Sligh(ted) by American Idol

This is one of the most difficult decisions I’ve ever had to make– right up there with choosing which struggling show to vote for in Eonline’s Save that Show poll– but it must be done. I can’t go on like this. I just can’t do it anymore! Gwen Stefani?! Tony Bennett?! Honestly, I barely survived Manilow and Estefan unscathed. What next? Hasselhoff Week?

I suppose I always believed you could change, that we could go back to the way things used to be. But the excitement? the originality? Totally gone. It’s all about the scandals and catering to the advertisers and the relentless onslaught of uber untalented, delusional contestants who inexplicably remain on the show, torturing us with their hideous caterwauling, week after week after week after week… You promised me that Kelly Pickler would be the last, that this year things would be different, but you lied! That’s right! I KNOW about Sanjaya! Heck, everybody knows! You flaunt him, with his cute, flippy hair and his neverending bevy of tween girls (eh, and probably quite a few boys) who cry and scream “Sanjaya 4-EVAH!” and vote vote VOTE ’til their little tweenaged fingers BLEED… And I just can’t take it anymore.

I’m sorry, American Idol, but it’s over. I just can’t see you anymore. Not like this. It’s just too painful. I’m erasing you from my TiFaux. I hope someday you can understand.

P.S.  Blake and his pants are awesome. Jordin and her hair are awesome.  Lakisha and Melinda are idiot savant awesome. That is all I have to say about that. Wait! And Ryan needs to never do that pony-hawk thing with his hair again never EVER. I’m serious. Shist ain’t right. Okay. Now I’m done.

Veronica Mars REWIND: Papa’s Cabin

Hey, everybody, Sheriff La– I mean, Michael Muhney is in the hizzouse!

It’s my Interview with a Famous Actor Dude debut. No, seriously. Watch! You’ll see!

So… in this episode of Veronica Mars, we get back to the show’s gritty noir roots. Flashbacks and voice-overs, mistresses and hookers, betrayal, revenge, and murder. It’s like a game of Clue… except in this game, (SPOILER ALERT) it’s Tim the TA in the Dean’s Office with a gun.

With Remember by Black Lab and Has Been Avenue by Bryon Friedman.

Enjoy! As usual, as soon as it’s up, feel free to click over to VEOH to leave a comment. Because it makes us look POPULAR, that’s why! Plus, I’m still clinging to the dream of some VM swag.

Have I told you lately…

The other evening TGIM walked into the girls’ room, where he found TD and Hannah sitting on the floor by the bed, smothering their pet gerbils with some love and affection.

In his big, gruff, Wouldn’t It Be Funny If I Startled Them So Much They Peed Their Pants voice, TGIM boomed out, “Hey! What’s going on in here?!”

Unfazed, TD replied, “Um, Hannah just told me she loved me.” Then he flashed TGIM his “’sup wit dat?” face.

“Really?” TGIM glanced at Hannah and smiled. “Well, how sweet.”

Hannah shrugged. “Yeah… that was an awkward moment.”

American Idol: One Down, Eleven to GO!

Do you SEE? THIS is why I didn’t want to be sucked back in. THIS! Hey, you ASKED for it. Don’t blame me. Just… take some Tylenol. That always seems to work for TGIM.

Okay, so I’ll just recap as I watch, okay? So, here goes…

Oh my, my, my, isn’t Ryan looking spiffy tonight? ‘Sup, Ryan?

Honestly. This intro is too damn long. Hey! I’ve never noticed this, but the intro has a whole Guitar Hero vibe going on… Huh. Well, at least there’s that. I can totally rock “Surrender” now. Did you know? For reals.

I don’t know any of these contes—ooooh look! Blake! It’s Blake! Hi, Blake! Looking so very cute tonight!

F-U-G-L-Y, Paula’s necklace ain’t got no alibi, it’s UGLY, yeah, yeah…

British Invasion? But no Beatles? Or Monkees? Whatever. I want Davy Jones!

Oooh, I’m kind of loving Lulu. Like, a lot. She’s sassy.

Okay, remember that thing I said about the intro? That “too damn long” thing? Ditto this opening montage-slash-documentary o’ zzzzzzzz. Bored now.

And here we go with the singing!

Okay, some chick named Haley… something is about to sing: Ooooh, I know this song! “Tell him, tell him, tell—” Good lord, woman, put those away before you hurt somebody! And I’ll have to consult the Fug girls, but I’m pretty sure dressy short-shorts? On national television? With heels and a gold… um… (sort of ) top thingy? Total fashion no-no. And bras are good. But girlfriend, you got it going ON in the legs department. Oh, you shameless hussy, you are TOTALLY getting all eye-flirty with Simon, and the dirty dog is all “Yeah, baby, yeah!” Wait, vocals? Forgettable. I had to re-read this just to remember that you sang at all, actually. See? Wait. What just happened?

Oh, dear. “You naughty little thing”? Oh, no you DID NOT, Simon.

Chris: He wants to nail a song? Well, I hope he at least buys the song a drink first. Ba dum bum. Aren’t British accents fun? I wish I had a convincing British accent. Then I’d walk around all day saying things like “mind the gap!’ and “fancy a fag?” Which… awesome? Well, well, well. Chris, I bet your song is totally smoking a cigarette right now and saying “Was it good for you, too?” Nice! But no eye-sex with the camera, please. It’s embarrassing. Oh, and grow your hair out. Then you’ll look like Blake.

Speaking of… blah blah blah… oh shut it, judges, where is BLAKE?!

Halle Berry cut her hair again?! Wow! Wait, my bad. That’s Stephanie. Well, isn’t she darling? Okay, I’m really not caring for this performance. And what is up with the freaking necklaces on this show?! It’s like I always tell TGIM, “Sometimes smaller is better.” Seriously! But he STILL won’t get rid of his bulky old iPod and upgrade to a Nano. What’s up with that? Those suckers fit right into your POCKET! That’s all I’m saying! But whatev.

Ryan is blatantly shilling phones and could he be any geek— BLAKE! IT’S BLAKE!

Hi, Blake! And you’re… spitting at the dude who’s trying to help you. Well, that’s just rude, Blake. But I still love you. And your pants. I love your pants. And I love the way you dance in your pants. Vocals? Not the best, but still! Totally enjoyable performance. And not just because I love you. And your pants. Simon agrees, but I think it’s just because he’s envisioning the money he’ll make when you bring sexy back for the THIRD time.

RYAN! DUDE! Oh, dear God in heaven, make him stop! Dancing? “Beat-boxing”?! (yes, ironic quotes) Wow, Ryan, just… attempt to be cool, man. Honestly, have you no shame?

Contrived conundrum, thy name is Lakisha: Hey. I wonder if diamonds really are forever? I mean, what about nuclear holocaust, huh? What then? (Wait, isn’t she supposed to be one of the good ones? Because this kind of sucks.) Um, I LOVE the color of your dress, Lakisha. Seriously. It’s very… green and stuff. What shade is that? Moss? Chartreuse? RRRRRREEEEEEE! Who in the what now?! Did they say “a million dollars worth of diamonds”?! A million?! Run, Lakisha! RUN!

Phil: Well, check you out. A million super good Moby jokes just flew through my head, but I’m pretty sure that—late to the party as I am—they’d be totally played out by now. That being said—Baldy? That was kind of awesome. And I don’t even LIKE tobacco, so there you go.

I’m still loving Lulu, but I think all the glass in my kitchen just shattered. Why’d she just SHREIK like that? Hey! Just feelin’ the music, Lulu? Well, CUT IT OUT.

Jordin: LOVE THE HAIR. Wear it like that always, mm’kay? Except when it’s raining because sometimes you need to realize that there are some forces in this world even bigger than a fabulous blowout, babe. Take it from me. I know things. Oh, and HELLO, that was truly AMAZING. I love you, too! I LOOOOOOVE YOOOOU! Aw, shoot. Sorry. That was just me feelin’ the music. I’m sure you’re a very nice person, but I barely know you. Bonus points for making Simon suicidal, though.

Oh, no. Sanjaya. I’ve heard about you, dude. Please. Be gentle. I’m just getting over a cold. My eardrums are all tickly and frail… okay, seriously, America? SERIOUSLY? It’s like watching a bad high school musical! (But not the Disney one because that one rocked the hizzouse.)… Hello. What the HELL is wrong with that little girl?! It’s bad, but not THAT bad, right? I mean, I’m only cringing a little bit—dude, Sanjaya, what the?! Don’t go singing in her face like that! She’s obviously overwrought. Or, not so much. Apparently she’s all, “Ooooh! Me and Sanjaya 4 EVAH!” Well, there’s no accounting for taste. And the jacket IS nice. And the hair. Okay, you’re just the cutest little thing, but dude, you CAN’T SING. I just thought you should hear it from someone who doesn’t care.

Gina: Well, at least we’re sure YOU’RE wearing a bra *cough**Haley**cough*, you know what I’m saying? This is weird. I feel like I’m listening to Kelly Clarkson. But Kelly Clarkson when she’s had a cold for a week and just ate a big ol’ bowl of nachos. I don’t know why. I just imagine that Kelly really likes nachos. As for the vocals, I REALLY love your hair! With the streaks of pretty color?

Huh. I really like the word “rubbish.” I shall use it whenever the opportunity arises.

Chris: Totally reminds me of my youngest brother. And I mean that in a good way, bro, so step off! Hee, I just thought how funny it is that if you added a “t” to the end of Chris’ last name, you’d get “Slight” and… ironic? FUN! And you can definitely sing! But I’m kind of distracted by the paisley. I mean, why don’t people wear paisley anymore? Paisley was big in the 80’s. BIG. I had this ESPRIT bag that– hold the phone. Did Simon just say “You did your thing”?! Well, I’ll be. Someone check, but I think monkeys just flew out of Wayne’s butt. Okay, I’ve decided. Lose the soul patch and we can be the best of good friends… and then you had to go and say “Fro Patrol!” didn’t you? *sigh* It was good while it lasted, man. Somewhere Taylor’s all, “WOO! Oh no he did not! did not! did not! Woo! SOOOUUL PATROOOOOOOL!” And I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.

OH. MY. GOODNESS. RYAN! Did you just do what I think you did?! On national television, no less?! Oh, you dirty DOG. Um, is it weird that I have a deeper respect for you now? Yes? Whatever, that was freaking AWESOME. I think Simon almost had a coronary, right there. Hey. Will there be fines?

Well, “sweet lord Jesus” seems to be on your side, Eliza, I mean Melinda Doolittle, I tell you what—and your stylist, too, because don’t you look so nice this evening?

Okay, so listen, no question she’s the best singer in the competition. Does anyone really believe otherwise? She’s got a phenomenal voice. No one can touch her, vocals-wise. But will she bring SEXY back? Huh? Will she? Think about it. That’s all I’m saying.

Oh, look! Crying Girl is back! Will someone PLEASE give that girl an ice cream cone or a cinnamon donut or something? Good lord, she’s a WRECK. It’s hysterical. I mean, she’s hysterical. With the tears? On national TV? In front of God and Sanjaya and EVERYONE?! I just hope her parents have money put away because those therapy bills are going to be STEEP.

Okay, so who’s going home?:

Sanjaya SHOULD, but if I were a bettin’ man, I’d put my money Stephanie or Haley. Utterly forgettable. But my opinion is merely rubbish. What do you say, America?

Strange things are afoot at the Circle K

So much excitement ’round these here parts, y’all! You’ll never guess what is going on behind the scenes here at DWM. NEVER.

Okay, that’s what you call a teaser. Stay tuned.

In other news, I have been raked over the coals for promising to recap American Idol and TOTALLY reneging. I COULD tell you that TGIM went batshist crazy and erased all the AI’s I had saved on my TiFaux (which is true) and then someone who must absolutely hate me somehow screwed up the record settings on my TiFaux, apparently so he/she wouldn’t miss that terribly vital Naked Brothers’ Band special (also true), but at the end of the day these are just excuses. Lame excuses. I let you down, AI fans! I let you down, America! Oh, the SHAME.

I’m going to try and make it up to you, guys. I promise. As far as I can tell, the contestants are lackluster at best, but I will persevere! Especially since Beatbox Boy is kinda hawt. And I love him. And, false modesty aside (please, girlfriend), who doesn’t like Eliza Doolittle? She’s a classic. But Lakeshaniquafreaka needs to drop the attitude. I’m just saying. Listen here, Lakeshifreakaniqua, Simon will CUT YOU. Don’t think he won’t. He’s sick of this crap.

So the TiFaux is programmed and at the ready! Bring it on, “you’re just being you and you’re so beautiful and you touched me in my special secret soul” Paula Abdul. Bring it on, Randy “shut up about the Dawg Pound already” Jackson. Bring it ON, Simon Cowell and my wee Ryan. But stop with the ho-yay already. Good lord.

I’m on it. Really. I am. I think. Probably.

(Okay, now will you stop calling and chewing me out, Mom?)

I apologize in advance for my fangirliness…

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Sheriff Lamb saw my Veronica Mars Rewind tribute! SHERIFF! LAMB! Of the NICE! BUTT! AKA: MICHAEL frakkin’ MUHNEY! And he COMMENTED! I kid you NOT!

*just breathe… breathe…*

Phew. Better now. But seriously, what a sweet guy, taking time out of his busy Famous Actor Dude day and whatnot to mingle with the common peeps.

*sigh*

What a guy.

Michael Muhney? You rock. SOLID.

“Hey, buddy, this is a family place, put the mouse back in the house!”

SCENE

Dining room in Cat’s home. The table is littered with pizza boxes, breadsticks containers, and buffalo wings. Bottles of IBC rootbeer are strewn about, half-empty. The ceiling fan is on, its soft hum the only sound heard over the rustling of napkins and the munching of pizza.

CAT, TD, and HANNAH sit at the table having dinner. TGIM walks in with ALLI. She is holding a pet store box containing a brand new baby gerbil.

ALLI: [displaying box] I got a gerbil!

General “oohs” and “aahs” ensue.

ALLI: [conversationally] One of them I thought had babies, but it was actually only his tentacles.

Silence. Then…

EVERYONE: Bwahahaha!

ALLI: No, really, guys.

More laughter.

ALLI: I’m not kidding! Those tentacles were huge.

Random Thoughts on a SLOW Friday

A thought struck me this morning afer a random person smiled at me and sang out, “TGIF!” as she passed me in the hall. Now, I didn’t know this person from Nate Dogg (no, seriously, who the hell is Nate Dogg?!), and there she was, just throwing around “TGIF”– all cheerful and whatnot– without any provocation whatsoever. Seriously. Okay, I smiled at her, but that is beside the point. I can’t help it that I have a friendly nature. Doesn’t mean I want every Tom, Dick, and Harry TGIF-ing me all over the place. A gal’s got standards. High standards.

As I continued down the hall, puzzling over why a perfect stranger felt compelled to throw the TGIF-bomb at me, it occurred to me.

Hold the phone, I thought, what if she TGIFed me and I was a person who hated Fridays? Loathed ‘em good? Would I be thankful then? Would I? Huh? NO! I mean, I personally love Fridays and breathe a sigh of happiness whenever they roll around, but it is possible there are certain people out there who absolutely love their jobs and thus are offended when people go hatin’ on their workweek like that. Certain people who’re all, “Hey! Weekends suck!” Right? Or people who secretly want to shout out, “DIF!” or “Damn! It’s Friday!” because they prefer Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and/or Thursday, but they keep it to themselves because they don’t want to be persecuted for this preference? Well? You don’t know! You don’t know!

So in an effort to be more politically correct, I think we should say, “TGIF, unless you have a problem with that.” I thought about adding, “…in which case, I apologize for offending you,” but it just wasn’t as catchy.

There. Never let it be said that Cat is not sensitive to the equal rights of weirdos.

People who need people are the LUCKIEST people…

Confession:

Television has literally ruined me for company. No, seriously. You can’t take me anywhere. It’s a burden TGIM bears with fortitude, I’ll give him that.

How has television ruined me, you ask? Well, allow me to illustrate:

The other night I found myself in a darkened high school auditorium with several hundred other proud parents, enjoying a high school choir concert in which my son sang with several other elementary-aged students hand-picked from schools in the area. Yes, I said enjoying. I know, right? No one was more surprised than I was, I assure you. I was overwhelmed with motherly pride, you see. They were actually GOOD. And seeing my baby boy up there just singing his little heart out might have made me—perhaps!—a little misty-eyed. What?! Am I made of stone?! If you prick me, do I not bleed?! So just STEP. OFF.

So there I sat with hundreds of other parent, choked up, fighting a losing battle with my tear ducts, when they moved into the grand finale–a neat little countermelody piece performed by the kids and accompanied by the entire ensemble of high school choirs.

Oh, well that’s just great. I thought. Why didn’t I bring tissue?! Stupid. STUPID!

(As an aside, mentally castigating oneself apparently is very effective in curtailing embarrassing crying fits. FYI.)

As the two conductors raised their hands and the music swelled, an audible hush whipped through the auditorium. The expectation for greatness was palpable.

I couldn’t tear my eyes off Tanner as he and his classmates began to sing. It was so beautiful, so melodic! And the high school choirs joined in with their song and it was so beautiful and I was overwhelmed with the sheer—

Hold the phone. Are they singing I Believe?

“I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows…”

Without any kind of warning whatsoever, a giggle fit hit me, which of course, totally ruined the viewing experience for me… and likely for the parents who kept shooting dirty looks my way, which… rude.

Here’s the part which explains how television ruined me for company. Oh, yes. You thought I forgot, didn’t you? Admit it! You were all, “Oh! Cat’s going off on a tangent again! Ha! Ha! That silly Cat! She just gets all crazy with the verbiage and totally looses her train of thought! Woo!” But I didn’t. So there.

Because what was supposed to be a beautiful song (and it was beautiful—thank goodness for video) triggered a two-decade-old memory of a hilarious Laverne and Shirley episode in which Shirley (or was it Laverne?) sings the same song—poorly! complete with hand gestures!—while dressed in some crazy leotard flower costume.

“I believe that somewhere in the darkest night, a candle gloooooooooows!”

I looked around for someone to share the joke with, forgetting I was there by myself. In retrospect, this was a GOOD thing, as I was able to quickly grow up and shake it off. Mostly.

When I got home, I immediately rang up my mom and explained that I had just been to Tanner’s concert.

“What is the first thing that pops into your head when you hear the song that goes, ‘I believe for every drop of rain that falls, a flower grows’?”

“I Believe? Oh, that’s a beautiful song.”

I have to admit, I was disappointed. I had been hoping that she would have had a similar experience. I mean, what kind of person can sit giggling through a heartfelt rendition of a song like “I believe”?! Sung by impressionable small children! And sensitive teenagers! A person unfit for company, that’s who!

Embarrassed by my immaturity, I explained what had happened. And wouldn’t you know it? My momma began to laugh.

“Oh! That’s right! Don’t feel bad. Every time I hear the song People all I can hear is Carol Burnett belting out ‘People! People who need people are the luuuuuckiest people in the woooooooooooooooooooorld!’” Then my mom laughed so enthusiastically I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Which isn’t unusual, actually, but I thought I’d mention it. “Oh! She was horrible!”

This of course reminded me that the first thing that usually comes to mind when someone mentions Gone With the Wind is the Went With the Wind sketch Carol Burnett did—as Scarlett—where she gracefully descended a staircase in a dress made of drapes… with the curtain rod across her shoulders. Hoo! Breaks me up every time! Totally ruins that moment in the movie, I tell you what. Well, it’s either that memory or the thought of Kermit’s famous “If frog’s couldn’t hop, I’d be gone with the Schwinn!” CLASSIC.

Hmm… come to think of it, I suppose you could say that this whole inappropriate-laughter-triggered-by-decades-old-memories-of-tv-shows-and-variety-hours thing is hereditary. So, technically… television AND my momma have ruined me for company.

Eh. What can you do?

You can’t argue DNA.

Veronica Mars REWIND: Mars, Bars (a special tribute)

Aaw, goodbye, Sheriff Lamb. Though I never knew you at all, I can say this… your candle burned out long before your legend ever did… er, will. Or something.

This bearclaw is for you, Don!

Featuring Strange Day in Mexico by The Clintons, and Remember by Black Lab.

(Click on over to VEOH! Click! Okay? Just do it! Do it, do it, do it! Click!… Do it.)

He’s not heavy, he’s my brother.

It’s all TGIM’s fault.

He just had to have the Accord today because apparently the Miata was not good enough for him. What? He couldn’t just shove all three kids in the passenger seat of the Miata? There’s a seatbelt! It’s long enough! But oh, no. Heaven forbid. Honestly. Can you say “selfish”?

I gave in and took the Miata, completely messing up my routine, but whatever. I’m just cool like that. I’m a giver.

It wasn’t until I was already on my way that I noticed there were no CD’s in the car. No tunes. And a gal needs tunes on her drive into work. Five in the morning is the perfect time for tunes. Preferably upbeat tunes because did I mention it’s five in the morning? Way early? Still dark out? Yes? You equal all comfy and snuggly in bed… and I be hatin’? Just so we’re clear.

So I was all, “No tunes? No enthusiastic though not necessarily tonally correct sing-a-longs? No chair-Axl Rose’ing to the grooves? No air guitaring?! Not that I do that?! Because it would be dangerous?! The hell?!”

This lack of tuneage created a rare opportunity for quiet reflection and meditation. But believe me when I say that I don’t like to do any heavy thinking on my drive into work. Nope, not a fan. Five in the morning is too early for heavy thoughts. Heavy thoughts bring a person down, yo? DOWN. And, seriously, I’ve already been awake since four. I don’t need any more downers.

I lasted about a minute and a half before the steady hum of the engine got to me, all mocking me with its steady humminess and whatnot. And that’s when it happened.

I turned on the radio.

I know, right?! The RADIO!

To make matters worse, TGIM had been listening to an AM channel. AM?! Good lord, man. Now just because I can’t stop TGIM from cluttering his mind with frivolous stuff like football stats and political nonsense doesn’t mean I have to join him. Tunes! That’s what I’m talking about! I tried to switch to FM– where the tunes live!– but my fingers were clumsy– so cold!– and unfamiliar with the knobs– not my usual car!– and I ended up scanning instead.

That’s when I overheard a debate about whether or not convicted child molesters should be allowed to attend church because children usually make up a large portion of a church’s congregation..

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!

Oh, but not literally. That was a figurative screech. A mental screech. Not a car-braking-suddenly-on-the-beltway screech. For reals.

Because… what?! Damn it. Couldn’t change the channel now, now could I? I was stuck.

And what really captured my attention was that a majority of the callers were dead-set against letting known pedophiles attend church services. “I’d have to switch churches if my pastor let a pedophile attend!” one lady said. “I’ve got three children to think about!” Another woman remarked that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy services because she’d be worried every time her children were out of her sight, perhaps at Sunday school or Bible class. One man insisted that church was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of children to pedophiles. He did suggest, however, that if pedophiles wanted to have God in their lives, they– like shut-ins– could have church services brought to them in their home.

Heavy thinking ensued.

Because the truth is… there is a convicted child molester in the congregation of my church. And this bothers me. A LOT. And make no mistake: the only reason I do know about this man’s predilection for young girls is that TGIM’s line of work puts him in the way of these people on a regular basis. When I asked the leaders of our congregation whether or not they were aware of this man’s status as a sex offender, they assured me that, yes, they did know, but since he must be accompanied by his wife (or someone else) at all times while at church, it’s all good.

Oh, really?

I thought about what bothered me more: the fact that this guy is allowed to be around my children on a weekly basis, or the fact that nobody saw fit to tell me– a mother of three– that this man sitting two pews over is a pedophile. After thinking much too heavily for five in the morning, I decided on the latter. Love the sinner, hate the sin (love the sinner, hate the sin, love the sinner, hate the sin, love the sinner, hate the sin…), that’s what they say, right? Not that I’m judging the callers, though, because on the most basic level, I don’t want him around me or my children, either. Period. Never ever. I want him far, faaaaaar away, in fact. But I suppose that not many need God in their lives more than these predators, I tell you what, so more power to ‘em. But forewarned is forearmed, that is all I’m saying.

By the time I got to work my head hurt from all that heavy thinking and I felt frustrated– angry, even– with myself for not doing more to alert other parents at church about the sex offender in our midst.

All in all, I think it’s safe to say that I would have rather just had my tunes.

Stupid radio.

It’s all TGIM’s fault.

It was right in front of my nose.

Conversation after a tight hug and a smoochy kiss from my Alli girl:

“Phew! Somebody had Honey Nut Cheerios for breakfast.”

“Hey, Momma, how’d you know what I had for breakfast?… Oh, was it out in plain smell?”

Daisyhead Alli says, “Happy Dr. Seuss Day, y’all!”