This is their moment! Paula is wearing awesome pink bling! Kara is smiling with her mouth hanging open! Someone in the audience is distractedly pulling the limbs off a child!


Tonight is More Money for ITunes week! The Idols will be mentored by the equipment in the studio where they tape Ryan's radio show (it's the show that Dick Clark started!) where Ryan demonstrates how he says, "This is American Idol!" into a microphone. Wow, at the push of a button, music comes out of the speaker! It's like magic, but really predictable unawesome magic. This week, our singers can pick any song that's popular on ITunes, with "popular" defined as "available."

ANOOP DESAI: Anoop sings an Usher song. Who is Usher? Is he that cartoon dog with the square head? Anoop is wearing a grimly ill-fitting black suit with the collar turned up. The epaulets are made of Rainbow Brite puffy stickers, all in a row, and there's a chain around one armpit. His shirt has a Care Bear on it (the one with the raindrops on its gut). I don't know the song, I don't want to be glared at by Anoop, and I have a feeling the backup singers could give us a better show than this horse's ass. What a staggering tool is Anoop Desai. What a quivering, gelatinous mass of toolage is this eyebrow waggler. The judges are unimpressed. Anoop defends himself by clarifying that their opinions are their opinions, adding that his butt has a hole in it, like most other people's butts, and that he wants to be an R&B artist. He is wearing a sparkly dog tag when he says all this. Can anyone else make sense of this man's wardrobe? It just mystifies me, but not in a good way, in a, like, how did the corpse of a hedgehog get stuck in my garbage disposal way.

Tom Colicchio wants me to keep it simple. I do not want Listerine to do six things. Just one thing.

Shock: Every song you hear is available on ITunes!

MEGAN JOY: Megan doesn't care, she's singing Bob Marley's "Turn Your Lights Down Low." This is finally, she says, a song she really loves. She sings it in her own special twitchy gutteral way, channeling Katherine Hepburn and also that lady at the old folks' home that won't shut up and keeps looking at you with that knowing wink, like, we understand each other. But you don't know her. And she smells like cabbage. Megan (not the hypoethetical old lady) is wearing chains and necklaces all over her collarbones, a teal corset top, and jeans. Kara doesn't like it. Paula suggests she sit on a stool with a spotlight and sing a sensitive ballad that rips the heart out of everyone. Simon calls it boring and indulgent. Randy says it took forever. They encourage her to sing Amy Winehouse, Duffy, and Adele.

DANNY GOKEY: Danny tells Randy that last week he had to sing his fifth choice of song. This is not the first time, this season, that Idols have referenced the song choice process, and suggested that they aren't completely in control of the song they sing. It's almost like you start questioning the way they're grilled and blamed about song choice every week, but then you don't, because the shiny lights are so sparkly, you forget about it. He sings "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts. Maybe the mix is off tonight -- everyone sounds kind of wobbly and dim. Danny never quite finds the pitch or the beat. The song is another reminder that his wife died, and that is pretty sad, but... if he sings "The Dance" by Garth Brooks, he is fired. This is the last "my wife died" song of the season. The next one he sings, the floor opens up and he gets dropped into the basement full of wolves and scary clowns. The judges love him. He responds in his squinty oh-golly way.

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison practices the guitar in her tape, and we get to see her chewed, wrecked, nasty black fingernail polish. Endearing. She appears in a deconstructed prom dress and Pat Benatar hair, awkwardly stumbles through the first guitary part of "Don't Speak" by No Doubt, with the guitar. Then she flips it around to the back to rasp through the song holding the microphone. The guitar was a mistake. I hate this song. Allison looks like a muppet. No one can understand her clothes. Simon calls it "dressy-uppy." Allison is actually a 45 year old mother of three, she works in telemarketing, smoke three packs of Camels a day, and vacuums her trailer in heels. Vote!

SCOTT MCINTYRE: Don't go changing to try and please him. You've never let him down before. Just lead him over to the piano, so he can smile in your general direction. Scott has new fancy George Michael hair and jacket, and sings Billy Joel. I want to believe he is wearing a t-shirt under there. He is, right? The piano is bangy, the singing is loungey, and his sister is so excited she's bouncing out of her headband. Kara loves the eighties hair. Paula is proud. Simon calls it his best performance. I have been told to stop making fun of the blind guy, so... I will say nothing about the waving. The weird zombie waving. But if you saw the show, you know.

I do not like the overdubbed exaggerated eating sounds on Hardee's commercials.

MATT GIRAUD: Matt reminisces about being in the bottom three last week. No one cares at all. We're just waiting for him to get voted off and then release some precious little album on some sweaty little label and someone will call it "Intense!" and then he will go back to playing standards in a piano bar. Dear Matt, if you have to wear outerwear onstage, do yourself the favor of buying a jacket that fits. "Fits" means the sleeves go at least down to your wrists. Jackets that do not go down to your wrists do not "fit." Ill-fitting jackets counteract intensity. All Best, LYDIA. Matt sings a song by The Fray (you know, like in Scrubs!), with the keyboard set up in the middle of the crowd. The judges say it's like that horrible time he sang Coldplay, and that he needs to choose between the rock side of pop and the R&B side. Between the resentful glow of his colorless mole and the apologetic sheen of his giant pink gums, I don't know what to think either.

LIL ROUNDS: Lil has chosen "I Surrender" by Celine Dion, and between her rained on hair and her aging diva gown, she seems like she's going to play it completely boring. She sings it straight Celine for about the first half and then she lets it rip a little bit, funking it up Lil style. Pretty strong -- I was impressed. The judges don't want her to be adult contemporary, though. They want her to stay young. Ryan brings Lil's daughter to Randy so she can punch him for the criticism, but she gives him a big, adorable hug and Lil cries. That should be good for a few thousand votes.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam is singing my favorite song, "Play That Funky Music (White Boy)" tonight. He does it kinda Lenny Kravitz, but more Aerosmith. Lots of screaming and tongue-waggling and strobe lighting. Whatever! Okay, it's a super-cheesy song, and there is NO WAY on earth to do it without cheese. Adam does cheese in a way that acknowledges the corniness and then flips it up. The judges like it. It's really weird that he chose it, given that he could have chosen, apparently, anything in the whole world, but yeah. He says he had fun and salutes the band.

KRIS ALLEN: Kris confesses that he is trying to make one of those special moments with "Ain't No Sunshine." Kris, don't you know, when you want to make one of those special moments, you need a string quartet on stage with-- oh, there's the string quartet! Awesome! The moment should be along any moment now -- WOOPS, there it is! He knows, he knows, he knows, he knows. The performance is strained, full of anxiety, like if a chimp got up on stage to play the keyboard, and we all sat there kind of listening to the chimp play the piano, but mostly just worrying that he was going to poop or something. The chimp did not poop but he also didn't blow it out the box metaphorically. Kara has three words for him: "That is artistry." Wow, did you really need "That is"? You could have just given him one word. They really want to keep this fuzzheaded poser in the competition -- they gave him the pimp spot and a string quartet, and yet he still comes off like someone's earnest, nervous brother who wonders if you got a chance to listen to his demo yet.

Best performance: My newly refurbished icemaker.
Worst performance: Anoop Desai

Going home: Matt Giraud

It seems like Anoop has some kind of voting mojo that we mere mortals cannot understand. He should have been gone after "Beat it" and yet, here he is. Megan, also, has a strong fan base. Matt is a lame poser -- he was a wild card, nobody likes him, and I think this is his week to damply depart.

Related posts: American Idol

Labels: adam lambert, american idol, itunes, recap, summary, top nine

1. Earth Hour is a global demonstration where people turn off their lights and appliances for an hour to raise awareness about global warming and plant the idea of energy conservation in people's heads.

2. Conservatives come back with Human Achievement Hour, in which people turn all their lights and appliances ON, to show how stupid liberals are.

3. Twitter channel #tcot becomes flooded with gleeful reports of "My block is lighted up like a Christmas tree!" and "I even have my car and motorcycle running in my driveway!"

4. I become aware of this, and start tweeting sassy tweets like "#earthhour #tcot Liberals are saving money tonight. Conservatives are spending money. Who's dumb?" and "Join us in bright lights! We're the Conservatives Against Conservation Association! #caca #earthhour #tcot"

5. Somebody RETWEETS my thing about Conservatives Against Conservation, as if it was a serious post.

6. People start actually using the hashtag #caca which was created by me to be funny and stupid.

Labels: earth hour, politics, tcot

Some of us parents lead a double life. Not the exciting kind where you end up in Ankara with no recollection of how you got there or why you're wearing only one stiletto, but a double life of the mind. We make our mom faces, wear our mom clothes, and use our mom vocabulary. Even those of us who are "cool moms" create a mom persona -- it doesn't have to be all braided hair and cookie dough. My mom persona is constructed out of different parts: part is my own personality, part is what I think mothers should look and sound like, part is how my mother was, and another part is a new creation -- something that came out of me after my kids came along, that wasn't there before. I like being a mom.

However, I do have a separate piece of my brain that's entirely personal. This piece is a survivor from a time before my children; maybe part single girl, part newlywed, maybe even part teenager. I try to let it change and grow apart from my "mom" self, so that I don't just become the mom and abandon the real me. So that I don't look around when my kids leave for college and realize I have nothing to do but wait for grandchildren. Writing novels is part of that separate piece, and blogging is part of the separate piece (peace?) and recently Facebook, for me and a lot of moms I know, has become part of it.

Yes, we've always had our email lists and phone calls, but there's something about posting OMFG, I need them to be asleep. Must. have. quiet. as one of my friends did recently, that provides instant gratification. You wouldn't write an email to say "Why is it that my children think they need to physically help me open a pack of gum?" But if you Facebook it or Twitter it, you'll have five or six amusing answers within a few minutes, and nowadays really that's all you want. Email has become the new snail mail -- it feels cumbersome, antiquated, and formal, like you need a really good reason to do it, especially to a whole group. Facebook and Twitter is where you go for instant luv now. To shout out to your mom homies, and hear a "hellz yeah" back. Of course, you can't shout out to your mom homies with the children in the room.

But it's not just about complaining about your kids. As more people find and use Facebook, your friend list becomes a synthesis of your entire life. You have high school friends, college friends, ex-boyfriends, professional acquaintances, people who only knew you when you played in a rock band, people who only knew you when you were a cool writer chick, etc. Putting all these people in one place is perplexing enough, without introducing them en masse to your children, who may not know that Mommy wrote a kind of edgy experimental book back in the 90s, who may not see Mom as a rocker, who have no concept of any previous life that Mom may have led, or really anything that existed before they, the children, came into the world.

Which is why you get posts like this, from another friend: I need to post something funny but don't want any speshul snowflaks to see. To which I responded: Whisper it in groanupps langwadj. And another mom added: We must find a way around this... Well, don't we still have email? Don't we still have the telephone? Yeah, we do. But since we've tasted the sweet, sweet nectar of Facebook and Twitter, we can't go back to the old way of doing things. Anyone want to run out and register Mombook.com?

To recap, there are three reasons to NOT friend your kids on Facebook:

1. No more bitching about the kids or reporting the funny things they do/say.
2. Kids get to meet Ralph the pierced stoner and experience all his video posts, then ask me how I know this Ralph guy and what those people are doing with that garden hose.
3. Now I have to edit everything I say to make sure it's safe for the dinner table.

But some of us have kids old enough to have their own Facebook accounts. High schoolers, even. So, are there any reasons TO friend your kids?

1. Know what your kids are up to. This was actually the reason I joined Facebook in the first place, and my first two friends were my two teenaged stepchildren. See -- it works both ways. Maybe someplace on LiveJournal there's a post called "Would You Friend Your Mom on Facebook?"
2. If they ask you to friend them, and you don't friend them, then that feels mean. And it is mean. There's just no way around it. You don't want to say "I won't be your friend" to your child, even if you explain it in the kindest possible way.
3. Maybe, just maybe, it's a good thing for the kids to see their moms in this context.

For example: Yes, Mom has friends. Yes, Mom makes snarky comments about politics to people I've never met. No, I don't get all the inside jokes on her Flair corkboard. No, I didn't know she went to college in three different places. Seeing mom in the context of other adults, in the context of the great big world, and witnessing some interactions that have nothing to do with children, nothing to do with them, might just be good for our kids, especially the older ones. I have no solution to the privacy problem or our need for an "Adults Only" zone that's just as fun and immediate as Facebook, but until we figure it out, I am pretty sure that friending your kid is the only thing you can do.

What do you think?

Related post: Twitter, Tumblr, and Tags: You Are Still All Alone

Labels: facebook, kids, momblogs, parenting, social media, twitter

Are the judges to enjoy their big dramatic entrance every episode now? That wasn't just a special treat for them at the beginning of the finals? Look. They are not basketball stars. They are not game show contestants. They are people that sit in chairs, and sitting in a chair does not require a big spotlit entrance parade. Okay? Actually, Paula looks really awesome tonight in a tutu -- and straightened hair. She's making Kara look kinda washed out and elderly, in that get-up. Go Paula.


Hey, it's Motown night! Would anyone know if they reused the old montage from past years' Motown nights? I doubt it. The idols met Barry Gordy in the real actual Motown (museum) and then accessed Smoky Robinson for some mentoring. Smokey Robinson visits the Idol house, which has a winding stair and sparkling gold railings. The Idols

Matt Giraud: Since Matt doesn't please us, let's pretend that Matt's colorless mole, so unremittingly central on his forehead, will sing tonight's Motown song, "Let's Get It On." Would you, viewer, get it on with Matt's colorless mole? Would anyone? Should Matt's colorless mole go bark up some other tree? It is soulful, but it is colorless. It has a vein right underneath it that pounds with Motown passion on the woo-hoos. Can a colorless mole ever truly know love?

Matt is wearing a navy blue cardigan, a button down shirt and tie, and the most gruesomely ill-fitting black jeans ever stone-washed. The boy has a big butt, and more importantly, big thighs. We need to either decrease the size of his ass or increase the size of his pants -- is there an iPhone app for that? Eh? Randy loves it. Kara congratulates him on getting up from the piano and walking around, and all of us at home recall the awkward moment last week when Paula asked Scott McIntyre to do the same thing. Paula compares his performance to wearing "a great old pair of worn-in jeans." Simon says his voice is absolutely suited to this kind of song, this is exactly what he should be doing. So, he should be doing songs that are fifty years old. Well hey, Justin Timberlake -- peel that fake colorless mole off your forehead. You have nothing to worry about!

Kris Allen: Smokey Robinson loves Kris Allen. Chris takes the stage in a military style shirt, tan and epauletted, with weird numbers across the shoulders and shirttails. Are those the numbers that will predict the end of the world? Is the secret to moving the island stamped above Kris Allen's nipple? It's like he's a prison camp guard and prisoner at the same time. It's so paradoxically stupid! He sings "How Sweet it is to be Loved By You." It's super-boring and the judges rave about it. They tell him multiple times that he did his own version of the song -- I will tell you that he did not. The arrangement was very James Taylor, very Lite FM, completely predictable. The comments had absolutely nothing to do with the performance. Nothing. They encourage him to have something called "Self Belief."

Someone, tell Scott McIntyre to keep his teeth together when he smiles. I have nothing else to say about that, but if you're reading this and you have his ear, you might mention it to him. He manages to keep his teeth together when talking, he could extend us that courtesy while smiling.

Scott McIntyre: Scott interviews that he is single, and waiting for the perfect fit, so he can relate to his song. Smokey Robinson thinks he's absolutely fantastic. I think he might do better with women if he wasn't wearing pink pants and a paisley shirt. Hey, he might! He sings "You Can't Hurry Love" in a fidgety, twitchy style -- kind of like if a wildebeest on crack sat down at the piano and started banging on it and panting. Dreadfully cheesy rendition, too fast, too jittery, too reminiscent of a bovine mammal. Paula loved it, but Simon and Randy were underwhelmed. Kara praised his tempo. Something happened I didn't quite get, and then Paula gave Simon a box of 64 crayons and a coloring book. Then this happened:

Scott: You have to vote for the pink pants!
Ryan: How do you know they're pink?
Scott: They told me. But not until ten minutes before the show.

Wow, Ryan! Way to bust this faker! Finally, the "blind" guys is exposed for the liar he is, whoring for votes with his "blindness" and his "visual impairment" and his "bad eyesight." HOW DID YOU KNOW THE PANTS WERE PINK, SCOTT? HUH? I THOUGHT YOU WERE BLIND! Then trying to blame it on his pants being secretive. The idea! Bravo, Seacrest. That's tough investigative journalism. I want to thank you from the bottom of my red American heart for this reassurance that although the newspapers are folding and the nightly news is losing a ratings battle with Judge Judy, tough questions are still being asked in this country. Way to put him on the spot! I have to go immediately and Twitter about this fraud being perpetrated on us viewers. I'm sure it will be all over the internet by morning. Talking pink pants, forsooth!

Megan Joy (CORKREY): Smokey calls Megan half-jazz, half-cabaret. Smokey loves Megan! Wait just a damn minute, Smokey loves everyone! He has not said one critical word. Megan takes the stage in a strapless blue satin dress with a poofy short skirt that has been hemmed by Scott McIntyre. She's wearing a chunky tropical necklace and, bless her warbling heart, flowers in her hair. And ballet flats. She sings "For Once in my Life" in her Megany way, with little hip twists and gutteral strangeness, marching around with shrugs and head wobbles for everyone. She looks like a middle-aged woman drunk on a Cancun vacation. Randy calls it a trainwreck. Kara tells her she could have chosen "My Guy." Paula agrees. Simon calls it horrible. Caw caw!

Anoop Desai: Smokey loves Anoop. Shock fills my soul. My teeth fall out of my head. I need a cocktail and a soft chair. Uh, oh, look out. Anoop is seated on the stage! I feel a falsetto coming on, so hold me down!Folks, they're breaking out the light effect that makes little spotlights swirl around on the stage. And purple lights, yo. The intensity is overwhelming! Fortunately, Anoop is wearing a white shirt and a black tie, then a grey henley sweater, a black jacket with completely confusing red and white striped knit cuffs and collar, and what is with these male idols wearing jackets on stage? It looks completely stupid. The mood is broken. Anoop is all over the place with this song -- never hits the right pitch on the ooo parts and just sucks utterly. He looks very very soulful and serious in the face, to the point that there is a little moisture under his beak. That is completely embarrassing. Kara says it was pretty good, and he has "a skillset." So does the guy that did my kitchen floor, Kara, but we don't want to hear him sing ballads. Paula calls him sweet. Simon calls it good. Randy requests that he "turn it up" next week.

Michael Sarver: Is this lukewarm potato still on the show? Michael reveals that he was sick last week. Michael says he is going to "church it up" which means, he interprets, he will "sing it off the cuff." Smokey actually offers a little critique, encouraging Michael to pound it, and not sweet-talk it. We'll see. I notice that Michael taps his fingers on the microphone like all those girl singers do -- remember Jasmine Trias from years ago? She used to do that, and it was such a weak little girly thing to do. It looks weird on the oil rig dude. Michael's pants have little rips under the back pocket which show faux underpants sticking out. I wonder if the pants didn't tell him about that until ten minutes before the show. Paula says it was too lounge, too Las Vegas. Simon couldn't wait for it to end. Me either.

Lil Rounds: Lil got emotional at the Motown museum. She wants to do this for Martha and Diana and everyone who paved the way. Okay, bring it. She sings "Heat Wave" and has Paula up and dancing in her tutu! Lil looks pretty cool in a flapper dress with really long fringe, a chin-length wig, and sparkling heels and earrings. She seems very extremely comfortable on stage, and while there's nothing really surprising or devastating about the way she sings the song, she has a certain authenticity and charm -- it's winning. Randy was disappointed. Kara says that Lil was the diva that everyone was waiting for, because this was her week. What, because she's black? Really? Paula disagrees, she thinks Lil owned that song. Simon was looking for a moment, and doesn't think she had one. Simon is always talking about "the moment" -- remember with Katherine McPhee and her "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" moment? Fantasia with her "Summertime" moment? He has a point. Lil replies very glibly and diplomatically to mixed criticism until Paula suggests she run for President, and Lil responds, "Obama!" Yeah, Obama. What?

Adam Lambert: Adam sings "Tracks of my Tears" for Smokey with a really red, flushed neck. He says he's nervous and his neck agrees. He's planning to keep it low and sweet through the whole song and Smokey approves. Adam sings his song on the stool, dressed in a silver suit, with slick Elvis hair, accompanied by an acoustic guitar, a string bass, and one of those box drums you sit on. He sounded great, lots of falsetto and interesting melodic interpretation. This kid cannot trip, it seems to me. I think he's made some really aware, really smart decisions. The audience goes crazy. Kara stands in her seat in awe, gasps, claps, and says, "I have six words for you: One of the best performances of the night." Gee, you had to stand up to deliver such faint praise? And also, that was eight words. God, I hate Kara. Paula loves his cleaned-up look. Simon calls it the best performance of the night and calls him an emerging star. Randy calls it "unbelievably hot." I agree. Sorry, but the guy is a solid performer. He is a professional. He's playing chess and the rest of them are playing tiddly-winks. Sorry!

Danny Gokey: Danny has the pimp spot and new glasses! He's going to sing "It's All Right" or "Get Ready" or "Here I Come" or whatever it's called. Smokey helpfully reminds him to sing all the words, and Danny humbly agrees on tape that Smokey is right, and he should sing all the words, but on stage Danny decides to let the background singers sing the "it's all right" and "you're outta sight" parts. Controversy! Betrayal! Defiance! Oh, no one notices. This performance reminds me of his performance of PYT and also whatever he sang last week -- he likes to sing at the top of his lungs and jump around. Whatever, Danny is a poser. Paula says he's undeniable, identifiable, and reliable. Simon calls it clumsy and amateurish.

Oh wait, that wasn't the pimp spot. This show is lasting half my life tonight. Please, let it end.

Allison Iraheta: Allison will sing "Papa was a Rolling Stone" because it will allow her to show her funk side. Smokey predictably approves. Allison funks it up big time! I enjoy her, black lace tights and denim dress notwithstanding! Kara and Paula are out of their seats clapping and pointing. Smokey and Barry are standing too. Randy says it was hot. Kara raves, "You sing like you've been singing for 400 years! That is from God! You can't teach that!" Simon calls it one of her best performances. I agree.

Best performance: Adam and Allison
Worst performance: Anoop and Michael

Going home: Megan. Don't get me wrong -- I love Megan. Anyone who sings like Katherine Hepburn while wearing miniskirt and fruit around her neck is alright in my book. But I think this is the end for her. We can only hope she will pull it out again and send home Anoop or Michael or one of those other boring turds.

Labels: american idol, recap, summary, top ten

Yesterday, watching CNN, I saw a feature piece about a man who has been feeding the homeless daily out of the back of his truck in a Queens neighborhood for ten years. I found myself astonished that such a man could exist, that such selfless charity could be going on. Surely he must have some hidden motive, some personal failing out of which this commitment has arisen. He can't be just a NICE GUY doing a NICE THING for people in NEED. Of course, he can. He does. Nice people do nice things all the time with no hope of personal gain, no secret, devious agenda. I just had a hard time believing it.

I blame Charles Palliser, and his novel, The Quincunx, which I have been reading for about a month. This 800 page behemoth of a Victorian novel (neo-Victorian? 1989) drags its readers and main character through every milieu of horror, every site of human want and degradation, through the most wretched poverty, the most abject misery the 19th century had to offer. And of course, the 19th century offers plenty. Feel like you've been there, done that? After all, you've read Dickens, right? Seriously, this is Dickens on crystal meth. Imagine the nightmares of Dickens, but without the comfortable distance of Dickens' hyperformal language. And imagine that everyone, everywhere, is purely selfish, purely wicked, and does nothing for any reason but blunt personal gain. The protagonist of this novel, who starts out a boy and ends up a much thinner, much more suspicious boy, lives through every possible awfulness of the time, from agricultural slavery to being a knife-and-boot boy, to various murder attempts, and many, many, many betrayals. Everyone who appears to be trustworthy is false. Everyone who offers love is immediately killed or destroyed.

It is BAD. It is bad in early 19th century England. Very very bad.

However, I am glad I read it for two reasons.

First, if I'm ever tempted to be one of these people who says, "How dare the government take my money to give it to poor people? Leave that to the churches and to my personal charity!" I have only to recall what the churches and individuals of the time were able to do for the working class when the industrial revolution was just beginning, when common lands were being fenced and sold, when there were no legal protections for children, no laws governing labor, no laws governing housing standards, etc. Individuals and churches I'm sure did a lot for a lot of people, but it wasn't enough, given the grinding, irresistable motivation of people to get more money, more power, more property. You could read this book and come away saying, "Wow, the poor in this country really have it made." And I say that's a good thing. I don't want to have to step over dying people and starving orphans. Paying taxes will be just fine, thanks. The thing is, and this is what became clearer to me while reading this book, that without public education, school lunch programs, health care, and other entitlements, there truly is a caste system from which there is no escape. Without money, you can't get money, and you are just trapped. Palliser is a scholar, and he researched the book for 14 years. He's truly captured the period, and seeing it played out before you in such lurid and exacting detail is so much more compelling than reading about it in facts and figures.

The other reason I'm glad I read it is that it was a great read! I was completely fascinated by the time I was ten pages in, and the story just grabbed me by the collar and railroaded me right through to the end. It was almost un-put-downable and I spent many sleepy mornings having stayed up way too late the night before. It is *not* a morality book, although I've spent time talking about that aspect of it. I haven't talked about the plot at all, but much has been made of the mystery in the extremely elaborate, very intelligently wrought story that drives the book. Go here if you've read it and want to ponder all its intricacies. It involves an inheritance, a murder, and a whole lot of family tree.

If you do decide to read The Quincunx, make sure you have some time set aside to cope with obsessive reading. And it might be good to take this one on in the summer months, when you can go outside periodically and remember that life is good, that people can love, and that redemption is possible.

Labels: book reviews, books, charles palliser, quincunx, reading

I just can't hang. I don't know what happened to me. I want to say that when I was 23 I could tolerate or even enjoy these books organized on the principle of "what the hell." These novels that challenge what it means to be a novel, characters who defy the idea of a character, whose authors seem to make decisions because they're the ones holding the pen, and tee-hee who's going to stop them?

I know I dated guys who wrote books like this when I was in my 20s. But I also remember putting down The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy as a child, and only part of the reason was because I thought the sacrilege would send me to hell. I have a feeling that if the narrative truly compelled me, I would have dared to face the consequences.

The first book I read by Jack Pendarvis was Your Body is Changing, a collection of short stories. At first, I was really digging it. Yes, it tended a little toward the type of story collection that holds up one character after another saying, "Look at this idiot! Okay, now look at this idiot! Isn't he a tool? Now check out this guy -- what a tool!" But it was really imaginative and interesting. I particularly liked the story "Outsiders" about a woman who announces constantly that she's really someone who will "call you on your shit." Then I got to the title story, about an adolescent zealot who comes into age and cynicism in various har-har ways. And I started to wonder, is Jack Pendarvis one of those guys? One of those guys who produces desultory idylls revolving around randomness, irony, and a wry, intellectual detachment? One of those McSweeney's type guys? When the main character set off on a cross country journey in a goat cart, I had to face the truth: Jack Pendarvis is one of those guys.

Then I read his novel, Awesome, which is about a giant and his robot friend. Pendarvis' giant (named "Awesome") is as inaccessible as the prose itself, and unfortunately he tells his own story mixing low and high discourse like it's 1999. I couldn't finish Your Body is Changing, but I will admit I read to the end of Awesome, to see if penises are really like guns. You know the old plotting rule: If you show a gun in Act I, it has to go off in Act III, right? So, if you cut off your penis on a whim in Act I, does it have to return to you when you least expect it, in Act III? Answer: yes. Penises are just like guns in this respect.

Right after I had finished reading Awesome, a friend loaned me The Thirteen and a Half Lives of Captain Bluebear. It was through realizing the proximity of the latter to The Hitchhiker's Guide that I realized the proximity of Awesome to this iconic work, and so I have to admit: There may be people out there who will find this book to be gorgeous, revelatory, and profound. I am not one of them. However, I salute MacAdam Cage for publishing it, I salute Pendarvis for writing it, and I'm glad it's out there on the bookshelves, in all its weirdness, in all its belligerent quirkiness, because the world doesn't need another mild romance, and Jack Pendarvis ain't no Nicholas Sparks.

Labels: awesome, book reviews, books, jack pendarvis, reviews

Happy St. Patrick's Day. To everyone except Judge Kara, who is wearing silver lame. And when I do not go through the extra keystrokes to give you the accent on the e in lame, to clarify that lame has two syllables and refers to a fabric, rather than one syllable referring to Kara, it is because I don't really feel like it.



Bring out the top 11! Our girl Megan takes the stage rolling her eyes and mouthing a bad word that rhymes with "duck." Seriously, I'm not kidding. It's country week, and that means Grand Ole Opry, Randy Travis, money, Carrie Underwood, and Michael Sarver looking like a boiled sausage. Randy Travis mentors our kids this week, and says spectacularly that this group is "among" the best groups of idols he's seen "during the years he's been watching." Wow. Step back. He predicts it will be an "enjoyable" show. Randy, you're killing me.

MICHAEL SARVER: Michael placidly worries about the many words he has to memorize, but Randy Travis bravely predicts he will do "a good job." Good grief, somebody put a hat on this Randy Travis character! He's letting loose with "good" and "well" and nice" and god help us if he isn't gearing up -- he might go all the way to "pleasant" and "admirable." Michael sings "Ain't Goin' Down 'Til the Sun Comes Up" by Garth Brooks. It's phlegmatic, embarrassing, nose-wrinkly, and the crowd says, "Woo!" Dan says "Did they turn his mike off?" Kara foams at the mouth about his great memorizing ability. She says, "Wow, so many words! How could you do that!!?!?" Yeah, well, you know, the Greeks used to do much more. So. Michael returns that while singing and words and notes are important, country music is about having some fun. Paula: "I thought that your artistic ability to take a harmonica player, it added charm, it boosted your confidence and fun." It takes a lot of artistic ability to take a harmonica player, especially one that's sitting on the edge of the stage and not paying attention. Simon calls it clumsy. Michael returns, "If we were all perfect, we wouldn't need this show." Holy crap.

OH MY GOSH -- ALL THESE SONGS ARE AVAILABLE ON I-TUNES!

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison sings "Blame it on Your Lying, Cheating, Booger-eating, Mainlining, Yard-gnome-stealing, Dog-inflating, Loving Heart." I have a soft spot for this song because it is featured in "The Thing Called Love" which is one awesome movie. Allison sings it alright, maybe a little shouty, but hey. She looks younger, thinner, like less of a smoker, and in general just perkier than she has looked so far. The judges like it.

KRIS ALLEN: I just realized that this rubbery little kittenhead is trying to pull an Archuleta on us. He doesn't have the skin humidity that Archuleta had, and he doesn't lick his lips with the same reptilian relentlessness, but this is definitely a familiar silhouette. He sings "To Make You Feel My Love" or something by Garth Brooks, sitting on a stool, and making "Buckle your shoes, baby, I'm having a feeling" eyebrows. Gross. Totally like a wedding singer. Paula calls it honest, pure and vulnerable. Simon thought it was "terrific." Randy identified "tender moments." Kris responds, "Good comments are always good." *vomit*

LIL ROUNDS: Lil looks fantastic. It's the jewelry, totally! A really glorious, excellent necklace, love the bracelet, and I can even manage the fuschia cocktail dress with these fantastic accessories. Randy Travis announces, "She's got big pipes on the top end." Lil sings "Independence Day" by Martina McBride. I hate this song; it's the Sean Hannity anthem. It was also one of Carrie Underwood's big moments on Idol. Lil sings it adequately, explaining she wants to stay true to the country genre and not R&B it up too much. It wasn't the greatest performance of her life, but she's not in trouble this week, I don't think. Paula says, "When your voice pierces through, that's why you're one of the obvious favorites." Simon says it looked uncomfortable and persists in calling her "Little." I really love her necklace.

ADAM LAMBERT: Ryan uses the word "antithetical" to describe Adam Lambert and Randy Travis. Yeah. Adam has found a version of "Ring of Fire" that sounds kind of like background music in one of those ancient Sumerian movies, like 300 or Troy or something. The harem scene maybe. He sings the living hell out of it though, including belting out some really high, really crazy notes. Major camera-eye-molesting, though -- remember Constantine and the way he used to make you feel covered in slime just the way he would track the camera around with his one pulsating eye? Yeah. I think he will have safely survived country week without suffering any proximity to a banjo. Kara calls it a little strange. Paula seems to be wearing a wig, and she loved it. Simon thought it was indulgent rubbish. I actually really liked it the more I think about it.

SCOTT MCINTYRE: He sings "Wild Angels" by Martina McBride. The song is too big, he's playing the bare minimum on the piano, and looks terrified. I'm sure he's not, but... he looks like he is. How long are the voters going to keep this guy around? Paula says the piano is a crutch. Simon says, "What do you expect him to do?" Simon says it's a bad song, and Scott says, cryptically, "I lost a lot of hat picks this week." Then he waves his arms around in a confusing way. Scott says he won't be dropping the piano any time soon.

ALEXIS GRACE: Alexis has a beautiful dress on -- I really love this dress. She's singing "Jolene" just like Brooke White did last year. Randy Travis approves, and gives her the "I'd like to frost your cupcake, cupcake" look. She sings a little behind the beat the whole time -- I think Brooke did a way better job with this song last year. The judges don't much like it, except Paula. Alexis, chastened for losing her edge, promises to "dirty it up" next week. Alexis is getting boring.

DANNY GOKEY: Come on now. You can predict this, can't you? Can you guess what song Danny is going to sing? I'll give you a minute to think about what song would really showcase his appeal to small town America. If you guessed, "Jesus Take the Wheel" you are right. He sings this Carrie Underwood hymn in a white parka and clear frames on his glasses, baby. It is impossible to forget, as he stands there in all his earnest piety and friendliness, that we saw "worship music director" under his name during the auditions. The judges have differing opinions on whether he sucks on the verses or not. Everyone agrees that on the chorus he is just all kinds of marvelous.

Are you wondering if Danny Gokey is a tool? Check out this video. Do not miss Michael Carver standing in the background, hoping someone will call *him* on the phone and want to meet up with *him* at the Cheesecake Factory:



ANOOP DESAI: Anoop is worrying Randy Travis with his song choice: "You Were Always On My Mind" by Willie Nelson. I actually love this song, but it reminds me of that movie "Practical Magic" with Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock. Hey, nothing wrong with that. If I'm listening to Anoop with my eyes closed, nothing offends me. However, when I open my eyes and look at his facial expressions, his styling, his eyebrows oozing sincerity, and his nervous lips, all the hate comes rushing back. The judges love it.

MEGAN JOY CORKREY: Megan is going to sing "I Go Out Walking After Midnight" and that bothers Randy Travis, who nevertheless finds it totally unique and unexpected. Megan is using some kind of weird voodoo priestess accent -- like, are we getting our fortunes read in New Orleans? Or are we like, straight outta Haiti? Dan says it's a Minnesota convenience store clerk. We speculate if she has a hearing problem. Maybe she's sick? Certainly her boobs are not sick. They woke up this morning and decided to put in a full day's work today. Ok, after scooting her booty and finishing the song, she reveals that she is sick, and she's been to the hospital. Influenza B, people. B. She coughs through her critique. The judges love her, sick or well.

MATT GIRAUD: Okay, I've had it. Matt Giraud is WET, he is moist and his edges are ill-defined. He is pale and possibly MADE OF SPONGE. Randy Travis *again* feels misgivings, and then *again* professes to have those misgivings melt away. Randy Travis' critique of every idol: "Well, I must admit, I was unsure of his song choice, but then when he/she sang it, it was really great. If he/she sings exactly like that, it's really going to be neato." Way to mentor, Randy Travis. I have to say, strange colorless mole and all, Matt outsings and outplays Scott McIntyre eight kinda ways. I do not like to look at Matt Giraud, but he can sing. He's just so DOUGHY. Doughy and moist at the same time: UNPLEASANT. And why do we have to see so many pink, moist, toothy gums all the time?

Kara has praised every single one of them, tonight, in the highest terms possible.
Paula can't pronounce authenticity. She also seems to privilege "piercing."
Simon liked Anoop and Matt Giraud.
Randy expressed no memorable opinion.

When they do the summaries of the performances at the end, it's like "Which one of these things is not like the other?" with Megan Joy Corkrey and Adam Lambert sticking out like brave and crazy thumbs.

Best performances: Adam Lambert
Worst performance: Michael Sarver
Going home: Sorry, but maybe Megan. I hope Michael though.

Labels: american idol, recap, summary, top 11

In spite of the flurry of social media that surrounds me, I am still all alone in the space between my ears. In the moment of any creative act, there is nothing outside my own brain that can help me, no synergy, no immediacy of connection can save me. All the networking in the world is a noise and a dissipation when it comes to my book and the words that I have to put together, to get the book done.

I was standing in my kitchen when it hit me. It was one o'clock in the morning, and I had been writing my novel. Frustration drove me away from the keyboard and into the other room. I stood there with one hand on the phone, but at 1am, I couldn't call anyone here in Virginia. My family was asleep. Even west coast friends would need a reason to pick up the phone this late. There was no noise in the house. I was truly completely alone with my book and a couple of really tough scenes. If I were going to phrase the problem as a Tweet... if I were going to tell my writing group about it... if I were telling someone in an email... but it didn't matter how I could phrase it or present it or package the problem. I was only having it, not reporting it at all.



Of course, there were lots of people I could have "called" online. With a Twitter search, I could find people writing novels just like me and talking about it at that very moment. I could find blogs, message boards, email lists. I could shoot out a Facebook status update and within minutes have people tell me how it would get better, how they had been there, how I could fix it. But I realized, standing there in my physical form in the middle of the night -- tired, cold, close to a breakthrough -- that it wouldn't help.

I couldn't get what I needed from the vast amorphous "them" out there, the support, the network, the like minds. I stood there gripping the counter, facing the idea that I might just have to give up on writing this difficult book, doing this difficult thing. And I realized, it's not that I don't have the right support, the right help and connections. It's that support cannot help. Connections cannot write this miserable book. I have to write it. Word by word, wrenched straight out of my own brain, going straight down into my book -- not offered for critique on a message board, or discussed in Twitter, or announced in a blog.



This is me. Just this physical form and the electricity in my head, all online appendages amputated, all connections severed. This is you, alone, thinking. Making something up in your brain. Directing it onto the page. This is the only thing that ultimately matters.

Connections are addictive. I live online. My Twitter feeds my Facebook. My YouTube feeds my Tumblr. There's a camera in my laptop lid, a camera in my phone, and then there's my actual camera and my Flickr. On web sites and blogs, with hashtags and Digg, I find people who are watching the same show I'm watching, eating the same food I'm eating, shopping for the same kitchen appliance, etc. etc. In the interest of full disclosure, I am linking out to all my social media, but this isn't all. There are forums, games, elists, and more. If I have a question, or need to say something, I can push it out to hundreds of people who are the same as I am in some way: writers, readers, homeschoolers, people from the neighborhood here, people from my hometown. I can find people who think the same, look the same, live the same, and I can access them immediately. I have their ears.



Maybe you can push your message out to thousands who are just like you in some way. But are they just like you in that one crucial way? I cannot find anyone who is writing the same book. No one can talk to me about that. And if they did? Sound and dissipation.

It's me. It's 1 AM. There's a book not getting written. For this I have to be all alone. And when it comes down to getting alone, I can see that in this way, for this purpose, I have been alone all the while, with bees buzzing around my head, and a radio playing in the background, and a train passing by outside, and a fan blowing, rasping away. And yes, I get the irony: I am telling you this in a blog. I have found the way in which we are exactly alike. But for this purpose, in this one instance, let's not talk about it at all.

Labels: meta, personal, social media, twitter, writing

The top thirteen, baby! Ow Mah Gutness! The stage opens and reveals the judges indulging in a new big onstage entrance, and Kara is mouthing, "Oh my god! Oh my god!" as if it's a stadium full of screaming fans! Holy crap, the flashing lights! The blue floor! The throngs of excited audience members! It almost sounds like that might be true, but then we get a shot from Ryan's POV up in the lights, and we see that it's just the regular old audience, like 20 rows. Whatever!

We have three months until we get to crown Lil Rounds?

Here's a shock: Two of the contestants will go home tomorrow. Here's another shock: It's Michael Jackson night. But wait, when Idol takes on an artist, don't they usually come to the Idols and do mentoring sessions? Will that be, um, possible? Maybe he will appear as a hologram! Maybe he will give each Idol a cryptic three-word advice session. What will he wear? What will he do? Oh, nothing. It's regular interview tapes. Profound disappointment.

LIL ROUNDS: In her tape, Lil's husband reminds us that their house was destroyed by a tornado and they live in a hotel. Lil adds, "The day you give up on your dream is the day you give up on your life," inadvertently alienating herself from everyone who has given up on their dream, which is like 110% of the voting public. Lil takes the stage in a pink prom dress tucked into white pleated pants. She delivers "The Way You Make Me Feel" adequately. Randy says she made the song new again! Kara speculates that the rest of the contestants are now afraid! Paula compliments her outfit and compares her to angels singing. Vote for Lil! She's like Fantasia but married and friendly!

Cut to Scott backstage singing mutely and pointing his face slightly to the right of the camera. Oh, HELP, I feel myself about to make FUN OF A BLIND GUY. The thing about Scott is that he always seems like he's kind of lightly panting or kind of like, gobsmacked. During the commercial break, Fox pitches us a show where Ozzy and Sharon blindfold people and make them kiss senior citizens. Wow. Blindfolded. Coincidence? I think not.

SCOTT MCINTYRE: Scott's tape reveals that his mother started him on piano as soon as she found out he was blind, and also that his sister is blind. He sings an awkward and super-predictable version of "Keep the Faith," a song which boldly recommends having self esteem and promises that you can be a winner if you keep the faith. I find myself respecting the fact that Scott doesn't close his eyes and doesn't wear sunglasses. He has creepy, weird, wandering eyes and he isn't hiding them. The arrangement is really lite-FM sounding. Simon and Randy don't really like it. Dan points out every time any judge uses the word "see" to refer to Scott's performance in any way. Dan is so insensitive to blind people.

Nicholas Cage is doing a movie. Prego is doing a sauce.

DANNY GOKEY: Danny has a big musical family in Milwaukee. His dad used to make up songs for them, and made them sing their homework. Wow, they were encouraged to do music, and none of them were even blind! Danny is going to sing... no... please... MERCY... kill me now -- PYT. During the performance, I was unable to move or speak. It was spastic, horrific, and disastrous. A lot of shoulder-shaking, stomping around, a lot of holding the microphone out to the crowd for call-and-response type action. The crowd must understand that they are in charge of saying PYT. Danny is in charge of making his legs go back and forth rapidly. He looks like he's trying to get bugs out of his underwear. Paula predicts he will be in the finals. Kara rhapsodizes.

Dan: He's pretty good except for that back sweat thing he's got going on.
Me: That's a design printed on his jacket.
Dan: No. It's not.

I kind of like his glasses though -- purple plastic to match his shirt.

MICHAEL SARVER: Michael interviews that he enjoyed going home to sit on his porch. He's going to really love LA, this one. He sings "You Are Not Alone" sitting on the steps at the front of the stage like it's just one big porch. He's one of those singers who makes every long I sound into a big disingenuous smile, even if it doesn't make any sense with the words he's singing.

Me: He's got something printed on the back of his jacket too. Look.
Dan: Is it the assclown posse logo?

Well, Michael has finished singing. Simon says he has passion, heart, and has given it 110%. Randy says he is one of the best so far. So, great -- out of four, he is one of the best. What does that even mean? Kara likes that he's serious and brings his game every time he steps out on the stage.

Pampers has made a diaper. Jasmine is the baby of her family.

JASMINE MURRAY: Jasmine sings "I'll Be There." Her dress looks like a muumuu that's been hacked off at the hips. She sings it fine. Kinda boring, kinda flat. Randy calls it pretty good. Kara says she was like "whoa," and compliments her stage presence. Simon calls it a little robotic, recommends that she lighten up. I agree, she sounded really old-fashioned and dull.

I'll tell you what. Last season was won by David Cook, whose big excitement was doing his own unusual version of songs. I thought this season would be full of people putting their own twist on songs -- changing the tempo, changing the genre, etc. I thought they would all be doing that from week 1, after DC got such a lot of mileage from it. None of that, so far. All the arrangements have been really predictable, mainstream, standard cover versions of these songs. Even after David Cook's big breakthrough moment was doing Chris Carter's version of Michael Jackson's "Billy Jean." I'll tell you something else: There would be nothing better on this earth, no better entertainment available under the sun, than if Michael Jackson had been on hand to do mentoring sessions with these jackasses. Oh well!

TV: What makes Honey Bunches of Oats so special?
Dan: Opium.

KRIS ALLEN: In a bizarre scene on Kris' interview tape, Kris' Dad plays the guitar in an empty room while several people sit on an oatmeal-carpeted floor to listen. Does Kris' hometown not include any furniture? Kris sings "Do You Remember the Time We Fell in Love" and I actually think he put on a really good show. He has kind of a goofy, liberated joy in his performance -- a kind of chimp-like disregard for dignity. Simon says, hilariously, "I'm not sure I would have brought the wife out so early." Randy says, and I am quoting, "Very well job done."

ALLISON IRAHETA: Allison demonstrates on her tape how she habitually sings on a stage at a big furniture store. In the segment, there are about 15 people standing there clapping. Isn't she famous yet? She sings something, and... who was that rocker chick from last season who always looked so bored and irritated and wore those stripey pants? I can't remember her name but I think *this* was what they were going for when they cast her, because Allison is a girl rocker with a charming grin and an earnest desire to please. Simon tells her to lighten up. Allison goofs by saying, "I'm not like cutting myself or anything" and we see Paula miming zipping the lips, as in "Ixnay on the uttingcay uffstay!!!" I'm afraid (and delighted) that Allison's not done saying things she shouldn't. We'll see. Tonight cutting, tomorrow maybe "fuck" on live TV. OH, it was Amanda Overmeyer. That was her name. Allison is Amanda Overmeyer writ young.

ANOOP DESAI: It's lucky #13! Anoop's parents show some pictures that would get him in trouble if this were a democratic primary. I think it's possible that Anoop's parents do not love and serve the Lord in the way that other people, those who work on oil rigs for example, might. How that's going to play in Peoria remains to be seen, Bollywood notwithstanding. Anoop sings "Beat it." It's as awful as it can possibly be, including Anoop looking saucily into the camera at the end and saying "Beat it" with echoes. Paula says it sounded karaoke, that this song is untouchable. Simon calls it horrible, a bad impersonation. Behind Randy, Scott McIntyre's blind sister is inscrutable.

JORGE NUNEZ: Jorge tells us that his family is big and loud. They demonstrate. He sings "Never Can Say Goodbye" with the sleeves of his sport coat shoved up over his elbows. I've never heard this song before, and I do not like it. Jorge's moves and facials are super-smarmy, and he needs his eyebrows mowed. Jorge has proved himself insufficient unto the big stage. He looks little, scared, and unprepared. Paula asks why he picked this song.

Jorge: I was not going to sing "Bad" by Michael Jackson.
Simon: Well, you kind of did.

Who's going to get the pimp spot? Alexis or Matt? We first have to get through Megan and Adam. I can't even remember who half these people are. There seem to be about forty of them -- did we even have a semi-final round?

Apparently, on the new Osborne show, there will be whipped cream. Whipped cream and kissing grannies! It's a laugh riot!

MEGAN CORKREY: Megan's mom interviews about Megan and her awesome opportunity, with a neck the color of a sugar beet. The neck gets increasingly beetier as the interview progresses. Megan sings "Rockin' Robin" and you know what? If the arrangement hadn't been so completely rockabilly and cheesy, complete with a... PICCOLO providing the tweeting? I think that Megan could have pulled this off. However, she cannot save the song when they're putting bird sounds in it. The girl judges like the quirkiness. Simon calls the song choice stupid and the dancing ridiculous. It was kind of bizarre.

ADAM LAMBERT: Adam talks about his struggle to succeed in the music business, wearing a western shirt in the sarcastic way, not the earnest way like Kris Allen. He sings "Black or White" with his typical confidence and control. Okay, okay, I KNOW he is phony and the haircut is exactly what Flight of the Conchords is mocking, but he is a professional, he is not embarrassing, he does not get up and swing his hips to "Rockin' Robin" seriously. Paula says he is the most seasoned, comfortable contestant ever on Idol. The judges all froth and foam with love and praise.

Paula has now predicted that the final will be between Adam and Danny. Ryan sends us to the break with a "Hey, Michael, you watchin'?" This is it!

MATT GIRAUD: I don't like Matt. His parents are adoring and nervous, but the guy is a tool and I can't take his sneery, pouty, puffy nonsense. Matt sings "Human Nature" with a piano but we can't hear the piano at all, unless the piano sounds like a string section. At the end he does a big puffy, pouty, scruffy falsetto thing that has the judges shouting and clapping. During Matt's send-off, Ryan advises us to go get a pencil and paper to jot down... Alexis' number. Seriously, as Matt stands there ready to wetly pimp his puffy numbers, Ryan is already pimping Alexis.

Get ready, Alexis. They've done all they can do, and now it's up to you, girl.

I really like V8 soups. I wish the grocery store down the street would carry them.

ALEXIS GRACE: Another musical dad! This show is all about the Dads elbowing in for some camera time! Alexis sings "Dirty Diana" in a black minishorts jumpsuit and black tights. Super trampy, grindy, rockstar. As she listens to her critiques, she's absently making sexyface at the camera and the judges and everyone else who will look. It's kind of tired, ultimately.

Best performance: Adam Lambert
Worst performance: Jasmine Murray
Going home: Jasmine and Jorge, or maybe Allison if that cutting remark gets any play.

Labels: american idol, michael jackson, recap, summary, top 13

I couldn't recap the third group, for two reasons. First, I was busy on Tuesday night. Second, and this is totally serious, I think I am going to have a very hard time making fun of the blind guy. Even when I was watching the DVRed show, I had this awful, cold, falling-down-a-well feeling when contemplating ridiculing this blind dude. I think that with this contestant American Idol has won. I am defeated. But tonight, no blind guy. So life can continue in sweet denial of his staggering, high-fiving existence.

Tonight, the eight wild cards sing, and then at the end of the show, the judges will decide whether or not to kill Tatiana's dream which she has worked so hard for, which she wants more than anyone has ever wanted anything in the whole world, and she loves you, she sings for America.

Jesse Langseth: I don't like this blabbermouth, but she looks really good tonight. Black snakeskin minidress and a gold shrug and gold boots, it works. She sings, "Tell Me Something Good" and delivers the silhouette of a sexy, rocky performance. The song didn't give her a chance to shout out a glory note, and Randy noticed some pitch problems. When Jesse is grinning for the camera, I notice her teeth are widely various in shape and size. Okay.

Matt Giraud: Matt responds to the critique that he isn't bluesy enough by putting on a slouch hat and one of those Afghanistanish neck scarves, and swaying like Stevie. He sings a Jackson Five song. Apparently that's just what the judges were looking for. Paula says, "There's no doubt America is loving you right now." Actually, America is not loving him, or we would have voted him in the first time. We think he's pasty, fungusy, lumpy-butted, and crotch-smacky. Okay? Simon accuses him of being a little bit Taylor Hicks. Well-spotted, Simon! Imagine Taylor Hicks had been stuffed into a pipe and buried in the back yard for a couple of seasons, then dug up and halfheartedly rinsed off with goat snot. That's Matt Giraud.

Megan Corkrey: Megan is channeling Duffy. The judges love it.

Von Smith: Von talks on his tape like he's wearing a retainer. Is he? His hair, please, preach it, looks like he had regular hair hanging down on his forehead, and then a helpful wildebeest in a black apron came along and licked him right up his face and right onto the top of his head, leaving a giant tidal wave of hair sticking up. He sings something. Simon says he's being serious and ordinary. Von's chances don't look good.

Jasmine: Jasmine interviews that she hopes everyone will be able to see that she is really commercial and want to keep her in the competition because of her commercialness. She sings "Reflection" from Mulan, by Christina Aguilera. She throws her voice around like a dead chicken on a tetherball stake. I mean, truly, it is belabored and ridiculous. The judges applaud and salivate. Kara says, wow, Jasmine has a really big voice. I didn't know that. Did you know that?

Ricky Braddy: The wildebeest has licked Ricky's head on both sides. He sings "Superstitious" and is completely overpowered by the synthesizer -- a terrible mix. Maybe it played better in the room, but in the mid range, the instruments just dominated him and left him apologizing and gasping on the stage. And, excuse me, but, does his white button-down shirt have elastic across the hem in the back? He's wearing tight black jeans, a banker vest, a black tie, a white shirt with an elastic hem. The judges rant and rave and froth and foam with adoration.

It's clear that they have already picked their finalists going in, and they are matching their comments to their choices, not to the performances in front of them. I'm so disillusioned. I'm spending the commercial break speculating if the tooth fairy is not real either.

Tatiana del Toro: Tatiana has a minor mental breakdown on tape, declaring that she has found love, and she loves singing so much, and that she's ready to sing for America. Then she sings "Saving All My Love For You," the only song she knows. Paula points out that she has a new accent -- Tatiana garbles that she's like Jorge, she thinks in Spanish when she's emotional. Like Jorge, you know, Jorge that got voted into the top 12! Exactly like Jorge! Kara calls this "The Adventures of Tatiana" and wonders which Tatiana we're seeing today. Then we get this glorious dialogue:

Kara: At least she's not crying and holding her heart.
Simon: She will be.

So true. Tatiana goes down on her knees beside Ryan, then Ryan goes down on his knees when Tatiana gets up, then Tatiana goes back down on her knees beside Ryan, and someone says the inevitable, "This is a family show!" and WOW, awkward.

Anoop Dawg: Anoop sings a kind of gruesome karaoke version of "My Prerogative" which is a stupid song, and he does it nervously and with great arm gesturing and stomping around. Simon calls him an enthusiastic dog. Kara says she wanted to DANCE! Dance even! Anoop made Kara want to dance! Paula told him he was relevant, yes, in his bright blue polo shirt and his physicist's haircut, he is relevant. Let's just take a broad guess that they have decided to put Anoop into the finals.

Jasmine is through to the top 12. Ricky is not. He didn't show "enough personality."

Megan and Tatiana come out together. Tatiana's eyebrows are making out with each other. When she hears the news that Megan is going through and she isn't, her nose falls off. She grabs it and reattaches it, making sure it's solidly on there, not going anywhere again. Paula calls her over to the judges dais, where Tatiana stands before her with head bowed and receives the news that she is loved, she is going places, she is going to be an actor. Then she is allowed to kiss Paula's ring.

So, we have Jasmine and Megan, and then my DVR cuts out. I see from my helpful friend the internet that Anoop and Matt Giraud also both made it through. What a fraud, what a messy simulation, what a grinding, thumping, broke-leg charade. All four of the people they chose had been pimped heavily on earlier shows, clearly the judges really wanted those four in the finals and they were going to muscle them on whether we like it or not. Whatever.

Labels: american idol, recap, summary, tatiana del toro, wild card

I dare you to come up with a more feckless boob than the Bachelor. Seriously. He is the epitome of feckless boobery.

Here's your line, idiot: "Baby, you were right. I made a mistake. The reason I couldn't give you a good reason for ditching you is because there was *no good reason.* It was a stupid, assheaded thing to do. I got confused because of the show and I picked the wrong girl. That was dumb, and now I know it. I should have listened to you! You are it for me, all the way to the ground, and I want to spend the rest of my life making up to you for that stupid, awful thing that I did on television. Let's get married."

Instead it was this repeated ad nauseum: "I felt a connection with you. I was falling for you from the beginning. I am falling in love with you. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. She is a great girl."

Are you KIDDING me? Do people really talk like this? I wanted to reach through the television and smack him in the head with a pile of bricks. I truly hope that Molly pulls out his eyebrows one by one, runs him over with a Jeep, and then leaves him for dead in a garbage can behind an Outback Steakhouse.

Labels: bachelor, jason mesnick, molly malaney

Okay, I didn't like "Dogma" either. It's not that I'm prudish or can't appreciate a good satire, but "Hamlet 2" bored me, literally to sleep. That's the same way I felt about "Dogma," I realize. Bored. Steve Coogan (he was the little tiny Roman guy in "Night at the Museum") plays a failed actor who is now a drama teacher. But, OH NO! The drama program is in trouble. It's going to be eliminated from the school! Just when a bunch more kids have signed up for drama class, as shop and computer classes have also been eliminated!

So what do we do in a movie, if the drama program is in trouble? That's right. We put on a show to save it! Do we all have to pull together, and overcome our differences, and in the process do we all learn a little bit about ourselves?

I don't know, because right at that point I turned to Dan and said, "I didn't know this was going to be a movie about saving the community center." And then I fell asleep. I also didn't know the movie was going to be about children, or rather 26-year-olds pretending to be children. I also didn't know that Catherine Keener was going to be given such slim material to work on, not that she can't work with less, but still. A little brutal.

Good points in the movie: Elizabeth Shue plays herself, having given up Hollywood to become a nurse. Catherine Keener counts as a good point. She is always hilarious and perfect. Steve Coogan manages to be likeable in spite of the overwrought situation.

To me, it played like a Monty Python skit writ American and writ about a hundred times too long. Coogan definitely seemed to be channeling Terry Gilliam at times, but the character couldn't bear the weight of the entire movie. But then, I didn't watch the whole thing. Maybe I'm letting my bias against movies in which the community center must be saved hold me back from watching a great comedy. What do you think. Should I watch the rest of it?

Labels: hamlet 2, movie review, reviews