. By. One'h.

RAMIELE MALUBAY: She has the Colton Barry haircut! The eighties combover! Her fashion is also tragically eighties. She comes out in a navy cardigan, a maroon t-shirt, a gold braid belt, grey leggings, and gold lace-up heels with cut-outs. I mean, confusing doesn't even begin to cover it. She sings "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me, Just Be Close At Hand" or whatever it's called, and sounds like she's 50 and delusional, including dramatic head-turns and hand-flailing. Randy says it was hot, Paula loved the dramatic head-turns, and Simon says she outdid everyone else tonight. Wow, I loathe her.

SYESHA MERCADO: She's the one who lost her voice in Hollywood and wrote little notes on a pad to communicate. I think she's beautiful and loved her "Chain of Fools" rendition from last week. Tonight she sings "Tobacco Road" which is one of my favorite oldies songs, and does it flawlessly. Randy liked it, Paula says it was joyful and big, and Simon says she's one of the most talented girls. I can't find anything vicious to say about her. Must be time for bed. Or more Vicodin.

CARLY SMITHSON: Carly is our girl from the emerald isle who had green card issue last year and was chucked off the show. Apparently she had a record contract when she was fifteen, but the label went under. She can blow, but she's emotional. Possibly my favorite personality in the whole show. Which leads me to ask, "Carly, why the fork are you wearing a giant purple nightgown? Why?" Stick with black, make it fitted, hey, why not try a collared shirt next week? She delivers a very technical, competent rendition of a song that might be called "Shadow of Your Smile." A little twingy -- if I had to guess I'd say she was one of the sick contestants they keep talking about. Randy loved it, says it was the best vocal of the top 24, Paula calls her reliable. Simon says he's let down, it was not fantastic, the mike technique was old fashioned and cabaret. Ryan confirms she has bronchitis. If I voted, I'd vote for her.

My prediction: Bottom three are Joanne, Amy, Kady. Amy goes home.

See you tomorrow night!

Labels: american idol, recap, television

We're in the studio. Auditions are over. It is time to get our petulant, perky asses onto the sofa and groove all night with American Idol. And I am ready for two hours of fun. Right out of the gate, Ryan requires us to give it up for the boys, the girls, the judges. If I really have to give it up to all of these people, brother, I am ready to give up. After I am thus reduced to an echoing chamber that once held "it" (whatever it is), Paula asks me to give it up for Randi. Well, it's Paula. I can bleed for Paula Abdul. News: American Idol has slid its dainty toes under the covers with ITunes. That's so shocking that I thought they were already in bed.

First impressions from The Boy Parade!

David Hernandez: All I remember is that Simon hated him.
Chikezie: Didn't he used to be called "Eze Chikeenie"? Or maybe "Hot Chicken Fat"?
David Cook: Odious. Terrible.
Jason Yeager: No recollection. Is he what happened to Dave Foley?
Robbie Carrico: The rocker.
David Archuleta: The world's only Latino hobbit.
Danny Noriega: Love Danny Noriega. Love him til I die. I hope he does girl songs.
Luke Menard: Even smells like Luke Perry, I'm sure.
Colton Berry: Awful little excrescence.
Garrett Haley: Unmentionably gruesome, looks like his head was possibly sucked on by a large cat.
Jason Castro: Dreadlocks. Now we have one Castro and one Noriega. Next, John Peter Pinochet!
Michael Johns: This year's winner. No doubt. He would have to eat a live baby on stage not to win this one. Seriously.

After the break, we discover it's sixties night. Super.

David Hernandez: Waaah, waaah, he used to be poor. This explains how he kind of clears his throat all the time while he's singing. Or, he's just a linty little turd. Actually I remember his rendition of "Love the One You're With" from Hollywood week, and I really liked it. Tonight he sings "In the Midnight Hour" competently. Sounds sorta standard to me: he did not transcend. Randy and Paula fall on his neck with tears and sobs. Simon tells him to loosen up.

Chikezie: Chikezie got booted off at the end of Hollywood week, Season 6. he went home and worked on his arm-swinging. Now he swings his arm around like a freakin' pro. Chikezie sings a song no one has ever heard of, in an orange suit no one can look at, prompting me to ask my dog, "Who dresses these fools?" Clearly he's enjoying himself. He even goes, "Woo!" at one point. That embarrassed my dog. Randy and Paula kindly tell him he sounded like he was fifty years old, and Simon calls jim "Jacuzzi" and declares his orange suit hideous. At this affront, Chikezie spits back, "Dude, playa, no, white, grey, and black, who's your stylist, Charlie Chaplin?" Uh... you are getting voted off very soon. Watch your smart mouth. Watch your smart mouth get voted off.

OMG THERE IS A NEW KIND OF CHARMIN! WITH DIAMOND WEAVE!

After the break, Colton claims he looks like Ellen Degeneres. Also, he is wearing royal blue pants. Also, he smugly reveals that he has a theater background. Great. I am Jack's rolling eye.

David Cook: I say no to men who paint their fingernails any color. This guy is like Jack Black's less interesting, cheap-vest-wearing, undernourished cousin who totally expects to be taken seriously. Who can listen to his voice when his mugging and winking and eye-farging the camera? I think he was singing a rock version of "So Happy Together" but the chorus seemed to be "Soohippy Together." Randy and Paula fawned on him, Simon said he almost made it believable.

Jason Yeager: Because I now know that he has a son the same age as my son, I now have to take back all my good lines I had in mind, and cheer for him. He looks a little like Val Kilmer. He does a lounge version of "Moon River" which is appalling, although he sounds fine. Fine like a Disney performer, and just as covered in marzipan. He secured his place in next week's show by dedicating his performance to his grandmother. Simon calls him a dependable old dog. Woof. Bad news: I think he blow-dried his kid's hair. Maybe he's here to tv-pimp his kid: what a twist.

Robbie Caarrico: He was in a band that toured with Britney Spears. Now he wants to be a rocker. Bring on the bandanas and the chains that go from the front of your pants to the back of your pants for no reason. He sings "One is the Loneliest Number." He says it like it's a poke in the chest. WORSE THAN TWO -- YEAH -- TAKE THAT -- I'M A ROCKER. The song makes no sense on a good day, even less sense tonight. Like, duh, one is the loneliest number. Who's the challenger? Fifty-eight? The judges like it, but Simon doesn't quite believe it.

David Archuleta: Hey, a contestant shorter than I am. Put him through to the finals now. He's radiant with virtue. He sings "You Better Shop Around" in a key that would have worked better if his voice had changed. As it is, he sounds like a drag queen. A tired one, at that. Okay, the kid is in high school. But that was just painful. If he lays a turd like that a few weeks in a row, he might actually get voted out. But wait -- Randy calls it brilliant, Paula calls it brave, Simon crowns it "best performance of the night." The tiny shining prince is modestly and tearfully pleased. His voice was cracking, ferpetesake.

Danny Noriega: I love Danny Noriega. He sings "Jailhouse Rock" slightly behind the beat, in a white dress shirt, black tie, and tight black pants falling off his butt. Go, skinny gay boy. Randy and Paula were warmly encouraging, Simon called it grotesque, hideous, and awful. The judges do battle. No one wins. Danny does a gay snappysnap headshake in Simon's direction.

Remember Sanjaya? That was so weird.

Luke Perry: When he got his golden ticket, his wife (both female and small) picked him up and tossed him around. And how he's singing "A Song I've Never Heard Before" in a grey hoodie. I think the nerves ate him for lunch. He sounds terrified and disappointed. His wife nods at him from the audience like, "Remember that I will pick you up and toss you around." Simon calls him forgettable, and I agree. The saltine I ate during his performance interested me more than the song. He should have shaved. And washed his hair. And he could have tried to wear an outfit that didn't say, "I need to do laundry."

Colton Barry: Colton Barry is a woman. A little British woman. How did she get her watery eyes onto this show? Last week, after showing almost nothing of his audition process, they put him in a chair next to fan favorite Kyle (the guy who looked like he was running for student government) and then brutally eliminated Kyle, thus making us hate Colton straightaway. Then there is the fact that he has those awful wet lips. He sings "Suspicious Minds." Black suspenders are hanging down, one on each side of his body, but they do not stop him from oversinging right to the brink of fondling his own nipples. Thank god, at the point of nipple-fondling, his suspenders step in. Enough already, say the suspenders. Hands at your side, kid. Randy says it was alright. Paula calls it an eager and fun attempt. Simon calls him irrelevant. Colton fancies himself a wit.

Garrett Haley: Some of these boys have a haircut that looks like a weird kind of eighties combover. But 17-year-old Garrett has hair like an ambitious but hopeless receptionist. Big. Overwrought. Sucked by a large cat. He sings right straight through his nose, without making any stops at any other more traditional singing orifices. He croons "Breaking Up is Hard to Do" and on the very close shot, we can see a horrifying fringe of scraggling blonde mustache sneaking across his lip. I can't describe how vile this looks on such a skeletal, womanly man with so much aerosol hairspray in his frosted hair. Please vote Garrett Haley off immediately. I will send you pie. Randy calls it boring, Paula calls it slow, Simon called it whiny, and Garrett's blonde fringe of mustache eats away a little piece of my youthful idealism.

What is this phrase, "I'm going to take it as criticism!" Like, what else are you going to take it as, dumbass? A fruit basket? It is criticism, you can take it as criticism or you can turn around and go boobooboo and waggle your fingers in your ears, but those are your only choices. It's like they think taking it as "criticism" is somehow the noble choice, the high road. I don't understand this at all.

Jason Castro: This guy looks like a guy Kevin that I used to know in college. I liked Kevin; I like Jason. He sings "What a Day for a Daydream" and accompanies himself on the guitar. He looks a little bit like he's on Sesame Street, but in a post-fame guest-visit way not a secret muppet resident way. I love this guy! He is great. I predict he will go to the finals. He has that kind of "wow! tv!" humility that spends all night on this show. Randy is ambivalent. Paula calls it joyful. Simon raves that it is terrific. Yes.

Michael Johns: This is the cocky Australian who sang the first part of Bohemian Rhapsody in Hollywood. Now he's singing "Light My Fire." My husband doesn't like it when people sing Doors songs, he reports. I like Michael Johns' chances in this competition because he has that kind of all-around capability that is useful, and the teenaged girl voters will love him. Randy compares him to Michael Hutchens. Paula claims to have been set on fire. Simon says he's the most consistent performer they have.

My prediction is that Garrett Haley, Colton Barry, and Luke Perry are in the bottom three, with Garrett Haley going home.

Labels: american idol, television

Best Commercial: The guy in the rat suit jumping out of the wall to punch the Dorito guy in the face. Something about the unabashed zipper on the back of the rat suit. And the mute aggression accompanied by opera. That zipper said, hey, screw your CGI. I'm a guy in a rat suit, dammit.

The children liked the commercial where the dog and the horse high-five.

Best Political Commercial: Barack Obama. If Obama keeps running commercials like this, he's going to get elected emperor. But why does he want me to text HOPE to him? Is his rusty vat of hope running low? Please, America, text him some hope so he can win California. I kind of wanted Hillary to come on and just shout into the camera like, "Are you still watching football? Are you going to turn that thing off and come and help me clean up after all your slob friends? What's a first down? How can you tell who the players are? Are you listening to me?" That would have been AWESOME. I'm voting for the shrewish bitch stomping around in the kitchen banging dishes.

Favorite Game Moment: When that guy with the long curly hair tried to rip Tom Brady's head out by the roots.

Worst Talking Baby: Dear Etrade commercial checking to see if babies that talk with adult voices and animated mouths are funny yet: Still no. Love, LYDIA.

Best Movie Trailer: ALL. I want to see ALL of them. I want to see boyish George Clooney and bloodlipped Renee Zellwegger in Leatherbacks. I want to see Angelina Jolie and that one guy in Assassins Inc or whatever it is. I want to see WALL-E. I want to see The Chronic(what?)cles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. Actually, I have to take that general endorsement back... I no longer like the trailer for Jumpers. I am fed up with being handed this premise via jazz hands, and wan to now know what the plot question is going to be. I get it. They can teleport. So what, Samuel L. Jackson? (Thanks, Kristen!) BTW when did Samuel L. Jackson get promoted to Morpheus?

Worst Commercial: Madonna selling cheap shampoo via Ipod knock-off graphics. Very low.

Best Halftime Show: TOM PETTY. Tom Petty was awesome. No one beats Tom Petty. Tom Petty owned the Superbowl.

Coke or Pepsi: Pepsi. Pepsi ads destroyed the Coke ads. Pepsi had Justin Timberlake's groin getting smacked into a mailbox repeatedly. Coke ads had things like metaphor, narrative. So 90s. EVS, COKE.

Labels: football, halftime, superbowl

Since no one in their right mind is sitting eagerly at their desks, waiting for emails to come over the wire, urgently scrambling to answer them, hoping for one more proposal to read over the weekend, or one more query to analyze before knocking down to the corner market for weekend pie, I went ahead and sent out my proposal to the two agents who expressed interest, and then queried nine more agents.

In this way, I can be sure that my email will be one of 4830 sitting in those 11 inboxes on Monday morning. Not so bright. But then, on the other hand, anyone out there who is biding their time, waiting for me to do work, can also know that I will be starting on it this weekend, rather than fiddling around with this or that sentence all weekend and then starting on your job on Monday, after I send out my emails at 9:36.

Long sentences. I used up all my succcintitude.

Labels: publishing