The Heart Never Forgets. Thanks A LOT American Idol!

(NOTE: If you have read my blog for a while, or you know, actually KNOW me, you may—perhaps—know a little something about my forbidden relationship with a certain Secret Greek Idol Luvah. I think I love him. You have been warned.)

So TGIM’s youngest sister, Candice, and her husband are living in Manhattan for the next three months while he attends training for his new job with the devil. I meant to say Goldman Sachs. And just so we’re clear, I already asked her if she had ever read The Firm and she assured me she had indeed, and I was all, “Okay, then,” and she was like, “Okaaaaaay…” so I wash my hands of it.

Anyway, Manhattan! Home of the Broadway Theatre district! And other noteworthy stuff, of course— such as Wall Street and the United Nations, not to mention cultural landmarks like the Met, where one might stumble upon world-famous Vermeer paintings or Bernini sculptures or Gossip Girl’s Queen Bee and her entourage eating their lunch on the steps!— but mainly, Manhattan has Broadway.

And Candice lives in Manhattan, albeit temporarily. Like, right there in the Broadway Theatre district, oh, yes, a wonderful place of joy and joyness that people visit in order to attend theatrical performances such as Wicked and West Side Story and The Lion King and Mamma Mia! and the like.

Do you see where I am going with this? Do you? Do you?

If not, allow me to clarify. See, we totally miss Candice and, come to think of it, I have never even met her husband, so we absolutely must visit them in Manhattan. You know, in NYC? Where the Broadway lives?! The whole Broadway aspect being secondary to the hanging-out-with-family thing, I might add. Clearly. Because family is IMPORTANT.

So TGIM was checking some online sources for tickets to, say, Wicked or perhaps The Lion King— shows we could attend as a FAMILY (which, as stated previously, is super important)—when he stumbled across a newer show which upon first glance looked somewhat promising. From the other room I heard him yell, “Hey, Cat! Ever heard of Rock of Ages?”

I had not, and told him so.

“It’s some sort of rock musical! It has classic rock songs from the 80s!”

While I was trying to think of a zingy comeback to him throwing the word “classic” all willy-nilly-like in front of “rock songs from the 80s,” TGIM must have clicked on a video clip because I heard the opening bars of “Don’t Stop Believing” blaring from the vicinity of the computer. Not the Glee version, mind you, but the old-school version. The arena-rock version. Naturally, I started boppin’ my head to the beat. Because I am cool that way, a’ight?! Shut up. I AM cool. Plus, Journey?! I DARE you not to bop to Journey! Take THAT, haters!

Anyway, the first verse began, “Just a small town girl…”

I may or may not have scared the living daylights out of my husband when I– perhaps!– came tearing in from the other room, wild-eyed and screaming, “HEY! HEEEEEEEEEY! That’s Constantine! COOOONSTANTIIINE!” Maybe that’s how it happened. It’s all fuzzy. It’s possible I stood up too quickly or something. That would account for the hyperventilating, right? I’m just saying it’s a BLUR. And TGIM lies a lot, so you totally cannot ask him.

In any event, guess who was on the computer screen? Singing and whatnot! Just guess who! Constantine Maroulis, that’s who! Yes! My Secret Greek Idol Luvah, right there on my computer, totally rocking the eyeliner and the pretty highlights and the greasy hair and acting all smoldery and shizz. YOU know. “Doing his thing”? Er, “dawg”? While singing JOURNEY! I mean, was it my BIRTHDAY?!

Honestly. It’s a wonder I didn’t faint on the spot.

(Thanks again to Mrtl for the t-shirt. You still ROCK.)

Sadly, I didn’t see Constantine bust out any of his legendary ki-YAH! kicks or awesome crouch-landings in the clip, but hey… one can dream, y’all. One can dream.

So… wow. My sweet Constantine. On Broadway. BROADfreakingWAY! Who knew, back when he graced the American Idol audience with the rocker screeches, the camera lovin’, the hair tossing, the duck-lip pouting, the cheesy grins, and the somewhat polarizing KISS tongues, that my Secret Greek Idol Luvah had the star power to make it to Broadway?! It’s madness! Who knew?!

Oh, wait. That’s right. I did. But I won’t say I told you so. Much. (I told you so!)

*sigh*

In the spirit of full disclosure, I do not see a scenario in which I could convince TGIM and the kiddos to go see this musical with me, you know, as a FAMILY, over shows such as Wicked or The Lion King. But still… good on you, Constantine! Good on you.

(Call me.)

American Idol is the Devil. No, Really.

Who in the what now? Kristin Chenoweth was at the American Idol auditions in Orlando?! The ones that aired last night?! As a GUEST JUDGE?! Kristin C?! Olive Snook?! April Rhodes?! What?! Who?! WHAT?!

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

Whatever. I don’t even care. American Idol and I are still SO over. So what if I missed one of my favorite broadway slash television stars sitting in as a guest judge? Big whoop. I am certainly not going to spend the evening scouring YouTube for clips or anything lame like that, I can tell you that. Honestly. Because I don’t even care that I missed one of my favorite broadway slash television stars, Kristin Freaking Chenoweth, being all judgy and whatnot. On American Idol. Even if her appearance on the show would make for a fabulous AI recap. Because American Idol and I ARE NOT SPEAKING.

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

No. I will not be taken in again– not even for Kristin Chenoweth, y’all!– because I have not forgotten how American Idol strung me along for years and years before finally revealing itself as a sham and a liar and a time-suck of epic proportions! I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that relationship and where did it get me?! Huh?! Nowhere, bucko, that’s where! And I can’t get all those late-night hours spent dialing and voting and recapping BACK, no sir! That’s all I’m saying.

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

Totally not checking YouTube and the American Idol Web site on Fox to find video clips from last night. Nope. But if somebody just sent me some random, anonymous links, and I was all, “Oooh, I wonder what THIS link opens?” and I clicked on the random, anonymous links and they happened to take me to some awesome clips from last night’s show featuring Kristin Chenoweth as a guest judge, well then, what’s a gal gonna do, you know? Sometimes things just happen like that, all random and whatnot. Understand? IT COULD HAPPEN. But I won’t be looking around for any clips. Nope.

Because American Idol is the devil.

Basic Blog Skillz 101

I’m kicking it Old School. Or is it “taking it back to the beginning”? Starting anew, perhaps? Is anew even a word? It doesn’t LOOK like a word. Maybe I’m thinking of afresh. A’fresh? A’new? Whatever. English is stupid. I’m switching. Hablare’ espanol ahora!

Okay, as my choices of foreign punctuation are limited on my iPhone… Ich werde Deutsch jetzt sprechen! Or something!

Darn. My choices of conversational German phrases are even more limited than my iPhone’s foreign punctuation options, so FINE. I will stick with stupid English for now. Under protest! Because it’s STUPID.

I had a point earlier. I’d better start anew.

Oh! Yes. With the afreshness of blogging. Blog Skillz 101. I’m so totally focused now. See, I’m out of practice. You know, with the blogging? It used to be that I would see something, or hear a noise, or eat a yummy pastry of some sort, and BOOM! Blog idea! But the blogging senses? When they are neglected? Underused? Cast aside, if you will? They get rusty.

I know, right?! I totally thought it would be like riding a bike, you know? Just hop back on and pedal like crazy, and VROOOM! Off you go! A blur of blonde pigtails and pink pedal pushers, with sparkly iridescent ribbons dancing in the sunlight as they stream from the handlebars…

You know, like that.

But NO. It has to be DIFFICULT. Like, what do I write about? Why aren’t those moments jumping out at me? The blog moments? The ones that practically scream, “Blog me! Good LORD, what are you waiting for?!” and I’m like, “Okay! I will! Shut up now!” and they are all, “Fine!” and I’m like, “Fine!” and then we kiss and make up because, honestly, it’s silly to fight with those moments because they are only trying to HELP.

So I am going to have to consciously LOOK for those moments and practice BLOG writing (as opposed to the OTHER type of writing I do all day long, which, incidentally, is one of the main factors contributing to my blogging slackage… just so’s you know).

So, yeah. Basic Blog Skillz 101. If anyone has any suggestions for curriculum, please let me know. Except if you’re going to say AI recaps because WE ARE NOT SPEAKING. And I don’t have cable, but that is secondary to the We Broke Up thing. I might be amenable to Chuck recaps, though, because DUDE. The TWoP Chuck recaps? Suck. I know, right? It’s a major disappointment in my life. Right up there with the fact that I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier. AND I didn’t get accepted into the Evil League of Evil. HUGE disappointment there, obviously.

But I’ve registered for the class and I’m a totally quick study– and a bit of a kiss-ass, truth be told– so I should be fine! It should be fine.

Right?

Go gentle into that good night. Go on!

Sometimes? I get this naggy, achy feeling, deep down, deep in my heart, and I am struck by an almost overwhelming desire to walk away from it all. And by “it all” I mean the world wide web. Just to be clear. I’m not referring to my job, or my television shows, or TGIM and the kiddos. I mean, I don’t want all y’all thinking I’m going to pull a Marie Osmond and leave the nanny with credits cards and blank checks, all like, “I’m OUT of here!” For one, I don’t have a nanny. So, you know, there’s that. Also, Chuck and Heroes and Ugly Betty are back, so I can’t just pick up and GO, right? Madness, that’s what it would be. Sheer, unadulterated madness! Chuck is in 3D this week! I know, right? 3D! AND Joss Whedon’s new show, Dollhouse, is set to air in a week or so. Like I would miss that! Hello? It shall be awesometastic. Oh, yes it shall.

So… when I say walk away from it all, I mean the web. The Blogosphere. To simply drift away from the Twitter and the Facebook. To walk away from the vidcast and the blog. It’s been a good run! Who knew back in 2004 that I would still be here, here in the Blogosphere, writing and filming and friending and tweeting? Who knew? Certainly not I. I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into, what I would learn and become, and sometimes… well, it feels like too much. See, I’ve gone and developed Expectations. And with Expectations comes Self Doubt. Envy. That big meanie, Judgy McJudgerpants. And I start to wonder stuff. Like, “Oh NO. What if I run fresh out of pithy thoughts? What if suddenly I’m pithyless? What then?” That is exactly the moment when I get the naggy, achy feeling, and there’s a part of me that wants to slip away. To go gentle into that good night.

And by “go gentle into that good night” I mean walk away. You know, from the web. Just to be clear. When I quote Dylan Thomas, I am speaking metaphorically. There is no need for intervention. ARE WE CLEAR?

I do understand that walking away from it all would be bittersweet. Bitter because I slightly neglected several well-loved hobbies to delve into the new ones, and where would that leave me if I turned away? But sweet, because I’ve made so many friends through all of it. See, this is why I am all about the milk chocolate. Bittersweet chocolate blows. Michael Scott had it right. “Why not just sweet? I mean, who are you helping?” And that’s what I keep asking myself. Who am I helping? Me? Who? And does it matter? Does it? With the gajillion bloggers out there, will anyone even notice if I fade away? I don’t know! But truthfully, I can’t help but think it hugely presumptuous of me to think anyone will. Notice, that is. Because, bold much? Honestly.

If I’m going to power through the Self Doubt and the Envy, and push aside the antics of one Mr. Judgy McJudgerpants, if I plan to rage, rage against the dying of the light, I guess I feel as if it should be worth it. I don’t want to be taken in again, as with American Idol, who strung me along for years and years before finally revealing itself as a sham and a liar and a time-suck of epic proportions! I should have learned after the Ruben-Clay fiasco of ‘03, but no. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that relationship and where did it get me?! Huh?! Nowhere, bucko, that’s where! And I can’t get all those late-night hours spent dialing and voting and recapping BACK, no sir! That’s all I’m saying. I don’t want to look back and be all, “Dude. Why did I hang on to that relationship with the web for so long? Good LORD. What was I THINKING?”

You see?

It’s a conundrum, I tell you what. And by “conundrum” I mean… conundrum. Just so we’re clear.

In other news, I am occasionally melodramatic and strange.

Awesome Light

I’m just going to go ahead and say it. Just blurt it out. Unleash it into the blogosphere. Let it explode out of me the way occasional bouts of introspective verbal diarrhea have a way of doing at the most embarrasing times.

And, wow… There just is not enough “ew!” in the world for the mental picture THAT just conjured, I tell you what, but that is neither here nor there so I will persevere.

See, sometimes? I believe I am awesome. Chock full of the awesomeness. So awesome I can barely stand it! Chuck Bass awesome! I think, “Hey! How is it that I am THIS awesome?!” I write! I sing! I play my guitar! I make vidcasts! I enter contests! I jump out of planes! I swing on the trapeze! I teach my kids awesome things to do and say! And I post videos such as this in which I totally bestow my awesomeness on an unsuspecting, yet obviously pleasantly surprised, public! Because I am AWESOME! I mean, have you SEEN all my friends on Facebook?! I’m only saying.

And then it all falls apart.

I wake up one morning, fire up the iMac, click to my YouTube page to watch my awesome Dr. Horrible Evil League of Evil application one more time, confident in the knowledge that I WILL be chosen for the once-in-lifetime opportunity to be included in the special features section of the super awesome Dr. Horrible DVD. The video starts up, the intro music sends shivers of– what? excitement?– up my spine, but when my face pops up on the screen, my heart drops, freaking plummets, I tell you, and I think, “Oh. My. GOSH. What have I DONE?” I panic. I wish I could take it back. Take it all BACK. I’m not awesome! I’m a fraud! A loser! I made a music video while wearing pink goggles on my forehead! PINK GOGGLES! On my FOREHEAD! And I can’t SING! Or write MUSIC! What the HELL was I THINKING?! OH! EM! GEE! What if Joss Whedon actually SEES this?! I suck I suck I SUCK! (I totally suck.) Not to mention that OTHER people have, like, tens of hundreds of friends on Facebook! Which is a LOT!

And then I think of that quote from “When Harry Met Sally” when Sally tells Harry, “…AND I’m going to be forty!” and when he asks, “When?” she sobs, “Someday!” and I totally get it. Oh, I SO get it. Because it’s there. It’s just sitting there, like some big dead end. And time is passing and what am I doing? Really? Twittering? Jumping out of perfectly good airplanes? Playing around with my guitar? Filming myself acting the fool, not to even mention sporting pink goggles that totally clash with a blue-accented black rash guard? When I’m not even at the POOL?! Right?! There is no WATER for the pink goggles, people! How is that awesome? Do I really think I’m funny? Do I truly believe I have anything to offer? That I will ever write the great American novel or even have any kind of future as an observational humorist? Well?! DO I?!

At this point, no amount of affirmation, self or otherwise, can penetrate the gloom. My heart hurts and I wish I could crawl away and hide. I stop writing. I stop creating. I lose myself in (quality!) television and (totally awesome!) DS video games. I avoid novels because they make me believe that– perhaps!– I could write something even better and why set myself up like that? Do I really want to be That Person? The one who deludes herself? Like those super horrible American Idol contestants who no one ever had the cajones to grab by the shoulders, give ‘em a shake, and sternly say, “Seriously? I love you, but you SUCK at the singing. For real! Even Paula thinks you suck, which HELLO?! Now cut that shit out!”

On one level, the rational one, I understand this is a phase. A mood. A momentary lapse of confidence in my utter awesomeness. But on another level, I just feel sad. Weary. Depressed. So totally lacking in the awesomeness. Awesomeless. Awesome light.

It’s moments such as this that I need to drag myself up off the floor of my I’m SO Not Awesome At ALL pity party, give myself a figurative “Pull it together, fool!” slap across the face, and look around. Take an interest in those who weren’t on the invite list to my party of one. TGIM. My kiddos. My family. My friends. Because even in the depths of self-pity, yes, even then! I understand that they don’t need any kind of proof of my awesomeness. They see it in me, the awesomeness, or see the lack thereof, yet they love me. Unconditionally. Yup. Pink goggles and all.

And that? Is totally awesome.

The Power of the School Hair

When you are starting junior high, sometimes you need… a change. You know, something to give you a little ooomph in the confidence department. Right? Right? Because of the hell on earth you will soon be thrust into with only your magnetic locker organizer, a ridiculously confusing even-odd class schedule, and a TI-84 Plus graphing calculator clutched in your sweaty, junior high hands?! HUH?! AM I RIGHT?!

Oh. Sorry. My issues. Projecting. It happens.

So, anyway, check it out…

We’ve got our BEFORE (see the curls? the handsome, manly curls?):

We’ve got our DURING (see the bouffant? the slightly less manly bouffant? of Danny Zuko proportions?):

And we’ve got our AFTER (see the manly flat-ironed hair?! the way handsome, totally manly, flat-ironed hair?! on my BABY BOY?!):

Awesome. Watch out boy-crazy adolescent girls. Here comes my boy.

(Break his heart, and I WILL cut you.)

Going on a Mini-Break!

Okay, so we’re breaking out! The stay-cation has morphed into a wicked cool mini-break! Woot! YES! Because stay-cations equal sadness for all. Honestly. Well, at least for DWM and clan. I’m just saying. Staying is NO FUN. At ALL.

So, now that I’m done with the filming (oooh, that’s what we call a “teaser” in the biz…) We’re off to NYC, all y’all. That’s right! New York City! All of us! Even TGIM! We’ve never been, so… EXCITING?! That being said, if there is anything we absoLUTEly need to do while we’re in the Big Apple (wait… do we still call it that? is that un-hip of me? Dear LORD! I don’t even KNOW!), let me know, mm’kay?

And now, I must pack. For the wicked cool mini-break I happen to be going on with the fam. Because we are done with the shoot. And we are no longer staying. We are mini-breaking. Which is way better.

NEW American Idol Theme Song

If you can’t view a YouTube link (for whatever reason), and are therefore unable to enjoy the comedic stylings of Rhett and Link, it is quite possible you may be able to view the video HERE. And since I think these guys are freaking hilarious, I will mention that you can also subscribe to the Rhett and Linkast at their site or iTunes.

There! Don’t say I never give you anything.

Enjoy.

All rising.

Yes, I said “Man Boobs.” What of it?

Guess what?!

Okay, a raise of hands: How many of you just reflexively shouted out “chicken butt!” (or at least thought it enthusiastically)? Don’t lie! I don’t judge.

But we were guessing, right? After indulging in a moment of juvenile humor, of course. Seriously, stop denying it.

I’ve been MIA for a bit of time– just a teensy bit!– because I finally “officially” launched my little side bidness I mentioned, oh, say, about a year ago? Give or take? Yup. Check me out! I am ALL about the website design and maintenance! Yessirree, Bob!

CHECK. ME. OUT.

I’ve already got some clients (hoo! I said “clients”! in a sentence in which it refers to people who will pay me money! MONEY! exchanging HANDS!), so I’ve been a little busy getting my bearings and whatnot, but I am determined– I’m making my determined face right now– determined, I say! to get back to blogging the snark on a regular basis.

Plus, we have TV again, so download Skype and give me a holler if you want to shoot the snarky breeze with Chassy Cat and friends for the TV recap podcast I am STRONGLY considering calling Boob Tube REWIND. Just so you know. I’m not sure if boobs will be a prerequisite for chatting, but if we swing that way, perhaps man boobs will be sufficient.

And I just said “boobs” way too many times for one whole post that is not in any way related to the loverly Kat McPhee.

Chassy Cat, OUT.

American Idol is WAY more exciting.

Dude. How very anticlimactic.

So, apparently the Surprisingly Essential First Page contest judges have not watched enough American Idol to learn how to go about informing the public about the contestants’ elimination from a public contest. Right? All I’m saying is they obviously don’t have an appreciation for how awesomely the judges and my wee Ryan bring the UN!COMFORTABLE! to the elimination process. Like the time– during the Best. Results Show. EVER.– when my Ry-Ry was all “Chrisyouaregoinghometonight.” And Chris Daughtry was like, “What in the which where? WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?!” and Kat McPhee was trying to do the Snoopy Dance of Joy and cry at the same time, and Taylor Hicks (soooooulpatrooool) and Elliott Yamin were like “Yes!” (*fist pump*) “Wow, sorry, dude”? And Chris was pissed– like, seriously, he looked like he wanted to reach through the television and kill me dead– but it was just so AWESOME?! And now they use Chris’s song as the farewell (AKA: See Ya, Wouldn’t Wanna Be Ya) song and he is totally kicking ass with his very own band which he named after his very own self so it all worked out in the end? You know?

Because, honestly… how fun was THIS?! No fun at ALL, that’s how fun! We put ourselves out there, lay it all on the line, and what do we get? Nothing! A big ZIP. Nada. Zilch. ZIPPO. What about the bottom three? And the agony of staying in the bottom three until “after the break”? And where was the anxiety? The tears? The almost unbearable stress? The gratuitous “You look great tonight” and “You moved me”? The thinly veiled homophobic posturing? HUH?! Seriously. I’m saying.

But I have to give the judges their props, yo? 675 entries? Hey, I mean, Simon, Paula, and Randy get a gagillion contestants or whatever, so they could be all like, “Oooh, ‘wah!’ 675 entries? Bitch, please.” But there’s THREE of them– not just two, right?– so there you go.

But whatever. I’m not discouraged. No worries. As God is my witness, if Chris Daughtry can headline his own personal shouty band, I can get myself published.

So it’s all good.

Cat, OUT.

Ponderings and Musings

1. Should I put all the old baggage– the disappointment, the acrimony– behind me and reconcile with American Idol? As much as I hate to admit it, I miss our times together– the laughter, the tears, the recaps– and there’s just so much HISTORY there, you know? It is a tough call… should I throw caution to the wind and jump back in?

2. In this fierce political environment, what is the proper response in casual conversation when a person suddenly makes a vulgar or disparaging remark about a political party as a whole– such as “Democrats are so [choose an expletive]!” or “All Republicans are complete [insert vulgarity here]!”– presented as a statement of fact, with the assumption that everyone else in the group totally agrees? Pushing aside the obvious inadvisability of gross generalizations, not everyone is interested in turning a watercooler discussion about the latest episode of Gossip Girl into a political debate. Hrm… how to diffuse? Must think of witty, all-purpose comeback…

3. When did pom pons get so small? When did that happen? Cheerleaders at televised sporting events look as if they are clutching candy wrappers and waving them at the crowd with their twiggy little arms, all, “See? I eat! See?! I’m not starving myself to fit into my size 0 cheer ’skirt’! Take THAT, biznitches! Wooooooo! Number OOOONE! YEAH!” Right? Weird.

Confessions of a Desperate Working Momma

I was once banned– that’s right, I said BANNED–from the TWoP boards for one teensy tiny moment of indiscretion–moments after the season four finale of American Idol–in which I may or may not have–I’m not sure, it’s all so hazy now–POSSIBLY suggested that all the Carrie Underwood haters just go ahead and SUCK IT. I know, right? What’s up with THAT?! Give a gal a break, yo? I was understandably carried away in the moment! I think! Again with the haziness! Honestly. And I liked my old TWoP user name, too. You don’t just come by sweet user names like that one every day, that’s all I’m saying. I mean, how wickedly cool is the na– well, my super cool, now unfairly defunct TWoP user name so isn’t the point. Whatever.

Ahem.

Then what IS my point? Oh! Yes! I have one!

Carrie Underwood haters? SUCK IT!

Hoo!

Aaah, the sweet, unmoderated freedom of blogging…

Feels GOOOOOOOD.

I Think I Love Him!

So, when my good buddy at work, let’s call her H (see, Harriet? I’m keeping you Anonymous!), brought ’round to my cubicle her brand-spankin’ new copy of Constantine’s debut record, entitled “My Secret Greek Idol Luvah”– er, I mean, “Constantine”– I was prepared to mock.

Yes! I admit it! I was! So what?! Huh?! A girl can’t mock if she wants to?! HUH?!

I mean, honestly– I’m not going to lie– I was not a big fan of the ‘Pray For the Soul of Betty’ music, so I may have had on my Skeptical Face when Harriet– I mean H– proudly showed me the album.

But, then… the Pretty! With the Smoldering? I was transported back to AI days of yore, I tell you, the moment I saw my brooding Greek Idol Luvah eye-sexing me up from the cover of his album. So I grabbed that bad boy, slid it into my computer, popped in the ear buds, and gave it a listen.

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather, and that is no lie. Because– God help me– there was only ONE song on the whole album… that I DIDN’T love. I found myself boppin’ to the music as I worked, rewinding parts of songs that were particularly catchy, and actually stopping a few times to appreciate a particularly enjoyable ballad. I mean, I suppose I knew this, but beyond the smolder and the eyeliner and the pretty highlights and the eye sex and the overall posturing, dude can actually SING.

I know, right? My world is askew!

Eh. I suppose there is something to be said for Constantine not rushing to record and release an album as soon after the show as humanly possible, like other past American Idol contestants who– not wanting to miss an opportunity to ride the wave of fame that the juggernaut American Idol bestowed upon them– ended up with a rushed and mediocre release, and have since faded into anonymity.

Good on you, my Secret Greek Idol Luvah. Good on you.

(Call me.)

The HELL you say?!

You let me down, my peeps. Why didn’t anyone TELL me?! Huh?! My Secret Greek Idol Luvah gets an actual, honest-to-goodness acting part–with lines and e’rything!– on a popular daytime soap opera, and you don’t give me a heads-up? What’s up with that? A little “Okay, so Constantine is neither Bold nor Beautiful, but did you hear he was cast anyway?”? Or perhaps a quick “Hey, Cat, guess what!”? Honestly. A little courtesy, my peeps!

C-O-U-R-T-E-S-Y.

This is completely unacceptable. I mean, do I ask too much? Do I?! GOSH.

It’s almost as if you don’t care anymore.

Thank God Almighty for YouTube!

Don’t tell Blake and his pants (I refuse to acknowledge the argyle; I have issues with the argyle), but… Jordin Sparks was so frakking awesome (the first time she performed “This is My Now,” and when she won American Idol and performed “This is My Now”) that she actually brought me to tears. Twice. Because of her wicked awesomeness? Then I laughed, because when my Ry-Ry stood next to her and tried to comfort her? He looked like a wee leprechaun. Because of his adorable wee-ness? Hee. I just pictured the scene again. Good LORD! That man is WEE!

Okay, so Jordin rocks, that’s all I’m saying.

Uh-oh. TGIM just caught me posting about American Idol! Oh, TGIM, you know AI means nothing to me. I was weak! I WAS WEAK! I just wanted to see Blake and his pants–just one more time–and maybe catch a little La-la Percocet Paula Sunshine, and perhaps a bit of Simon’s snark, but it was all about Jordin! Because she was AWESOME! I’m not lying! Watch! You’ll see!

But I never meant to hurt you, baby. It will never happen again, I swear.

(Okay. Gotta go. See you next year. Rock on, Jordin!)

American Idol: A Moment of Weakness (Shut. IT.)

I am weak. I admit it. But, hey! Don’t judge! So what if– perhaps– I feel like checking in with American Idol every once in a while?! Huh?! So what if– perhaps– I find myself lurking in the TWoP forums reading the recaps. Huh? What? Just because I broke up with American Idol, I can’t check up on the show? Whatever.

And so what if– perhaps– I snuck a peek at some clips of the show on YouTube after reading the recap and discovering that JON FREAKING BON FRAKKING JOVI was the guest judge?! And that Phil wasn’t as scary as usual? And that Lakisha tried to up her ‘tude and MADE OUT WITH SIMON COWELL (which makes me inexplicably jealous) ON HIS VERY LIPS? And that Melinda went all Tina Turner on America’s ass? And that Blake would be KICKING SOME MAJOR BOOTAY with nothing but a drummer (drummist?) and some killer moves?! HUH?! WELL?! LIKE I COULD HELP MYSELF! A gal gets LONELY, OKAY?! !!Exclamation!! !Point!!!

Needless to say, watching the clip of Blake and his (not-plaid) pants? And his kickass beatboxing skillz? And his funky new black ‘do?

Yeah. He was SO worth it… all five times.

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.

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?)

“This girl ain’t going to be nobody’s bitch…you better recognize!”

Gosh. You let down your guard and watch ONE STINKING EPISODE of American Idol (Ladies’ Night! Rock on, my sistahs!) Good LORD those gals can sing… blow it out da box, if you will.

Honestly. Just when I think I’m out, they pull me back in.

Damn it! It’s like I can’t stay away! Or something! Plus, my momma threatened to disown me if I didn’t start recapping the show, so what’cha gonna do?

*sigh*

And so it begins. Yo, yo, yo, dawgs! Bring it ON, America. Bring it ON, Simon Cowell. Bring it ON, my wee Ry-Ry who totally missed his opportunity when he didn’t pick me for the Red Carpet Challenge (your loss, Ryan Seacrest!)

BRING IT.

(I’m so ashamed.)

Ooooh, it’s that time of year, y’all… (updated for authenticity)

(Shout-out to Shaun for the flippin’ SWEET photo!)

American Idol, baby!

Let’s get ready to RAWK, yo?

However…

I totally missed the season premiere of AMERICAN IDOL.

Again.

I know, right?! Where the HELL are my priorities?! Gosh. Stupid family obligations. And work and stuff. Freak.

Luckily, both of this week’s episodes are safely tucked away in my handy-dandy Ti-Faux, and there will be a recap– oh, yes, there WILL be a recap. In the meanwhile, I do have a small inkling of how things went down last night, thanks to an IM session with my buddy Paige which consisted– in part– of the following exchange [sensitive information redacted]:

Paige: Are you watching?

Cat: Am I watching… DAMMIT!

Paige: So, no?

Cat: It’s recording… I’ll watch later.

Paige: Ryan is SHORT.

Cat: I know, right?! He’s wee!

Paige: I feel sorry for these people.

Cat: Delusional. The lot of ‘em.

Paige: Simon is being so mean!

Cat: What?! NO! I’m SHOCKED! Are people crying?

Paige: Dude!

Cat: Dude!

Paige: Don’t go up to the camera and cry! What did you expect?!

Cat: See? I don’t even need to be watching.

Paige: What? They don’t know that they suck?

Cat: I mean, seriously.

Paige: I can’t stop eating Cheezits, dammit!

Cat: Dammit!

Paige: This 7 foot tall woman is on…

Cat: Aw. Poor Ryan.

Paige: Simon is saying “I think that is the tallest girl I have ever seen!”

Cat: Speaking of tall, I need a donut.

Paige: Simon just called her a giraffe!

Cat: He’s such an ass.

Paige: Whoa!

Cat: What?

Paige: What the…?!

Cat: WHAT?!

Paige: Seriously…

Cat: Okay, keep in mind I’m not actually watching right now…

Paige: Hey, did you buy a gerbil?

See? I mean, I practically watched it, right?!

Then again, if you– like me– missed the season premiere(s), I am fairly certain that if you go back and read this post from last season, take out last year’s contestants and insert this year’s freaks and geeks, then bada bing bada boom! You’ve just freed up four hours of your life that otherwise you would never get back! EVER.

Oh, you’re feeling me, aren’t you?

That being said… was it good?!

Wait! Don’t tell me! DON’T TELL ME! Sheesh. What’s wrong with you? Honestly.

…

No, really. Was it?

(Blink twice for yes.)

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUL PAAATROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL! Woo.

Sorry, still too traumatized by the sight of David Hasselhoff crying tears of joy at Taylor’s coronation to form coherent thoughts. My eyes! They burn. And this is not even to mention the fact that Toni Braxton officially scares the bejeebies out of me! She scares the hell out of Taylor, too, if I’m not mistaken, and I’m pretty sure I’m not because did you SEE his face when they were singing (or, rather, he was singing and she was doing… whatever) and she grabbed his hand and was all, “Touch me here, bitch!” Good lord. Un-Freak My Heart.

In other news: Mandy Moore thinks Taylor’s the shiznit. Mandy freaking Moore!

More later.

Wait. What was the number for Daniel Powter?

Even though they do it every year, when Ryan does the whole I’m Just Standing in the Dark La La La-Psyche!-We’re in the Kodak Theater, Baby! reveal I’m all, “Oooooh! Aaaaah…” Every single time. Because of the bright lights? And the three tiers of balconies? And the thousands of adoring fans? Some of them celebrities? Honestly. How geeky am I?

*sigh*

Oooh, looky! It’s Mandy Moore! Hey, Mandy! Loved you in Saved! Hilary Faye rocked it when she threw that Bible at Mary and was all, “I am FILLED with Christ’s love! You are just jealous of my success in the Lord.” Remember that? And then she was like, “I told you! How great is Jesus?” Remember? Heh. That was awesome.

Oh my LORD. Is that… could it be… no… is that… could that be Constantine? Over by Bucky? And Kellie (with those stank-ass hair extensions removed so she actually looks way cute)? It IS?! Um, okay, I officially request to no longer be considered his fan, guys. Get out of my living room, stinky man, and go take a shower! Wash that hair! And for the love of God, get some sleep. Then we’ll talk.

Now, without further ado…

Kat

Black Horse and the Cherry Tree: Nicely done. Kickass drummers. But just not as sexy as last time. Where were the hot and dirty blues? So sad.

Over the Rainbow: Damn. I repeat, damn. (*fans self*) And how cute was her giddiness about starting the song on key despite a mysterious earpiece malfunction? So, SO cute, that’s how cute!

My Destiny: Good GOD. Bring back Inside your Heavenly Hoo-Hah, yo? AI totally sandbagged my girl with that original song, and by original I mean “so sucky no one else will sing it so we shall force one of the AI finalists to perform it in front of millions of people because she can’t say ‘No effing way!’” Come on. It was not even remotely suited to her voice and was obviously written by some cliche-addicted songwriter who– apparently lost in the 90’s– said to herself, “I know what this song needs… gospel singers!” You know, instead of playful, heartfelt lyrics and a melody in at least the same zip code as the singer’s range?

Making her sing that song was like handing her a beat-up old Schwinn and telling her to race the Tour de France with it. And she totally knew it, didn’t she? I mean, she couldn’t even pretend to like the song. You could see her just give it up halfway through.

That being said, Kat? Pleats + Bow + Finale Dress = Oh, HELL No. My advice? Get a new stylist. STAT.

Poor Kitty Kat.

Taylor:

Living for the City: Shut UP, Taylor’s jacket. I’m trying to listen. Oooh! I’m so happy he brought back the funky Life in the City circular dance move of joy! I’ve been practicing that one, y’all. I had to rewind so I could dance it with him. I HAD to. Woo! Definitely his best performance of the night.

Oh, and Paula? Maybe your top did exactly match with Taylor’s crushed velvet jacket (good LORD), but I can’t say for sure because after I hit the floor, having been rudely shoved out of TGIM’S line of vision amid his excited yells of “Look! Her left boob! That’s sucker’s about to pop right out of her top!”, I think I may have lost consciousness for a moment. Floor’s hard. I’m thinking we should install carpeting. So put the girls away, you maniac.

Levon: Eh. Not bad, but not his best, either. And I absolutely adore this song, too, so color me disappointed.

Do I Make You Proud: Oh, yes, honey, you do. Good on you, Tay. Good on you. Just keeping it real, dawgs [/Randy's voice], Taylor was off during the first part of the song, but once he dropped the dreck and unleashed the woo! and the Soul Patrol! ticks, he found his groove (and his key) and did it Taylor-style. Which is– to me, anyway– a GOOD thing. Dude’s soul is in his voice. And he makes me smile. I think that’s worth something.

Oh my goodnes, how much must the AI producers hate Chris? Because showing Chris’ murderous WHO IN THE WHAT NOW?! face in the video during Daniel Powter’s Bad Day performance was all sorts of cruel. I was like, “Guys! He’s sitting right there!” Cruel, I tell you. Yet, still funny. No matter how may times I see it. He’s just so PISSED, you know? Hee hee.

Sooooo… although I think both performers did well tonight– Kat finally using her head voice and whatnot, and Taylor just being Taylor– I have to say I (woo!) think Taylor (soulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrol!hahahaha!soulpatrol!woo!) has the AI title signed, sealed, and delivered. Of course, we’ll have to sit through two excruciating hours of filler, guest performances, sappy videos from home, and painful Top 10 group sings (Chicken Little! GAH!) before we hear the news officially, but hey, I’m willing to power through. For posterity’s sake, naturally.

Cat… out.

What’s the buzz? (Tell me what’s a-happenin’…)

According to Insider TV here are the song choices for the contestants (all predicitons subject to change at the whim of AI Gods):

Taylor Hicks: Levon by Elton John and Living for the City by Stevie Wonder. The new single he’ll be performing is Do I Make You Proud, written by Tracy Ackerman, Andrew John Watkins and Paul David Wilson.

Katharine McPhee: Over the Rainbow (old standard) and Black Horse and the Cherry Tree by KT Tunstall. The new single she’ll perform is called My Destiny, written by Hanne Sorvaag.

It’s a toss-up, y’all. Tonight you will either join the Soul-Patrol…

or catch the McPheever.

Just remember. You cannot be Switzerland tonight. If you vote for both, you cancel yourself out. Come on. Just pick a side already.

But if (*sigh*) Kat does that sexy, bouncy, on the floor dancing thing again while singing Black Horse and the Cherry Tree, well, then (Woo!) Taylor better (Woo!… Woo!) sing the HELL out of Levon (Soul Patrol!) or I can’t be held responsible for where my vote will be heading, that’s all I’m saying.

Cat… out.

Well, hey! That didn’t suck very much at all!… Wassup?

Well apparently the judges and my wee Ryan are all about bringing back the UN!COMFORTABLE! But I have to give the judges their props, yo? They successfully picked the absolute perfect songs to showcase the singers’ individual talents tonight. Very astute. I’m impressed. On the other hand, Clive Davis? On crack. Every year he picks the most ridiculous songs for the contestant. Hello? I Believe I Can Fly? Are you freaking kidding me, Clive?! Geesh.

My Completely Biased, Personally Opinionated Recap (proceed at your own risk.)

Elliott
Open Arms: Why you gotta be like that, dawg? Picking one of Journey’s bestest songs ever to freaking bleat out? And don’t think I didn’t notice that you COMPLETELY EFFED UP THE LYRICS. Good LORD, man. I can’t even look at you right now. Effed up the lyrics! To Open Arms! I can’t believe they let that obvious transposition pass. Wait, yes I can. The freakers. (But seriously, good save…) Honestly. Just don’t be messing with Journey, dude. Step away from Journey. Speaking of, RANDY was in Journey? What the?! Who now?!

(Ryan and I both interrupted Paula at the exact same moment during her rainbow, puppies, fluffy clouds and flowers speech with, “But WHY did you pick the song?!” Heh. Me and Ry-Ry would so be BFF’s.) (Call me.)

Some boring song I don’t know: Meh. I’m sorry! I want to feel more than meh towards you, dude! You’re all wee and Mr. Tumnusy, but COME. ON. Solid vocal, but boring. I’m sorry!

Another snoozer I totally don’t know, GOSH: Not so much vibra-a-a-a-a-a-to. A little more personality, I suppose. Overall, tonight for you? Big bag o’ suckage, man. I am so, so sorry.

Katharine
I Believe I Can Fly: Wow. So, SO pretty! Not the song, I hated the song (because it is ridiculously stupid to believe you can fly and R. Kelly is a total perv, so there you go). I’m talking about you, girl. Good GOD, you look fabulous in that icy blue dress! And the shoes! My goodness, the shoes! That being said, when Randy of all people starts with “You look beautiful tonight…”, the rest ain’t gonna be pretty and that’s God’s honest truth. Stupid Clive and his stupid-ass songs.

(“It’s about song choice…” “Well, I didn’t pick it!” Give ‘em hell, Kat.)

Somewhere over the Rainbow: Ruby slippers! Ruby slippers! Did you see? Did you?! Awesome. Gah. About three-fourths of the way through the performance I turned to TGIM and said, “Dude, I think I just had an orgasm.” ‘Nuff said.

(How cute was Ryan telling Kat “that was beautiful…” all genuine and stuff? So, so cute! Even Ryan loves Kat! And he’s… not gay!)

Ain’t Got Nothing But the Blues: It pains me to admit this, but Simon was kinda, sorta… okay, totally right. You picked a cheesy musical theater type of song to end with (no offense intended Miz Ella. I’m just sayin’). Duh. But you can sing and you were having fun with it, and that? Totally counts for something.

Taylor
Dancing in the Dark: This was the only song Clive got right. The more I hear, the more I love. The voice is husky, soulful (Woo! Soul Patrol! Hahaha! Wooooooo!), and completely recognizable as Taylor Hicks. And you went there. (He went there, y’all!) You pulled a BossMan Courtney Cox MTV move with Paula! You so did. Then you totally left her hanging, but hey, she worked it out. Straight up! Man. I miss Friends. The early years, naturally.

You are So Beautiful: Yeah, I hate this song, and all I hear is Alfalfa from the Little Rascals movie singing to Darla, “Yew awre so buh-yew-tiful…” but even Joe Cocker was all “daaayum!” when you hit that falsetto. Awesome. Besides looking extraordinarily constipated– no, seriously, eat more bran– I could literally see you feeling the song. Really feeling it. In your soul. So amazing. It brought out all of the best parts of you as a vocalist and a performer. “SoulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrolsoulpatrolwooooosoulpatrolwooooosoulpatrolsoulpatrolWOO!” (Um, is he broken, guys? No? Phew!) For reals, dude, know when to cut. it. out.

Try a Little Tenderness: When you said you were going to sing this song, I was like, “YES!” (*fist pump*) and then I was all, “WOO! Soul Patrol!” We have established I am a complete dork, right? Everyone clear? Okay. I mean, ever since I saw Ducky “The Duckman” Dale lip synch and get down with his bad self to this song in the John Hughes classic “Pretty in Pink,” I have loved it. LOVED it! And Taylor? You SO nailed it. And yes, that ending was ridiculous. (*hugs Taylor*) Signed, sealed, and delivered to the finale, my friend. Absofreakinglutely.

Okay. Here’s the thing. The clear choice for the finale, in my humble opinion, would be Kat and Taylor.

Elliott is a great guy, he really is, but he doesn’t have IT. He wants IT. I’m sure he’d buy IT if he could. He thinks a little IT would be oh-so nice. But really, he just doesn’t have IT. And in all honesty, the American Idol should have IT, right?

Kat. She is having a hard time emotionally in this competition, not so much with her singing, but during the elimination phase. When those eliminations come around? Barf-O-Rama. How do you think she’s lost so much weight? Huh? Just sayin’. Aaaaaand that, my friends, is how rumors get started. Let that be a lesson to us all. Anyhoos, what a fantastic, versatile, gifted vocalist. She is defintely the most technically proficient singer in the competition. She admittedly hits a spot in her upper register that comes off as slightly shrill, but I don’t find it unappealing, and it does make her sound distinctive. And hot DAMN she’s purty, and she can put on a show like nobody’s bidness. I’d pay money to see her on Broadway. But I don’t think she is American Idol material. And I mean that in the GOOD way.

But Taylor. Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. You either adore him or you loathe him, and I happen to adore him. I know he’s spazzy and constipated and a freak of nature, but dude’s got PRESENCE, which is what Elliott is lacking, and what Kat is just figuring out. I absolutely love when he gets all spazzy, I’m all, “Help! He’s seizing! He’s seizing! He’s– Oh, my bad. He’s just gettin’ jiggy.” And then he’s belting it out and even if I turn away, I still enjoy the song just as much as if I were watching it because he is just that charismatic. I’d pay to see him in concert. I’d buy his CD’s, too. For reals. I don’t care! I would! He has a distinct, soulful, husky sound that appeals to me. I can’t deny it.

I definitely think Taylor is the frontrunner, the one to beat. I do. Note it.

But whatever, because up until last week I thought Chris was The Chosen One, and we all know how that turned out, so really, what do I know? America is a fickle lover.

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