Hello, Interwebs? Did you miss me while I’ve been on hiatus? With summer vacation is drawing to a close, I’ve started imagining what it’s going to be like having a few hours each day to myself once again: time to read news, time to think about what I’ve read, time to blog… maybe even time to drink an entire cup of coffee before it gets cold.

I’ve missed you. How much? Well, let me just put it this way: after drunk-dialing my mother-in-law one evening, the Venomous Hubby asked, “Don’t you think it’s time you think about blogging again to keep yourself busy?”

Oh, sure, I’ve done plenty of reading in the 4+ months I’ve taken off blogging. (Most enjoyable read of the summer: Of Bees and Mist: A Novel. Least enjoyable: anything in the Anita Blake series after book 9.) I planted a container garden and have been busily watering, harvesting and canning; I’ve cleaned the house countless times; and I’ve even managed to acquire a somewhat decent tan. There’s been some traveling, some serious progress on my novel, and of course my beloved daughter’s 18th birthday (followed by a small bout of depression as I confronted my own mortality).

One thing I haven’t done much of is paying attention to what’s going on in the world (aside from mourning American Idol’s loss of Paula Abdul). So, as you know, that kind of ignorance makes it a bit difficult to blog intelligently. Hence why I shall return… but not just yet. I first need to reacquaint myself with my laptop and then start paying attention to the world beyond my doorstep.

But, hey, this here entry’s a first.

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So, who’s your call for the winner of American Idol? Don’t tell me it’s David. I already know that, duh!

Meanwhile, since I can’t help but admitting that Potato Head David Cook has improved dramatically these past few weeks, I refuse to call a winner.

Except this: the David (Caradine) Cocktail.

Hey, if we’re going to have a battle of the Davids, why not one which isn’t afraid to acknowledge it bites?

The David Carradine

1 part Creme de Menthe
1 part Canadian Whiskey
1 part Dark Creme de Cacao
1 part Heavy Cream

Directions:
Mix in the order: cacao, menthe, whiskey, milk. Try to keep the layers separate. Float on the back of a spoon, tilt the glass and pour very gently, etc.

(Courtesy of DrinkSwap.com

Ah, it’s time for the estrogen-laden version of American Idol. Conveniently enough, I’m dealing with my own PMT… which means you’ve got Four Non-Blondes (and all those fake ones) and ME.

Ready?

I thought so.

(Aside: Did you catch that straight-at-the-camera glance from Simon? He was thinking how Paula Abdul’s boobs don’t look nearly as good as mine.)

Carly Smithson: Amazing voice, but I’ve got used tampons with more charisma than she demonstrates on stageand they haven’t had a $2.2 million recording contract that should’ve been sufficient to buy them a personality.

Syesha Mercado: For the record, Me and Mrs. Jones (mp3) is one of my all-time favorite songs. It’s a song of lust, and it’s a song of shame. As much as I like Syesha — and I remember her auditions — she didn’t capture either emotion.

Brooke White: If I had a dime for every time I’ve sat in a bar and heard some chick try to emote her way through You’re So Vain I just might be able to afford the album that Brooke White deserves to record.

Ramiel Malubay: Ordinarily I like this little woman with the big voice, but listening to her sing this song was like looking at a poster of a Rembrandt: you know it’s good, but you don’t feel how good it really is. The bra-hitch thing at the end was kind of cute, though.

(Aside: Is it me, or is the girls’ show ten times longer than the boys’ was last night?)

Kristy Cook: Wow, those legs. That hair. Those hips. That face. But that voice? Ish.

Amanda Overmyer: Unlike Robbie Carrico, I’ve got no problem believing Amanda’s been ridden hard and put away wet. Twenty-eight years old? My 40-year-old ass looks younger than she does. It’s also had better hairstyles..

Alaina Whitaker: Now that I’ve listened to a nationally-syndicated explanation of her eating disorders, I can honestly say that her singing was as nauseating as her song choice of Hopelessly Devoted.

Alexandrea Lushington: On a fashion note… I’m incapable of understanding any rationale that pairs a down vest with shorts and leather high-heel ankle boots. On a musical note… well, it’s nice that one of us was on one.

Kady Malloy: Wow, she sounded SO much better with my “Mute” button on.

Asia’h Epperson: I love Asiah’s voice as well as her song choice, All By Myself, although I’m more partial to the Gregorian Chant version which she didn’t even come close to surpassing. And, as they say, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades… so I’m going to chalk that performance up as a bomb.

All in all? I had more fun listening to the boys last night… including the two boys who really, let’s face it, ought to count as girls. But, hey, at least I got to look at Simon.

After blowing off Idol last week and realizing the sky did not fall down, I’d given serious thought to ignoring the rest of the season, too. After all, with two contestants previously under recording contracts and one bragging about his international tours, the show no longer feels like it’s about discovering undiscovered talent. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much else on of interest tonight so I figured I might as well listen to the guys sing.

I almost wish I’d just gone to bed early.

Michael Johns: Ordinarily, I’m a big Fleetwood Mac fan but his efforts to sound like Lindsay Buckingham were reminiscent of a goat strangling on a piece of barbed wire. And is it just me, or does his upper lip look more like a bottom lip? Weird.

Jason Castro: The granola-munching Rasta hippie dude is back? Color me surprised. I kind of liked his rendition of that old Bee Gees tune: nice and vapid, just like the original. The only thing missing was someone sparking up a clove cigarette to give the whole performance that Friday night at the coffee house feel. Whatever will he do without that guitar to cover his weak vocals?

Luke Menard: Nice piece of college musical theatre performance, but there was only one Freddie Mercury and you aren’t him. So next time you want to show off your range try to at least ensure that all the notes in the song are actually in your range. Oh, and stop mugging for the home viewers you camera whore.

Robbie Carrico: Sure, he’s got the hair and wears his bandanna like Brett Michaels, but watching this guy move reminds me more of Justin Timberlake. Authentic rocker? I don’t think so. That was quite possibly the most lukewarm version of “Hot Blooded” I’ve ever heard.

Danny Noriega: The photos confirm he’s been a girl longer than he’s been a boy. (As if the song choice didn’t?) I’d feel bad about being so snarky but….Zzzzzzzz. Oh, sorry, I fell asleep. Ish.

David Hernandez: Somehow, I’m not terribly surprised to learn he wore leotards as a child. I like him anyway, and I really liked his rendition of “Papa Was a Rolling Stone”. Sssssmokin’!

Jason Yeager: Someone needs to advise this young man to firm up those pecs or get a man-bra. As to the song, I couldn’t decide if I was listening to a karaoke performance or watching a toothpaste commercial. And what the heck was that odd little flappy move at the end? (Could it have been a pec workout?)

Chikezie: I believe… I believe… I believe I’ve always loved Donnie Hathaway and that was one fine performance of one of his great songs. It looked fun, too. I hadn’t remembered much of him from previous performances (except the infamous red suit) but I really enjoyed this one even with the cheap shot at Simon.

David Cook: I’m supposed to root for this guy as our local contestant, what with him coming from a town just an hour away. He’s a word nerd, too, which one might think would make me like him. But I don’t. He’s smug, he sings down his nose and his voice is utterly unremarkable. Also, he needs to wash his hair.

David Archuleta: This little guy is just so adorable he makes me want to pick him up… for my daughter. Such a pure, wonderful and expressive voice. And yet as much as I like the guy, it really shocked me to hear someone his age sing John Lennon’s anthem, Imagine. It shocked me even more to love it as much as I did. And I absolutely 100% did love it!

Last night’s Hollywood episode of American Idol — which whittled down 200+ contestants to 50 or so, from which the judges will narrow it to 24 — reminded me why I don’t like watching until mid-season.

The real pisser? At the beginning of Day 2 the judges said there would be no second chances… then gave a second chance to Josiah, the 17-year-old kid living in his car. I wasn’t all that impressed with the song he did for his first performance, but then again I didn’t even recognize the tune so I wouldn’t know if he was singing it well.

I’d already had my hate on for him the moment they began airing footage of Josiah crying in the hall, Josiah crying in his chair, Josiah crying backstage. Then came the time he cried because after he’d spent an hour “working out the arrangements for the band” (of professional, experienced musicians, I might add) so they could accompany him on his second song, he got frustrated when they didn’t play the way he wanted them to. So he walked out of the practice session and refused to return, even when the vocal coach asked him to come back.

Cue footage of Josiah crying again, then fast-forward to when Josiah (after drying his tears) took to the stage… and asked the band to leave so he could sing Stand by Me “as he hears it in his head”. As he proceeded to assault everyone’s ears with one of the most horrific, tuneless and appalling renditions of the classic song it struck me that perhaps Josiah needs medications to shut up whatever it is he “hears in his head”.

And… they gave him a second chance anyway. This, despite all three judges agreeing that it was abominable.

But on a positive note: Abstinence Amy is off the show. Can’t say I’m going to miss the vapid blinking of her big blue eyes accompanied by a lip-glossed pout that pretty much advertises Amy won’t be all about abstinence for too much longer. (And why, btw, did she seek the assistance of a “vocal coach” who was a Season 4 reject, much less let that “coach” select her song for them… a song Amy had never even heard and thus proceeded to massacre???)

Oh, and a word to Idol producers: we’ve all pretty much figured out that if you’re doing an in-depth “montage” about a contestant it’s a rather sure bet that person’s getting cut. Knock it off.

Sure, it’s Super Tuesday but it’s also American Idol night. Thankfully, I’ve yet to get truly interested in Idol this season since it’s still in the early stages.

Otherwise, to be perfectly honest, I’d probably tune into Idol and skip the Super Tuesday coverage the other networks will be airing, analyzing, predicting, rehashing and otherwise milking for hours.

How about you: what will you be watching?

So, you’re stuck at work — or your significant other has monopolized the TV — and you are dying to know what’s happening on American Idol’s finale tonight. Never fear. Yes, while you do need a life, I don’t have one, either. Ergo, I’ll be live-blogging the final show. That means plenty of updates to this entry, so keep refreshing your browser window and you won’t miss a thing.

(more…)

Is it just me, or does this season seem longer than its predecessors? Perhaps it was the whole Sanjaya saga. Or maybe it’s due to the fact that, just three weeks into it, the likely front-runners were so clearly established as to make the weekly “competition” a meaningless ritual.

At least last night was a bit more fun than usual, thanks to the distraction of Paula’s hallucinogenic-inspired French Maid uniform and the fact that, at least this time she couldn’t deny being on drugs.

Unfortunately, the only surprise of the evening involved just how appallingly awful the winning song from the “Songwriting Contest” – “This is My Now” — was. As one wag asks:

Why not just drop the last ”w” in the song title and call it ”This Is My No”?

Can I get an Amen?

What’s that — I’ve skipped over Blake and Jordin’s first two songs just to focus on that one, final, awful song at the end? That’s right. I didn’t find anything in either of their first two performances to be worth mentioning. But, ok, for those of you who didn’t catch Idol last night, it went like this:

Blake outdid himself by rehashing his earlier rendition of Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love a Bad Name,” complete with the exact same robot-juke box choreography and beat boxing. This time it was a bit more energetic, which might explain why his later cover of Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” was the audio equivalent of Excedrin PM with a warm milk chaser.

Jordin’s rendition of Christina Aguilera’s “Fighter” demonstrated that the girl with the megawatt smile can, indeed, rock. If you consider Christina Aguilera a “rocker.” Which I don’t. And, like Blake, it sounded as if Jordin had put it all out there on her first tune because her second, “Broken Wing,” damn near finished Blake’s work at putting me to sleep.

As Simon pointed out, the competition has come down to one who is a great performer and one who is a great singer. And the difference between them is vast as demonstrated when each took their turn singing that awful, awful “Now” song.

Refraining from beat boxing, Blake didn’t do anything to improve upon a crappy tune and, judging by his manic jumping up and down midway through the song, even he couldn’t wait for it to be over.

And then Jordin sang. The mark of someone with truly gifted vocals: being able to turn even that hideous tune into something moving and, although not memorable, at least a bit less excruciating.

My prediction: Jordin.

And now, in other Idol news…

Kellie Pickler’s father was arrested. Again. Poor girl — her acorn has fallen a long way from the tree. Pity she can’t use some of her earnings to put her father in a nice, padded luxury apartment where he can cease being an embarrassment to her as well as himself.

Did anyone else catch the “if-looks-could-kill” glare that Melinda Doolittle gave Jordin during her final performance last night? I never did by the “aw, shucks I’m so humble” crap.

Daughtry predicts tonight’s winner is…. his band.

John Mayer doesn’t think much of Carrie Underwood. I always did like him.

And finally, last year’s winner, Taylor Hicks (yeah, Taylor who?), is touring… and playing in pretty much the same kind of venues he played before winning American Idol. County fair, anyone?