I'm losing my mind. Seriously. I can't concentrate on work. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Okay, I can eat. But the concentrating and sleeping parts? Totally true.
You see, I am currently obsessed with writing a screenplay. And not just any screenplay-- oh, no, no, no!-- but a screenplay of epic proportions! Yes! An Oscar-worthy screenplay! A screenplay that perfectly captures the absolutely riveting story I have whizzing around in my head, the story that I can't stop thinking about. It's a "dramedy." Or, oooh, a "comma," if you will. You know, a comedy-slash-drama? Well, honestly, it's more drama than comedy, so I guess it's a dramedy after all. Which, BOO, because as far as portmanteau terms go, "comma" totally ROCKS.
I mean, listen. I even bought software. SOFTWARE! And not just any software, but expensive screenwriting software. I can see My Crazy reflected in TGIM's eyes when he looks at me, all like, "Oh my good lord, you just spent HOW MUCH on that screenwriting software you just installed on your iFred, you silly, silly girl?!" And my eyes are like, "But, the muse, TGIM! I can't fight THE MUSE!" (Heh. Which naturally reminds me of the opening scene of Xanadu, right before the Muses come to life, when Sonny says, "Aw, what the hell. Guys like me shouldn't dream anyway..." Which, allow me to say? Worst. Delivery. EVER.) And I get all excited and I drag my laptop around with me and type like mad and mutter to myself things like, "Yeah, American Beauty has NOTHING on this bad boy! And what? Good Will Hunting who?" et cetera, and generally act like a crazy person with access to kickass Mac technology, and I say to myself, "DUDE, you must chill. Because of the children."
Then, of course, I remember another screenplay I wrote, which was a fun little romantic comedy, and I wonder, Wait. Should I go back and rewrite and polish that story first? And then I remember that the market is simply glutted with romantic comedies and I agonize over whether it would even be marketable if I COULD get it past the dreaded slush pile on the desk of the assistant to the assistant to the guy who delivers coffee to the famous Hollywood agent. And The Crazy starts all over again.
So, really, the fact that in my bleary-eyed, early-morning, get-myself-dressed-in-the-dark-so-as-not-to-wake-TGIM haste, I pulled on my super comfy, super ugly UGGs with jeans and a kicky blue blazer (with pink lining! aaaaaaw!)... well, my unfortunate Casual Friday wardrobe choice is the very least of my worries. No matter how many curious stares I got on the Metro at 5:00 this morning. Right? Honestly, though. It's as if these people had never seen fluffy pink UGGs before! GOSH! Oh, just kidding. They're beige. And decidely un-fluffy. I may wear UGGs, but I draw the line at walking around with furry twin Muppets on my feet. But still. UGGs at work? Dude. What was I thinking?
So, yeah. If you find my sanity, please send it back right away. I've been looking everywhere for it.
Confession #1: Okay, I admit it. I totally fast-forwarded my TiFaux to the last 7 or 8 minutes of the AI elimination episode. WHAT?! Don't look at me like that?! I just was NOT in the mood for any of that Let's Draw This Out Until It Is Literally Painful For Viewers Because Of The Head Slamming Against The Coffee Table nonsense, and besides, I was too psyched about an all-new Veronica Mars episode to be able to concentrate for a WHOLE HALF HOUR OF NAIL-BITING STRESS. I mean, honestly. I have three crazy, loveable, insanely high maintenance kids. I just don't need anymore stress.
And then I saw Katharine in the Bottom Three and BOOM! Stress. She totally looked as if she would vomit at any moment, and not just in her mouth a little, but, like, full-blown projectile vomiting-- you know, because of the nerves and the horror?-- and I totally felt sick to my stomach, too, and I don't think it was just all that Orange Chicken and Chow Mein I ate for dinner but honest-to-freaking-goodness stress (okay and maybe just a little bit of the Orange Chicken because, seriously, I ate an awful lot of it, yep, totally pigged out on the stuff because YUM!... but that's beside the point, so whatev). Wait. What? Oh, yes. Katharine. She was NOT HAPPY, y'all. She could barely even fake the smile and stupid Ryan (looking good, Ry-Ry! Dig the 'doo! MWAH!) is all "How does this feel?" and I was screaming at the TV going, "HOW THE HELL DO YOU THINK IT FEELS, YOU STUPID, STUPID (but totally hawt in a wee way) MAN!"
BECAUSE ACE GOT MORE VOTES THAN KATHARINE. The world? Quite possibly insane. Yep. What the hell were you thinking, America?! GOSH!
Thankfully, America did not completely let me down, but this CANNOT happen again or I will have to swear off this show forever. FOREVAH, I say! Like I totally did last season when Constantine was voted off and I was like, "I shall never watch American Idol again! NEVAH!" 'Cha. Take THAT, American Idol. Okay, sure, my resolve only lasted until the next week, but still! I mean it this time! Probably!
Confession #2: At Kristine's urging, I created an official American Idol blog on the www.idolonfox.com website. I feel like such a commercial sell-out!
Of course, I'm actually just re-posting my DWM AI posts to my brand-spankin' new AI blog. But damned if they don't BLEEP me, y'all! I can't say DAMN! Or HORNY! (But I can say "ass" and "hell" so WTF?) I have to go back and fix my posts in those spots because "BLEEP"? Well, it doesn't quite covey the sentiments I am oh-so-eloquently trying to express with my strategically well-placed potty-mouthing. Plus, it's so Network Channel 1989. Honestly. It's 2006! There is partial nudity on TV now! Am I right? Well, AM I?! And I can't say "damn"? This is not to even mention the fact that Lisa sang a song with the word "damn" in it and she's only SIXTEEN years old. I'm freaking thirt... um, twenty-something years old, for God's sake! I ask you, where's the justice?
Hee. AI let a sixteen-year-old sing the word "damn" and they won't let me blog it. Heh. What sillies.
But anyhoos, it's FUN to post over there because these, wacky, angry, die-hard fans of contestants I may not recap in the most, um, let's say flattering manner get ALL up in my grill over the least little thing. And hey, for the record, I didn't say Kellie looked like a hooker; that was all TGIM. Hello?! I put quotes. DUH. Too. Funny. But I like to give 'em a hard time, so no biggie. I mean, honestly. If people are gonna be calling me names, I'm gonna be sayin' something back, fo' rizzle! WOO!
Anyhoos, here's the link.
Confession #3: My little Mack is going to have her tonsils and adenoids surgically removed from her body and she is FUH-REEKING out, and all I keep thinking is how bad it's going to suck when she hauls off and decks the poor nurse who is attempting to stick an IV in her arm, then hops off the table and hits the floor running, all the while screaming, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!" I hope they give her a sedative first, that's all I'm saying. Screw that! I hope they give ME a sedative first. Or, oooooh, a shot of whiskey to dull the pain, perhaps? Oh, get your fingers off CPS Speed Dial and step away from the phone. I meant for me. Because OH! EM! GEE! The surgery thing? It's going to suck. Hardcore suckage. Yep.
And is it weird that I hope the doctors save the tonsils and adenoids and send them home with her in a little jar of formaldehyde?
I thought so.
Is it just me, or was Paula uncharacteristically lucid last night with her comments making sense and whatnot? Huh. WEIRD. Like Twilight Zone weird. She must have hired better writers, which, hey... good call.
GEORGE! Hi, George! 'Sup? Dude. George got hosed. I couldn't even watch the rest of Season 3 after they dumped George. George was AWESOME. Love you, George!
Lisa -- Girl? That was Un!COMFORTABLE! What were you thinking? Even the judges were like, "The hell?!" Buh-bye.
Kellie -- Um, Pickles? Don't wink at the camera, especially when you're singing off key, mm'kay? It's tacky. And honestly, I didn't hate the performance. I know, right? My world is spinning out of control! I therefore damn you with faint praise.
Chris -- Why you so angry, Chris, huh? Why? With the yelling? And the angry glaring? Anyhoos, I can't believe-- Ooooh! Looky! Smoke! Lasers! ooooooh... aaaaah... Um, what? Er, okay, while I am sure you are a lovely, lovely person, I really don't need to see all the way up your nose (okey dokey, Mr. Cameraman?). I knew you'd do Creed. Effing Creed, man. I totally won the office pool. Ha! Thank you, my little one trick pony! But hey, I'm digging the scruff, so there you go.
Taylor -- The stylists are sure treating you right, Taylor, totally working their magic because... Woo! And rawr. You are looking almost disturbingly hawt. And that performance was oh-so-soulful and darn purty, I tell you what. Judges? Crackheads. That being said, I want my Soul Patrol (Woot!) back, okay? Okay? See, I like the funky dancing and the crazy twisting and the snapping and especially the woo!ing. C'mon! But still, love you big lots. (Seriously, dude's too good for this competition. I'm not even kidding. I'd totally pirate his record, I like him THAT much.)
Mandisa -- Eh. That was SOOO yelly. I'm so over the yelly. And the camera people kept taking the song in an unnecessarily literal manner because whenever you said the word "bottom"...? Yeah. I'd kick someone's ass if I were you because denim isn't at all forgiving, you know what I'm saying? But still, it's strange, I suddenly feel as if Jesus totally loves me. Yep. Totally feeling saved and stuff. Which is way cool, so bonus. Can I hear a big AMEN?!
Bucky -- Again, my world? Out of control. See, I kind of liked this. No, really. I am so not kidding. And the little slidy dance move thingy? So cute. But not loving the hat. I'm serious. The hat is bad, dude. Listen to what I say. Oh, and ajdhsa ajsdfgh gheir, okay? What? You couldn't understand what I just said? Well, I guess now you know how I feel! GOSH!
Ace -- What did I say about the nasally all up in the nasal bidness, huh? HUH?! It's so incredibly unpleasant. And if that shirt ain't coming all the way off, don't break out the Dirty Diana Shirt Rip, you hear me? No one likes a tease. And it was so clearly a desperate attempt for votes from the female (and way gay) demo; it was a little embarrassing for me to watch, actually. But oh, did I laugh. Yes indeedy. Then I was like, "Oh... DUDE. Just, no." Gosh. I am so over you, Ace. But still... pretty. Go in to acting or modeling, dude. Something where we can just look at you, 'cause you are SO not anyone's Father Figure anymore and that's the truth. (Paula? Two words: Corey Clark. Yeah. You must chill.)
Katharine -- You attempt Christina? Whoa. Ballsy move, my friend. Ballsy move. The judges are all, "Best of the night!" and I'm like, "Huh. They must be laying off the crack." Which is good because drugs can KILL. But you are not allowed to dress yourself anymore, Kat. Because COME ON.
Paris -- Oh, girl. The hair? For the love of God, WHY? Man, I hate it when Simon is right. Sure, your voice was fanfreakingtastic on this song, but the dancing? Totally made me feel dirty. You would so get detention if you got caught busting the freak like that at a school dance. I'm just saying.
Elliott -- You are no Bo and that's all I have to say about that... because I totally miss him and his flingy hair and growling and mic stand acrobatics and why doesn't anyone do any of that this season and anyway you can't compare but that's okay dude, because it's totally not YOUR fault that you aren't Bo and you're growing on me. I just wasn't feeling the Bo-ness. I did, however, feel a tad bit of Marky Mark-ness. Which is unfortunate. That is all.
Off to watch Chicken Little with the kiddos! Right now a big ol' fat pig and an ugly duckling are singing karaoke and it is insanely funny: "So tell me what you want, what you really really want, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really wanna zigazig ha!" Man. (*shakes head affectionately*) Those Spice Girls.
And now I've just learned several new idioms for urination: pee, tinkle, whiz... make pishy?
What are we talking about?
Hee! This movie's FUN.
You know what is a funny word? Freckle. For serious. Freckle is a funny word. Say it. Freckle. See? Freckle, freckle, freckle. Weird, huh? Frecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefrecklefreckle... You almost don't even remember what the word means anymore, do you? FRECKLE! (Freckle.)
Nother. People say it all the time, and it is totally not in the dictionary. I wish it were because people-- even smart ones, y'all!-- say "nother" all the freaking time. It would be simple to add it to the dictionary, really: "Nother (adj.) Other, but with an N thrown in for kicks. EX: I can't believe my mom gave me a whole nother donut! Score!" That way, when people say something like, "Well, that's a whole nother story!" or "I'm going to buy myself a whole nother box of donuts since you ate the last one!", it will be totally legit and I won't end up giggling and pointing while saying, "Nother... you totally just said 'nother'... A whole NOTHER!... Hoo!" which inevitably leads to angry people wanting to punch me in the nose. Which is never fun. (Okay, fine. I believe "nother" is in the dictionary, but only to say that it is unequivocally incorrect.)
Oh, my, my, my, y'all!... Miss Kellie "Pick Pickler!" should ABSOLUTELY wear her high school prom dress tonight on American Idol because WOO!
Hey, y'all! Looky here, at my purty li'l prom dress! Ah jist KILLED at the prom in that get-up, Ah tell you what! Too bad Ah didn't have me any of them there fake eyelashes (which felt like tarantulars, y'all! for reals!) like Ah got to wear on American Idol. Those were tickly, y'all, but looked real good. Maybe then Ah would have won Prom Queen instead of Bobby Jo, the fake li'l slut. Anyways, Ah 'member that my grandaddy told me that Ah looked like a two-bit harlot in that get-up, but Ah said to him, Ah said, "But grandaddy, Ah can't help it if my dress is in two bits. It was already like that when Ah bought it at the store!" And hey, don't my belly-button look fiiiiine?! Ah mean, look! Ah'm just the picture of that there genie lady in Ah Dream of Jeannie, right? You know... hmmm... what was her name on that show again?... Anyways, Ah sure look fiiiiine. Maybe Ah'll send home fer the dress. Good LORD, Ah bet Simon would jist bust a guy when he saw me in it. On account a me bein' a naughty mink, and all. I'm a mink!
Joy is dragging your kiddos down to the elementary school to teach them how to shoot a basketball by introducing them to the classic game of HORSE, then giggling in the most embarrassing, absolutely NOT grown-up manner as your middle daughter skips around the basketball court-- attracting the attention of pretty much every ever-loving person within a half-mile radius-- shrieking excitedly in her shrill little voice, "Let's see... I've missed two times... I'm a HO, Momma! Mom, did you hear me?! I'M! A! HO!"link | posted by Cat at 6:27 PM
**Because I am way tired-- too much exhuberant Snoopy Dancing after Kevin's glorious booting last night, WOO!-- and totally swamped at work, I've decided to recycle one of my older posts. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own ideas.**
10. "Deadline? What deadline?" (variation: "Deadline, shmeadline!")
9. When the boss says, "Good morning," quickly reply, "Oh is it?"
8. Leave long pauses in your conversations at random moments. When your boss is prompted to interject shout, "I am NOT finished!"
7. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the bathroom."
6. "Oh, did you mean, like, right now?"
5. During a staff meeting, pull a hamster from your pocket and suggest throwing it as a creative means of idea-exchange.
4. "My cubicle isn't properly laid out according to feng shui. I'm going to have to be moved to get my chi balanced...preferably to an office with a window."
3. "Loser says what?"
2. When nearly done with a long-winded, excruciatingly dull report, announce, "No, wait, I messed it up," and repeat.
And the number one thing you should never say to your boss [insert drumroll here]:
1. "You're not the boss of me!"
(List compiled during a collaborative carpooling powwow)
Allow me to say that I am officially feeling the AWKWARD between Simon and Ryan. Lately Ryan's like this persistent, annoying little puppy all pulling and nipping and occasionally scratching at Simon's pant-leg. Wither has the love gone, boys? Wither?
" Love the dancing."
"It's a singing competition."
"You just can't dance."
"It's a singing competition"
"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS CAUSE YOU CAN"T DANCE!! You go up on the down beats! You do! You DO!!"
Paula is insane. Yup. Good times.
Now listen: when Barry's on, you just know the show's gonna be killer! Seriously. And good call on AI's part for the Fifties theme because last week's Stevie Wonder Lovefest came dangerously close to turning me off of AI for good, and I mean it! Okay, that's a lie, that would never happen-- NEVAH!-- but still. It DID totally suck. Sucked real good.
DING! Ooooh, brainfart! I just realized that Barry is one of those performers that you love to listen to... you know, if you don't have to actually LOOK at him? Good LORD, man! The Hair! The Hair! And hey, just step out of that closet, buddy, don't be afraid. It's got to be getting pretty darn stuffy in there. I'm just sayin'.
Mandisa - I Don't Hurt Anymore (Dinah Washington) - Woo! Looking good, girlfriend! Whoever picked that dress with the strategically placed undersleeve thingies? Genius. THAT is how to go sleeveless, Mandisa. Seriously. Smokin' hot look last night, babe. Loved the hair. That being said, STOP SHOUTING AT ME! I mean, why you so angry girl? Why you gotta be like that, huh? We love you, so cut it out! The lower register was much more appealing to me because by the end of the song I was like, "Huh. Looky there. Tonsils."
**Interesting behind the scenes info from my friend Kalki: "Cat! I was at Curves the other day and they were talking about Mandisa and they said that she is one of the people who sings the Curves songs! And I was like, "Nu-UH!" And so they brought out the CD cases, and sure enough! Mandisa is listed as the vocalist for some of those songs. And what's more, she's one of the vocalists on the Curves workout hymn CD!!!" Thanks for the scoop, woman! Smooches back at'cha! Heh. I am still laughing hysterically... Curves has a workout HYMN CD?! Hoo! "Holy, Holy, HOLY!" All right! Woo! Who's down with G-O-D?! (Pastor Skip!)**
Bucky - Oh Boy! (Buddy Holly) - Oh, BOY. Tough break, kid, squashed as you are between Mandisa and Paris. But let's talk about the hair for a moment: from Jessica Hair to Jesus Hair? Huh... Yeah, good call. That said, Boomhauer, Boomhauer, Bucky McGrowlsalot. I want to like you, I really, really do. Why won't you let me? Huh? But hey! At least you are starting to E-NUN-CI-ATE! This is progress, indeed. Oh! And loved the mic tossing. Very sharp. (I just said "sharp." Good lord. I am officially my mother.)
Paris - Fever (Peggy Lee) - The hair? Okay, I won't even go there. Okay, so check it: this was probably your best performance this season, hands down, I am so not kidding. Your voice is a fine-tuned instrument, that is fo' sho'. [Simon voice] BUT [/end Simon voice], although you are this teensy, WAY annoying firecracker with the powerful voice, I still get a sense of a little girl dressing up in Momma's clothes... Because Fever? Really? Girlfriend, you are so not old enough to really connect with the feeling behind this song. Fever is a sultry song... it should be purred, not belted. Honestly. With a little experience and humility... yeah. You'd definitely give Fantasia some competition.
Oh! Looky! Constantine!... and Ryan Cabrera. Okay, I would not have called that. And Secret Greek Idol Luvah? Um, have you even SHOWERED since last season? Because ew? Love the glasses! Smooches! MWAH!
Chris - I Walk The Line (Johnny Cash) - Cheater! CHEATER! But that comes later... TGIM absolutely LOVED this dirgeful version of I Walk the Line, and he is an actual, honest-to-freaking-goodness Johnny Cash fan. I mean, he has liked the man's music forever, LONG before Joaquin and Reese made it trendy. He has CDs! I mock him. That being said, yes, you = PRETTY. And hey, props to you for "refusing to compromise," blah blah one-trick pony BLAH, but dude, if you are going to cover some other band's version of I Walk the Line in the most blatant, karaoke way possible, you should probably mention it at some point. Raise your hand if you thought Chris arranged his own version of the song to "stay true to his rocker roots? (*raises both hands, waves them wildly*) Way to totally take credit for a version which was simply a ripoff of the version on the Best of Live's CD. I feel so betrayed. I can't even look at you anymore. Okay, that's a lie. (Pretty!)
Constantine! Again! Is it my BIRTHDAY?! The unkempt look is totally growing on me... But if it is true that you are dating Kellie "Pick Pickler"... well, we may not be able to see each other anymore. Think about it. (Call me!)
Katharine - Come Rain Or Come Shine (Ella Fitzgerald) - Wow. The girl-crush? It grows stronger... and hey, way to shy away from the Pickler School of Vapid Ho-ness! Good call. YES! The bouncy is BACK, baby! Or rather, the shakeshakeshake, but let's not quibble, mm'kay? Thank God for double-stick tape, that's all I'm saying. (Wait...) Kat? You = Adorkable! And though your voice was admittedly a tad (just a smidge! an iota!) sharp in a few spots, this song still sounded oh-so good on you. That voice! So effortless! So pretty! And did I mention how FREAKING SUPER UNBELIEVABLY HAWT you looked? Yes? Okay then.
Taylor - Not Fade Away (Buddy Holly) - Now why in the WORLD did you pick such a boring, repetitive, non-vocally-challenging song? Huh? What the hell were you thinking?! Could you have BEEN any more blah? I was bored, and I freaking LOVE you! I didn't bob my head even ONCE. But hey, [Paula voice] you had fun with it [/end Paula voice], and that's my favorite part of the performance, anyhoo, so whatev. You're not going anywhere, so PICK A BETTER SONG next week, mm'kay? OH! And the end pose? Golden.
Lisa - Why Do Fools Fall In Love? (Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers) - So cute. So talented. So forgettable. So going home. That's all I have to say about that.
Kevin - When Will I Fall In Love? (Nat King Cole) - You still creep me out. I think it's the soulless, blinky eyes of doom. And the attitude sucks, too, so there you go! I jutht can't thtand it any longer. Pleathe make it thtop! Okay, that was cruel. Please go away now so I can be all Puppies Giggles Flowers Cat again.
Elliott - Teach Me Tonight (Al Jarreau) - First off, the tie? Are you freaking serious? And TUCK YOUR SHIRT IN! That said, you didn't actually take Barry's advice, which... stupid? I mean, Barry may be fruitier than a picnic basket but the dude knows his music. I just don't think you connected with the song, and it showed in the vocals. Then again, I spent the majority of the performance looking at The Ears and elbowing TGIM, all, "What did they do to his ears? Are they pinned back? And up? Is it the hair? It's got to be the hair. Why does he look strangely less blechy and sort of kind of almost attractive in a low-eared, bad teethy kind of way? Oh, man. I find this disturbing." They are cleaning you up nicely, that's all I'm saying. So there you go.
Kellie - Walkin' After Midnight (Patsy Cline) - Listen, Pickle. Bronzer is NOT your friend. TGIM kept saying "What is up with her makeup? She looks like a hooker. Her stylist should be shot." But seriously, "I thought he was calling me a jacket!"? HATE. And "happy doo doo" song? (Confession: I did actually laugh at that. I know, right? I'm so ashamed.) If it weren't for the distracting southern accent-- "Lahk Ah du-yew?" "Fur yew?"-- this was probably the best Pickler performance ever. Which isn't saying much, but it's something, right? Simon is either insane or incredibly horny for Vapid Ho. Oooh! HARSH. Sorry. I have to admit, however, I am beginning to doubt the existence of a merciful God.
Ace - In The Still Of The Night (The Five Satins) - Oh, baby. You seriously need to pull up those pants. Um, unless you are planning on taking them all the way off-- in which case, carry on. I am thinking that one falsetto note a song is a'ight, dawg, but what's up with the whole nasally in the nasal thing you've got going on? Belt it out more! The belting part was awesome! Overall, you underwhelmed me with the vocals, dude, and I now officially HATE urbanized jazz. I want my Father Figure back! All "warm and naked," remember? *sniff* *sigh* Just thought you should know.
Who should go: Kevin! Bucky! Kellie!
Who will go: Lisa
Please stand by... (recap to come)link | posted by Cat at 12:13 PM
(Warning: This post could be construed as tangential and prone to metaphorical meanderings, or as TGIM would put it, "TOO. DAMN. LONG." That is all. Carry on! Or not. It's up to you, really. Um, okay... proceed at your own risk.)
While sitting in the bar area/holding pen at the Outback Steakhouse last Saturday night waiting with my squirmy six-year-old daughter for a table, I found myself silently cursing the elementary school for recognizing my daughter's compassionate nature and rewarding her with a freaking Friendly Falcon gift certificate, good for one Joey Kid's Meal. Oh, and for giving in to my daughter's pleas of "Momma, I don't care if the wait is over an hour! Let's stay! Please? PLEEEEEEEEEEEZ?! I get to hold the light pager thingy!" Seriously, she snatched the pager right out of the hostess's hand and shot out the door before I could stop her.
Now don't think I didn't try to talk her out of it. Oh, indeed I did. I admit, I was not happy about this. The fact that it was twenty degrees outside did not help. I pleaded, I cajoled, I whined. I even bribed, then whined some more, but she wasn't having it. She had plopped herself down on one of the wooden benches outside and there she sat, swinging her legs idly as she clasped that pager to her chest like Master Frodo Baggins with the One Ring. I tried to take it from her, to make her see reason, to convince her that we could come back another time, but she was all "NOOOOO! It's MINE! We must have the preeeecious!" Okay, not really, but I wouldn't have been surprised, that's all I'm saying.
Finally I gave in. I dragged her inside where we squeezed ourselves onto one of the packed benches in the bar. It was a busy night, so we were packed tightly, Old Man High-Pants and his Wife Unit on one side, family of five rowdy, smelly boys (I'm just sayin') on the other. Full of excitement and youthful energy, she bounced up and down on the foam-cushioned bench with absolutely no regard for her fellow patrons' personal space (or mine), scrunching me closer and closer to Old Man High Pants (who seemed decidedly too happy with the arrangement)-- one finger twirling in her hair, her other hand clasping my Pink Razr to her ear (yes, I'm a genius)-- wiling away the time talking to her Grandma Claire while at the same time dramatically advertising to anyone who cared to look that she was ON the PHONE. This is what is called "multitasking."
I watched her, and watched everyone else watching her, and said helpful things like, "Alli! Sit down! Stop bouncing! Oooh, sorry, I'll pay for that... Stop, you're kicking that boy in the shins! Get off my jacket! Good LORD, Alli! SIT. STILL." She ignored me, of course, but did stop long enough to cover the phone and say with an impatient sigh, "Momma, I am TALKING." I closed my eyes and resigned myself to the looooong wait. I may have pouted a bit. too. I'm not sure. It's all a little fuzzy now. For reals. It's a blur.
When the pager finally went off, Alli began jumping and squealing and running back and forth between the hostess and me. I tried to shush her exuberance-- "It just went off! I was just standing here and it started blinking! Do you see it blinking? Momma, come ON! IT'S BUH! LINK! ING!"-- but how does one calm the torrential downpour of a sudden rainstorm? It just can't be done.
I tried my best to keep her in check, as it seemed as if every eye in the restaurant was fixed directly upon me and my wild-child daughter. And totally judging. And condemning. "Bad Momma!" their eyes screamed. But it was useless: she played with the utensils and sugar packets, and talked, and laughed, and danced in her chair to the 80's music playing, and talked, and ordered for herself (saying "please" and "thank you"), and ate, and talked, and talked some more. Then, about midway through our meal something struck me. I put down my fork (which is amazing in itself because have you TASTED the Cyclone Pasta? Mmm!) and I just sat there, watching her, really seeing her, letting her words wash over me.
And I thought of books. Used books, specifically.
You see, I always hated buying textbooks when I was in college. I'd stand there gazing pitifully-- longingly!-- toward the shiny new William Shakespeare: The Complete Works, wishing for nothing more than to pick it up and run my fingers up and down its smooth, nick-free cover, or thumb through the crisp, totally NOT dog-eared pages inhaling it's booky newness, before wrapping it in bubble wrap and placing it gently into my backpack. Aaah, the sweet torture.
Then, of course, I'd stick a pin in my bubble-wrapped fantasy and reach out to grab one of the stupid old ratty copies on the shelf next to the brand-spankin' new books, you know, one with a bright red sticker on it shouting to the world, "I'm a third of the new book price! Because I am torn! And smelly! And full of icky food and sticky beer stains! And the occasional spot of drool! Seriously, I'm on my last leg here. Buy me now!" Because I am cheap, okay? And hey... those strings of star- and heart-shaped mini-lights and that super comfy featherbed mattress for my dorm room certainly weren't going to buy themselves, now were they?
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against tattered, dog-eared, food-stained books. Books is books, you know? As a matter of fact, some of my favorite books are in a similar condition. And dude, I am Queen of Shop The Sale, so forget about me being embarrassed to have to buy used. I'd be much more likely to stand behind you in line going, "You just paid $600 for three new textbooks?! Are you insane?! I'm getting all twelve of my books for $235.86! Woo! That's right, SUCKAH! That lava lamp I've been eyeing? Practically mine! HA!"
No, what I took exception to when buying used textbooks was the inevitable array of incompetent highlighting perpetrated by the previous owner(s). Good LORD! The pre-existing sea of yellow! Or pink! Or blue! Or all of the highlight colors at war with one another on the page! You can bet money that I would spend tens of minutes of my valuable college socializing time digging through stacks of used books, searching desperately for the books with the least amount of highlighting. Honestly. I didn't care if the books had vomit stains or were falling apart at the seams; I found the ones with the most highlight-free pages. Because, dude. If there is one thing I learned in college, it is that students? Have no freaking clue how to highlight competently.
You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. There have been studies! So many college (and high school) students truly have no clue what to do with a highlighting marker. They see other people with them and think, "Pretty!" Then they rush out, buy their own, and begin marking up their books all willy-nilly, an unimportant word here, an inconsequential paragraph there. But the worst of the offenders wield that highlighter with the belief that they will somehow magically retain everything they just read if they simply highlight, well, every single stinking thing they just read. Then a new owner comes along and uses a different highlight color, and so on and so forth until the book is just one big rainbow of irresponsible highlighting.
And what do you suppose happens when your reading material has been incompetently highlighted with a yellow (or pink or blue) marker? It dramatically reduces comprehension, that's what! What is most important becomes lost in a sea of color, a virtual hodgepodge of frustration and misinformation. Because just as sure as proper highlighting skills will focus your attention on the most important information a book has to offer, excessive highlighting will ruin the book.
Ruin it good.
Much like in life.
Okay, granted, this was quite the thought to be thinking during dinner at Outback Steakhouse with my daughter, but never underestimate the crazy yet lightening quick workings of my mind. Or the verbosity of my daughter (I know! Where does she get that?! For reals!).
I realized that I had wasted more than half of what could have been-- check that, should have been an evening full of love and laughter-- one that I could gratefully pull out of the vault when my youngest daughter no longer thinks spending alone-time with Momma is a special treat-- wielding that stupid yellow marker and vigorously highlighting only the trivial things, focusing my attention on the inconsequential. I was so busy highlighting what I thought was important, what I thought other people thought was important, that I completely missed the point. I ruined the book.
Ruined it good.
Chastened, I tried my best to salvage the rest of the evening. I found Fun Momma underneath all that color and I picked up my knife and began singing the 80's music into it as she danced in her seat, I oohed and aahed over her Spotted Dog Sundae, and laughed with her over some silly joke Boomer From School-- "my ushy-gushy boyfriend!"-- told her. By the time we hit those heavy double doors and burst into the frigid night air, we were laughing and joking, and the happy mood lasted until we walked through our front door.
"How was it?" TGIM asked us.
Before I could say a word, Alli shrugged and said, "Oh, Momma was wearing her cranky pants, but I think she's better now."
Oh no! I thought. That's it? That's all she remembers?
She kissed me and squeezed me and ran upstairs to put on her pajamas. And guys? Guys?! I was devastated.
That night I decided to put the highlighter away for a while, because at that moment I realized that in life premature underlining often leads to highlighting inconsequential information. Cranky pants, indeed. Instead I vowed to try my damnedest to kick back and carefully peruse what life is offering-- to understand, it, to enjoy it-- right here, right now. No judging. Not yet. Only enjoying. Loving. I'm hoping that by doing this, when the time comes that I am looking back over the time I spent with my children, family, and loved ones, I can more competently perceive and appreciate what was truly meaningful in my life. Highlight it, if you will.
And that, my friends, is what I will focus on.
Have you ever been walking down a busy city street on an unusually warm early March afternoon because your stupid car broke down so you're stuck riding the Washington Metro with people who are too damn stupid to stay home when they have coughs due to cold, arousing the fighting Irish in you by hacking and sniffling all over everybody, specifically you? Which is gross?
And you don't really mind walking the two miles home because there is a soft, warm breeze washing over you, and birds are singing and flitting around in the green haze of the treetops, and the flowers are blooming right before your eyes. And also because you are appropriately dressed for walking, clad in your Casual Friday jeans and tee, shod in comfy yet stylish athletic shoes, sporting oversized (but not ridiculously so) pink sunglasses, and wearing iPod earbud headphones adjusted for hours of maximum listening enjoyment.
Then, as you are walking the long stretch of the main thoroughfare you begin to notice people turning to stare, so you maybe throw a tad more sway into your hips than usual? And then a small, confident smile slowly spreads across your face? And maybe you're strutting, but just a little?
And suddenly the world falls away and all you can hear are the catchy guitar riffs of Jet's Move On-- an early-70's-Stones-style country ballad with kick-ass slide work-- and the lead singer's raw, gritty voice strikes something deep inside, not in the shallow end, but in the deepest waters and darkest places of your soul. And your heart feels light and your soul begins to sing and you have this sudden, exuberantly surreal sensation, as if you have just been thrust right into the ending montage of your favorite feel-good movie-- you know, the part where the hero is triumphantly walking into her happily ever after-- and you just know that her whole life is opening up before her and you realize you are her and it FEELS? SO? GOOD?
Then, even when the moment passes and the cars zoom back into your periphery-- and the honking horns, screeching tires, and sporadic Woo! Hey Baby!'s evolve into beautiful songs of unrestrained cacophony-- you can't suppress the giddy smile or the unabashedly swaying hips, and you feel more alive than you can remember having felt in such a long time?
Well? Have you?
Yeah. Um, me neither. I'm so sure.
'Cause every once in a while
You think about if your gonna get yourself together
You should be happy just to be alive
And just because you just don't feel like comin' home
Don't mean that you'll never arrive.
Yeah I'm gonna have to move on...
link | posted by Cat at 9:56 AM
No takers? Anyone? Anyone?
FREAK! Why doesn't that ever work? And I really am Irish! Mostly! I mean, hello? Freckles?!
Well, this is awkward.
How about now?
Hey! Smoldering is HARD, yo?! Constantine is a PRO, I tell you what, just whipping out the smolder like that because my picture took, like, eighteen tries! For serious! And my cube neighbors kept walking by, so I had to be covert with the smoldering! It's extraordinarily difficult to smolder under those conditions, that's all I'm saying. I admit, I have smoldered better. But still! Kisses? Because... Irish?
Still, no? Smoldering doesn't do it for you? Really?
Well... damn. What a stupid holiday.
Look at me, such the slacker, putting work before my blog and all... GOSH! Could this day have BEEN any more crazy?! I think not.
So moving on to a WAY better topic:
"Well-diversed?!" Oh dear lord, Paula.
Kevin-- AKA: He Who Shall Not Be Named (*cough* Scott Savol *cough*)-- proved he has no freaking idea what "my heart sunk" means. And it was kind of funny that they left it in, actually. Stevie W. cames in the room and his "heart sunk." You know, with the excitement of it all? Heh. You just can't script this stuff, I tell you what.
Ryan to Simon: Okay... you're done?
The only people worth commenting on are Kat, Taylor, and possibly Lisa and Paris. Okay, and Chris. Everyone else was a truckload of MEH for me. But of course I'll comment on everyone. Because I'm obsessive and anal, okay?!
Breaking it Down:
Ace: Do I Do-- Aaaw! Look at all that crying and back-rubbing going on with Stevie W! How totally not gay! Oh, my dear, sweet, sexy, poofy-haired boy. Your hair stylist hates you. Just thought I'd drop a hint. And dude? You didn't say "naked." Say "naked" next time. Remember? "Naked." Um... "warm and naked" would be cool, too. Seriously. N-A-K-E-D. Do it. Do it. Do it.... Do it.
Kellie: Blame It On the Sun-- Holy Gold Almighty. That was just... Holy God Almighty. "Blaaaaaaaaaym it aaaaaaaawn thuuuuuuh suuuuuuuuuhn..." It's the song that never ends! Uh-oh (yay!), when Paula says, "You look beautiful" we all know that what she's really saying is "Wow. That sucked more than anything has ever sucked before. Nyah!" Ooooh, Simon, actually called the horridness of her voice?! Finally. Now listen here, missy, you said you didn't know any of Stevie's music, so why the hell were you crying when he walked in the room?! Faker! Vapid attention whore! Dumbass! Fake-eyelashes-and-bought-on-sale-red-pumps-wearer!... yeah, I'm out. Begone!
Elliott: Knocks Me Off My Feet-- Good lord, another crier. Gosh! You big babies! Geesh. When did Stevie Wonder die and become God? Anyhoos, I'm just not feeling the voice or the stage presence, dawg, and don't even think I've forgiven you for ruining Heaven. Traumatized, that's what I am. Scarred for life.
Mandisa: Don't You Worry About A Thing-- Oooh! I get it! Soft Mandisa = bad, loud Mandisa = good. Soft Mandisa actually = really, really bad. What's up with that? But it's all right, we LIKE you shouty, mm'kay? And may I say, you and your moisturized ankles are a-freaking-dorable? But listen here, bizyotch, no more footsy with my Ry-Ry, you hear? For serious. You better just step off my man, or I WILL cut you. But still! Pretty.
(Aside: I wonder what Ryan was thinking when he took off her shoes. What if her feel totally smelled?! I can't remember... did he make the smelly fart face? Did he?)
Bucky: Superstition-- Boomhauer, Boomhauer, Boomhauer... still chillin' with the pornstache, eh? I am so over it. But listen: constipated is SO not a good look while performing, so seriously... stop crouching! Hmm... I think I actually enjoyed the song during the two parts where you weren't growling at me, and it was a shockingly good fit for you, but truthfully? I just couldn't get past the pretty, pretty hair.
Melissa: Lately-- "Hope my recognition misses"? Oh, lordy. That was just bad. Bad, bad, bad. You're all, "I have many, many wishes!" and Stevie Wonder's like, "Get off me, biznitch, and learn those words." Un.Comfortable. He was totally glaring at you, too, and dude's blind, so there you go. And then with my wee Ryan you're all, "I've been gargling and swallowing!" and I'm like, "Heh." Because you just went and left that door wide open for us, didn't you? And the judges gave you a pass? Why is there not mandatory drug testing for the judges, huh? Because... crackheads? That being said, you looked beautiful tonight. Trailer Trash Bratz Doll Chic totally gone. AI Stylists = Miracle Workers.
Lisa: Signed, Sealed, Delivered-- Except for feeling a bit like I'm suddenly at Disneyworld and my kids are forcing me to watch some sort of Junior Miss pageant when all I want to do is freaking ride Space Mountain, (and I mean this...) cute! Nice vocals and kickin' threads. But seriously, stop pointing and doing the "come on, y'all's!" and stuff. Seriously. Just stop it. But keep the eyebrow thing. That's wicked cute.
Kevin: Part-Time Lover-- I have just now decided that Kevin and lover should never ever be uttered in the same sentence. Okay, to be honest, I was so busy laughing at his dancing that I wasn't paying attention to his singing. Remember on Sesame Street when Bert is Doin' the Pigeon? and we were all so surprised to actually see his legs? Yep I was like, "TGIM! Look! He's dancing like a chicken! Like a Chicken Little!" and then I realized that he wasn't doing it on purpose and that totally killed the glee for me and I was like, "Huh. I guess it's only funny if he's doing it ironically." Then I remembered reading that Kevin broke up with his girlfriend when he made the Top 24 because he thought it would be better for him to "be single" and I vomited in my mouth. Just a little. Good day, Scott Savol-light. I said good day!
Katharine: Until You Come Back To Me-- Way to dispel those pregnancy rumors, Kat. And will you looky there... apparently the Pickle's vapidity is contagious. Well that's just grrrrrrreat. But still... I've got the McPheever! Woo! But girlfriend? Even though you have fabulous stage presence and are ridiculously photogenic-- and yes, we can see that your breasts are splendid-- I have one word for you: bra. B-R-A. Then we can have the bouncy back! I miss the bouncy. From start to finish, way to OWN this song, Kat, and you never once let the band overwhelm you. I mean, even Mandisa was hardly even there during the non-shouty parts of her song. Fan-freaking-tastic. Oh, but Kat? Mrs. Roper called... she says she wants her dress back. (Ba-dum-bum! Thank you!)
(Aside: I'm not going to lie. I have to seriously question the judgment-- nay, the sanity-- of any person who makes Kellie "Pick Pickler!" her new BFF. I know they're roomies and all, but DAMN. I'm like, "Kat! Run away! If you mess with her, she will cut you! Don't you see The Crazy? Huh, Kat?! Doncha?!" Then again, if she's looking for more airtime, she struck publicity GOLD when she moved in with Pickler. I mean, every time the camera focuses on Pickler, Kat's right there giddying it up with her. Genius. If this is the case, if she is strategizing, I think I would actually respect her more than if she were just a horrendous judge of character.)
Taylor: Living For The City-- Hoo! TWIRLY! Soul patrol! Soul Patrol! Woo! Oh, Taylor, you frickin' blew me away. That was HOT! I loved it. All of it: the unique, husky voice, the wacky hair, the less-spazzy-than-usual dance moves, the kick-ass outfit and shoes... I had to watch it three times before I could go on, I loved it THAT much. So fun. Dude, I think you really do feel the music in your soul. But don't let the stylists touch that hair, you hear? It's your signature. All in all, this was my favorite performance of the night, the standing ovation was absolutely deserved, and I am totally stealing that funky dance move.
(*runs off to watch Taylor again*)
Paris: All I Do-- Is it bad that I laughed and laughed when Stevie said he sees a great future for Paris? SEES! Aaw, it's bad, isn't it? Damn. But SEES! Hee! Hmmm, this performance was very meh for me. I mean, the vocals were fabulous, but I was bored by the song. And I could have lived without the whole singing your answers to Ryan like some deranged puppy humping America's leg thing, while totally stealing Taylor's "woo!" and signature side twisty bob thing. You be trippin'. I bet he was watching and thinking, Um, hello? You CANNOT steal the 'woo.' The 'woo!' is mine, so STEP. OFF, little bizzyotch! But, you know, in a polite, southern kind of way.
(Aside: Did y'all see Ryan's face when she kept thanking her fans... in SONG? Awkward. Even Paula was like, "Oh, no, honey.' PAULA. I know, right? Insane.)
Chris: Higher Ground-- The pony, it has one trick. And honestly, AI, pander much? I haven't seen that kind of pimpage since Constantine performed Bohemian Rhapsody, what with the haze of smoke and the flaming background, not to even mention the fancy-shmancy light show and pyrotechnics. You just know Ace was backstage thinking, Hey! Why didn't I get some effing pyrotechnics?! And smoke?! He gets SMOKE?! This sucks! Don't get me wrong, I still like the rocker voice. I just think the song was a cop-out. I mean, the judges should have at least played fair and said, "Dude, way to stay in the box." For me, this was the most overrated performance of the night. And the weird sideburn S's were unfortunate, too. But hey, you're still pretty, so there's always that.
Should be Kevin! Or Pickler.
Will be Melissa. Or Kevin. Could be Bucky, too. Okay, fine, I have absolutely no idea what will happen. It's craziness.
** Devote every waking moment that isn't spent hurrying through homework or re-reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince to practicing magic tricks, card tricks, and sleight of hand. Then, after asking (read: forcing) me, your sisters, and TGIM to sit through The Great Tanndini's Magic Show, spend the majority of the time either threatening your sisters with imminent death if they reveal your secrets or muttering, "Wait... just a sec... let me do that over..." before finally astounding us with your mad magic skillz, thus assuring us that the magic set we gave you for your tenth birthday was a stroke of absolute genius (read: utter madness).
** When asked to get your stinky, smelly, eight-year-old self into the shower after an afternoon of hardcore playground, er... playing-- because I won't have you going to school smelling like butt, that's why-- you strip down to your undies and proceed to dance in the Naughty Zone (tm mrtl), shimmying and shaking your booty all the way to the bathroom while shouting "Momma, lookit! Momma, look at me! Look!" between giggles. (What?! I sure didn't teach her that...)
** After running circles around the basketball courts like a cute little six-year-old Energizer bunny hopped up on sugar and caffeine-- eyes glued to the sky, golden-blonde curls bouncing, upper lip buttoned firmly by your lower in concentration as you maneuver your $3.99 dragon kite to find the best wind on the playground-- approach me, pink cheeked and breathing hard, dragging your kite by two yards of string strung out behind you, and beg for a "small sip" from my water bottle. After taking three greedy, unladylike gulps and exhaling loudly with satisfaction, carelessly wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, hand back the bottle, and say with a reassuring grin, "Don't worry, Momma. I didn't mouthwash."
That, coupled with your earnest belief that you will absolutely never ever be able to get that "sticky tree zap" off the bottom of your foot and-- grr! argh!-- will I please just get off the computer and help you, compels me ask myself, "Self? Can't she stay this adorable forever?"
Hallelujah! The internet gods have heard my plea. I have connectivity! Cool. I guess I can put away that voodoo doll...
See? I can be brief.
We all have issues, this I know. Some of us have more than others, obviously, but let's not point fingers at Michael Jackson all at once, mm'kay? Because that would be wrong. That being said, today I feel the need to share some of my issues, to vent my spleen, to lay down my heavy load of despair. I mean, what good is a blog... wait. "Vent my spleen"? Well, that's just plain disgusting if you think about it, now isn't it? Who made up that idiom? Fuh-reeeak. What will they think of next? "Purge my colon"? "Uncork my anus"? Gross. But I digress...
Okay, so first there's Verizon playing fast and loose with my internet connection. I tell you what, they can just kiss goodbye my vote for Internet Provider of the Year! You know, if there were actually an Internet Provider of the Year competition. Hey! It could happen! You don't know! Which, come to think of it, would be awesome because maybe Verizon would try harder and I'd get some actual customer SERVICE rather than twenty plus cumulative hours on the phone with one powerless, faceless factotum after another, each promising my connection will be reconnected in 24 to 48 hours, each with the brain capacity of a tsetse fly, and each turning out to be a Big Fat Liar because I STILL DO NOT HAVE AN INTERNET CONNECTION.
But if there were an award for Internet Provider of the Year-- the INPY, if you will-- when Verizon lost to Cingular or T-Mobile, I would laugh and point and give way to intense feelings of schadenfreude-- you know, of the I Just Heard That My High School Ex-Boyfriend Who Dumped Me For Slutty McPutsoutalot Is Fat, Bald, And Working As A Part-Time Car Salesman In Yuma variety?
Because I'm evil that way.
And as if it is not enough that my loss of connectivity to the World Wide Web has forced me to wander the neighborhood with my trusty little iFred, searching for a wireless internet signal (people STARE... it's quite rude, actually), guess what happens? Guess?! My trusty little car breaks down, that's what. (Okay, so that would make it my not-so-trusty little car. But let's not quibble. You know what I meant.)
Grrr... I hate cars. I hate parts of cars. I hate parts of cars that scrape and ping and die-- cough-graunch-wheeeeeeeze. You know why? Because they suck, that's why. And also because when cars break I have to visit a mechanic. And I hate mechanics. I hate mechanics who loom over me, clad in their greasy denim coveralls-- which are the sartorial equivalent of twirling one's mustache, making even the most depraved of movie villains look about as scary as Deputy Barney Fife-- saying things like, "Uh-oh, it's the thermostat slingbobber bearings and muffler widgets," "Hmm, or it could be a thrown bearing rod or head gasket thingamahoozer " or "Tsk, tsk... your car's slamhenger sensor is sending a false reading to your ECM, so give me lots and lots of money and then maybe I'll fix it but it will probably break down in two or three days and you will have to come back here and give me lots and lots more money, mwah ha ha ha!"
Except they never really add that last part but I seriously wish they would because that is the ONLY PART OF THE CONVERSATION I UNDERSTAND.
I know! No internet AND no car?! My world! It is spinning out of control! When will the madness end? No car equals catching the Metro at five o'clock in the morning, riding for an entire hour, then power-walking the half-mile from the station to my office building. So I have to wear... (this is so humiliating) I have to wear... I have to wear my athletic shoes, okay? Are you happy now? Athletic shoes! With a pencil-style skirt and matching blazer! It's, like, the mullet of professional attire: business on the top, party on the bottom. Ooooh, crash and burn on the metaphor. Um, business on top, ready for action on the bottom? Damn. So close... Honestly, it's a shame I shall carry forever. It's just that my toes get all scrunchy and blistery in my dressy shoes! And there are shin splints to consider, too. I'm not kidding. SHIN SPLINTS.
Oooh, and hey, while I'm at all this hatin', I also hate Costco Tire Center, but that is mostly because the smell of new tires makes me want to vomit, and only partially because the so-smokin'-hot-he-could-be-an-Abercrombie-model guy behind the counter is always extraordinarily rude to everybody in the shop. My best guess? Total Hotness Entitlement Complex, with a tinge of Career Dissatisfaction. But hey, that's his issue, not mine, so let him get his own frickin' blog. Moocher.
Aaaaah, now this is much better. The burden of my ill-temper has been lifted from my weary shoulders. No more hatin'. My spleen is splent. Won't TGIM be pleased?
Whatev. If I don't have my internet connection by tonight, heads will roll. Oh, yes they will. Mark my words, Verizon. Mark my words...
link | posted by Cat at 10:27 AM
How much do I love Shaun (and Kristine, the woman who owns him)?! More than a box full of scrumptrillescent glazed Krispy Kreme Doughnuts hot off the conveyer belt, that's how much. And anyone who knows me will tell you that that? Says a whole lot.
Hey, Shaun, do you know how I know you're gay? You picked a photograph in which Simon is showing more boob than Paula. Eh? EH?! Woo! That's a BURN!
Anyhoos, thanks again, Shaun. The picture freaking ROCKS! I love, love, LOVE it. And, dude, I absolutely NEED that shirt. Can you hook a sistah up?
First, the superficial:
Hey everybody, Bo's hair looks pretty! And SHINY! (I wonder what conditioner he uses? Probably a salon-brand deep conditioner or a herbal moisturizing hair masque... note to self: look into deep conditioners.) Hi Bo! Looking good! Have you been working out? And hello there, mic stand acrobatics! Too bad you had to go and sing the worst song, like, ever. And I didn't even recognize your voice.. Aw, Bo. I miss the "Whipping Post" days. Those were good times. (aside: Your vocal chords are shot, dude. Please give them a rest. I want my Bo back.)
Ryan: Does it feel good to be in the Top 12?
Paris: It do!
Oh, Paris. As if The Hair was not bad enough. Are you trying to make me hate you?
Well, well, well... look who's out of the joint and ready to par-TAY. Seriously, people, who let in the Brittenum Tools-- er, Twins? And whose brilliant idea was it to give them a platform to shout out "... and rich!"? (although Ryan's O. M. G. reaction was priceless) Freaks, both of them. God help us all.
Just when I thought I couldn't love Ace any more, he goes all Hug Patrol on me. How sweet was that, huh? *sigh* Although I admit to a moment of worry because did you see my secret AI luvah hugging Will? Things that make you go, "Hmm..."
OMG. Next week is Stevie Wonder week? What will Bucky and Pickler DO? The mind boggles.
Now for the substantive:
Two of my favorite male singer are gone. I hate this show. *guilty pleasure*
Honestly. Kevin over Will? What's the thought process going on here? "Hmm... way less talented? Check! Infinitely less mature? Check! Not even remotely as cute? Check! But hey! Let's keep him anyway. You know, for kicks." It's like affirmative action for geeks or something. Will took it like a man, though. An adorable young man. Give him a few years to grow up a bit and find himself vocally. That boy is going places.
And Ayla over Melissa? Please. What is wrong with people? Melissa, in my humble and totally correct opinion, should have been the one to go (of the two). Now I have to see her and her skanky hair-- not to mention her pierced and totally not-ripped belly, which I am certain will be on full display-- perform again next week. Thanks, America. No, really.
Plus, now TGIM will never let me live down the hard, cold fact that I bawled like a baby when Ayla was eliminated. Yeah, that's right, I cried. Okay? Are you happy now? And I am totally not even having my period either! It was just so heart-wrenching to watch her cry, and if you disagree, well, you must have iron in your soul. I don't think I have ever felt more sympathy for an eliminated contestant. Thing is, you just know this was the first time she's ever not been the very best at something, and that is a painful lesson to learn in front of millions of people. And though, yes, she has basketball to fall back on, I think she was genuinely ready to dedicate herself to singing. It seemed as if she wanted it. SO MUCH. Seriously. I don't know how she made it through her song: "Reaching for something in the distance/So close you can almost taste it/Release your inhibitions..."
That being said, how fabulous was Ryan when he very smoothly and professionally walked Ayla through the heartache and disappointment, giving her enough time to pull herself together so she could sing-out? What a sweetheart of a guy. And she gave it her best shot. I was so proud of both of them. "Live your life with arms wide open/Today is where your book begins/The rest is still unwritten..." She'll be fine.
But y'all? It is Gedeon who was absolutely robbed of his rightful place in the competition. No WAY should Kevin stay in the Top 12 over Gideon. Gideon's the better singer and performer hands down, no matter how Forrest Gumpy he may appear (he was, in point of fact, valedictorian of his class... you heard me) when he isn't singing. I mean honestly, I nearly peed my pants laughing during his crazy "music makes the world go round" intro. "What. The. World. Does. Not. Know. A. Bout. Me. Is. That. When. I. Am. Not. Sing. Ing. I. Am. Pain.Ting... As. Thee. Record. Spins. Thee. Sound. Of. Music. Makes. Thee. World. Go. Round." He had me at "Sing. Ging." Damn straight, dawg.
Here are a few facts I have discovered about Gedeon:
-- He's the 3rd of 7 children; four boys and three girls. He hasn't seen his mother since January because she had to stay behind to work and care for her other children (why this makes me sad should be apparent in just a moment). His grandmother traveled with him to Hollywood.
-- He almost didn't make it to the auditions because the Memphis auditions were cancelled due to Hurricane Katrina, and Gedeon couldn't afford a trip out to Chicago. His teacher suggested that he put on a concert and sell tickets, which he did, and that is how he raised the $700 he needed.
-- His father died three months ago. THREE months ago. The late Tony McKinney, a blues singer, writer, and performer, died of kidney disease in December 2005. The way I hear it, there wasn't a dry eye in the place when Gedeon sang at his father's funeral.
I'm thinking that smile of his is masking quite a bit of pain. Aaaaaaaaand... yep, now I have guilt.
Personally, I am in awe of his faith in the face of his father's death. And he can sing circles around Kevin and everybody knows it. All that being said, I think this boy has a bright future as a gospel singing superstar. I could see him on Broadway, too, most def. He will be fine.
I suspect that Gedeon's backstory hasn't been pimped all over the show because he and his family have a sense of dignity and privacy. He strikes me as the kind of kid who would see it as exploiting his father's death. And if that's the case, mad props to him for taking the high road, unlike some other people I could mention, Kellie Pickler. And I also choose to believe that my wee'un wouldn't stoop so low as to expose such a young man's very fresh grief for entertainment purposes.
So how much did I love that by simply KILLING in his sing-out, he effectively said "In Your Face, America"? So, SO much. Because damn.
I don't know why he touched me so much. He just did. Bye-bye, Baby Ben Vereen. Hope I see you again soon.
Oh, wow.... Okay, this verbosity over an elimination episode has officially become an indicator of an obsession far surpassing that which is healthy. I shall seek help... after the Season Finale.
I'm standing outside my house catching someone's wireless. I feel so naughty. And cold. I'm pretty cold. So quickly:
Gedeon: When A Man Loves A Woman (Percy Sledge)- *sigh* You're just going to keep doing the talking thing, aren't you. Whatev. I am so over it. I think the boy is very, very talented. Like, ginormously talented. A little bit "special," if you know what I'm saying. Like savant special. Which is AWESOME! He did a great job with this, sounded older than his years, actually. But I hate. listening. to. him. talk. So... not so over it, apparently.
Chris: Broken (Seether)- You know what? Dude's insanely hot. What? I just noticed! Hey, Chris. How you doin'? I like your shirt and the way it hugs your muscular-- Okay! Fine. That being said, I like this song SO much better with Amy Lee's harmonies. Way to reign it in after that sucky opening note! Good on you. That was pretty hot. I love the feel of your voice. So radio-friendly. Take the gig with Fuel, Chris! Run, baby! Run!
Kevin: Vincent (Don McLean)- Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... Is it over yet? Is it? No? Zzzzzzzzzzzz...
What in the word does Simon WANT? Ayla is "too old" singing "Unwritten" which was recorded for a teen movie soundtrack, and Kevin is "juvenile" singing a song older than Dick Clark? Even if it was pretty? I'm perplexed, that's all I'm saying... Oh, no, y'all. Ryan and Simon are totally going to break up right on national television. UN. COMFORTABLE.
Hey! Taylor met Christopher Cross! Taylor met Christopher Cross! TGIM is going to be SOOOOOOO jealous. And dude... who doesn't like that song from Tootsie?! Am I right? Wait. You know what sucks? I never ever meet famous people, that's what. Humph.Well, except that one time when Alan Thicke was on the same flight as me on my Senior Trip to Disneyland and all the other seniors and I stood and applauded (because we were weird?) and he was a complete jackass about it so of course we turned on him and commenced heckling (because we were teenagers?) and I could never watch Growing Pains again without feelings of residual anger.
Bucky: Wave on Wave (Pat Green)- Boomhauer, you've got a crazy way of standing, but you know what? I'm feeling you, dawg. Weird. I totally don't know this song, so I have no frame of reference. But it seems a'ight. Well that's just grrrrreat. That means Will is so going home Thursday if he doesn't pick a kickin' song. Oh lordy, there are TWO OF THEM! Bucky and Rocky? What, did their parents hate them? Hey. The twin is kind of cute. Shut up.
Will: How Sweet It Is (James Taylor)- Oh, honey. What happened? Did you ever find that note? And holy shmoly you can't pick the right song to save your live, can you? Didn't you learn ANYTHING from A-Fed last season?! *snap* *snap* PAY ATTENTION! Honestly, you have a tremendous energy and a beautiful, well-trained voice that is pleasant to listen to. Oh, and hello? You equal freaking adorable? Give it another go in about five years when you've lost the Partridge Family vibe and you will absolutely kick ass, I just know it. I shall miss you, my sweet little Donny Osmond doppelganger.
My six-year-old daughter just said, "Oh, Momma, he's my TV boyfriend!" Heh. Simon, you apparently overshot a little with that "eleven-year-olds will love you!" comment.
Taylor: Takin' It to the Streets (The Doobie Brothers)- GOOD HEAVENS. I will have nightmares about that stupid bunny rabbit, I'm so not kid-- Aaaah! Call 9-1-1! Call 9-1-1! Taylor's having some sort of fit! Or a seizure! Come ON, people! Hurry! He's... okay. He's okay. Oh. He was just "dancing." ("Woo! Soul Patrol!") My bad. Taylor I love that you love what you do. I really do. Um, love it, that is. You just totally made my night. I paused, rewound, and listened to you with my eyes closed and you sounded hawt. Then I paused, rewound, and watched you again because how entertaining was THAT?! I was giggling and rocking out right there with you! You ain't got a rhythm bone in your body, my friend, but-- as God is my witness-- you have SOUL. (Soul Patrol! Soul Patrol! Woo!) I'm willing to bet this performance will be the high point of the evening.
Elliott: Heaven (Bryan Adams)- Oh, no you D'INT! You cannot just go and sing a Bryan Adams song like that. That's my era baby, and honestly? That sucked. And Randy? Crackhead. That was so NOT awesome. It was bland and boring and there was weird vibrato in all the wrong places and it WAS NOT BRYAN ADAMS. (I loved Bryan Adams. He wore his sunglasses at night, did you know? I totally need this song on my iPod.) Oooh, DING! Idea: Elliot, you should have worn sunglasses. You know, while you sang? That would have been fun! You would have still sucked, but you would have looked COOL while sucking. Oh, looky there. Paula is flinging her drink at you, but don't worry-- I don't think she means anything by it.
Ace: You Give Me Butterflies (Michael Jackson) Hello! That was a truckload of falsetto, wasn't it? Woo, boy! You were up in the rafters on that one, I tell you what! Wait. Are YOU Paris's dude in the rafters? The guy Favoring her? If so, I've got two words for you: JAIL and BAIT. Think about it. Mmmm... you so pretty, boy. So, so pretty... I... just want... to pinch... your rosy... cheeks... so, so pretty... kDSJsakdfhJSHKasfahfg... What? Who? (*pulls self together*) Good thing, too, because I can almost forgive you for singing a song with lyrics that put me in a very, VERY bad visual place. There's a reason why Michael Jackson fled the country, you know. So... ew? But I liked it. I even closed my eyes in an attempt at impartiality. I only peeked twice, too. Maybe three times. Okay, five tops. Well done, secret AI luvah!
Going home? Kevin and Will. But I will miss Will. He totally brought it on himself, sure, but still. Donny!
(Conspiracy Theory: Shhhhh, but I hear that Will's mother has been terrorizing the hotel staff and producers. Total biznitch. I bet The Powers That Be have just been dying to get rid of her, because honestly, Will hasn't been ALL suck, no matter what the judges have been saying. Hey, I liked Lady. Deal with it.)
(Disclaimer: This post and the ideas and thoughts contained in it are provided for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for timely American Idol commentary. I reserve the right, at my discretion, to change, modify, add or remove portions of my pithy yet substantive posts at any time to allow room for AI commentary. Okay, maybe not-so-pithy posts, usually. But still! Technical difficulties-- um, life?-- precluded me from watching the boys sing last night on AI. I shall catch up this evening and comment then. Because obviously I just can't help myself. So shhhhh! Don't tell me! And yes, that means YOU, Kristine.)
Panera Bread has free Wi-Fi and killer bagels, so just guess where I spent my Work at Home day? Huh?! Go on, guess! Not at home, I can promise you that. (Still no internet. Verizon is on my List. And not the Good List either. The Bad List. Oh, yes. The Super Bad List.) While waiting in line to buy a Cinnamon Crunch bagel (highly overrated, I'm so trying a scone next time), I overheard a conversation which immediately opened my eyes to one of the many perils of watching too much stinking television. Allow me to elucidate.
Front counter at Panera Bread. The restaurant is brightly lit, comfortably furnished, and filled almost to capacity with cappuccino-clutching internet surfers and the laptops that own them. Assorted bagels, decadent pastries, gooey, chocolatey brownies, and-- good heavens!-- ginormous, enticing MUFFINS (you know, the ones with the yummy crumbly stuff on top?) are artfully displayed, tempting the hungry and the not-so-hungry but totally weak-willed. The sun shines through the blinds on the windows, its warm glow illuminating the room.
[CAT discovered standing patiently in line. Okay, in the interest of full-disclosure, perhaps not-so-patiently. A WOMAN is standing by the counter, counting out change for her two oatmeal cookies and I.C. Mocha. The whooshing sounds of the register drawer opening and closing and the receipt clicking its way into existence are heard drifting from behind the front counter.]
WOMAN: [hand on hip, her steely gaze fixed on YOUNG CASHIER behind the counter] Excuse me. May I ask you something?
YOUNG CASHIER: [hands Woman her change and receipt] Um, okay. Sure.
WOMAN: Why did you say "Thank you, sir" to the man who just paid, but not "Thank you, ma'am" to me?
CAT: [thinks to herself] She did NOT just go there.
YOUNG CASHIER: Oh!... um... I just...
CAT: [thinks to herself] Oh, ho, ho... she totally just went there! Freaking Baby Boomer. I cannot believe the nerve-- ooooh! I wonder if raspberry cream cheese would be tasty on my bagel?
YOUNG CASHIER: I don't know, okay... b-but have a nice day... ma'am?
WOMAN: [dismissive wave of the hand] Well, it's too late for that now!
Woman storms off in a flurry of oatmeal cookie crumbs, imminent codgerhood, and anger management issues.
CAT: [thinking aloud] Huh. I totally would have said, "Okay. Have a nice day... and screw you, MA'AM."
At this exact moment I came to the startling and not altogether unwelcome realization that my mind has become a virtual wasteland of television one-liners which tend to pop out of my mouth without even a moment's notice. It's true! My mouth opens and out they come. I have evolved into this scary amalgam of Veronica Mars, Buffy Summers, and Lorelei Gilmore, with a tad bit of the freshly snarky Ryan Seacrest thrown in for good measure.
The young cashier giggled, and-- after I assured her that calling me "ma'am" would invoke my severest displeasure-- took my order and handed me the biggest Cinnamon Crunch bagel of the batch. The raspberry cream cheese was on the house.
I know, right? Things will never be the same again.
Aw. My wee Ryan's looking so cute! But maybe a little peaked? Dude, are you sleeping? Spreading yourself a little too thin? You seem a little off your game tonight... but still cute! And here come the ladies... I just love those little intros where they blow kisses and wave to the camera. So silly. Oooooh, Ryan's going to share some "little-well-known facts" about the singers, y'all! And... wait, what?
Paris: Gloria Estefan (Conga)- Paris is favored y'all. FAVORED! Some guy up in the rafters is totally loving her! Did you see? Did you? LUCKY! And woo! Nice dress! Good... wait a minute, are those blue jeans?! Oh, no, no, no. Classic camera pan-down fashion disaster right there. Tsk, tsk. Okay, enough Fashion 101. Listen, chica, I'm going to level with you, seeing how you are such a cutie and all, even if you did have the completely brilliant idea of paying homage to The Hair of Brenna Gethers. Wait, I forgot my sarcastic quote marks... Anyhoos, here's the thing: you do not ever, ever, ever under any circumstances sing this song unless it is (unfortunately) Gloria Estefan night. Which last night was NOT. Mm'kay?
Lisa: Tiffany Taylor (Where I Stand)- Zzzzzzzzzzz... huh?... I'M AWAKE! What? Who? Oh, girl, you so pretty. And you can sing, I just know it, but good LORD that was excruciating, with the boring lyrics and the gratuitous power note. You = Teenager, NOT tragedian. Have fun! Stop letting mommy pick your songs! Let your eyebrows grow out a bit! They're kind of Klingon-like! Sorry! Oh, and hey... thanks for keeping the bra under wraps tonight. Hee. Simon said "super-talented."
Melissa: Heart (What About Love)- Melissa? Meet shampoo and conditioner... because hello, bad hair day! Stop dressing like you just stepped out of a Bratz box, okay? And I don't mean to embarrass you, but you totally forgot to put a shirt on under your leather blazer thingy. I know, right?! I could totally see your bra, which I am sure mortifies you to no end! Hey, maybe no one else noticed, right? And that would be a good thing as your low-slung jeans afforded me much too clear a view of your womanly nether parts best kept under wraps when appearing on national television. Thank goodness for the bikini wax, that's all I'm saying! Oh, and your voice, with all its deep huskiness is nice, I really do like it, but that last note? Okay... um, no.
Ryan? You may as well have said, "Kat, dude, you looked SOOOOO fat last week! Did you know that?! Did you?! Like, millions of people thought you were totally knocked up and stuff, because of the fatness! Did you know? Isn't that funny?! And they thought you were a quitter, too! Hoo! HILARIOUS!" Which, rude? Uncool, my wee'un. Uncool.
Kinnik: Alicia Keys (If I Ain't Got You)- CHITLINS? Really? Chitlins stink, Kinnik, just like this performance (Thank you! I'm here til Friday! Try the veal!). Hee. Kinnik. Kuh-neeeeek. A hickey from Kinnik-ey is like a Halmark card... What?! Like you weren't thinking it! Oh. Em. GEE. For one clear, lucid moment, Paula woke up and acknowledged the fact that the band is TOO FRICKIN' LOUD and the singers quite possibly have a difficult time hearing themselves sing over the racket. (Seriously, what's up with Paula? Did they strap her to her chair? Pump her full of Valium? What? She was strangely still... it frightened me) Aaaw! Your face said it all as you put the mic away. I honestly don't think you could hear yourself, but I give you props for not making excuses. That being said, buh-bye.
Katharine: Aretha Franklin (Think)- Oh! Good for you doing an uptempo song! And for NOT claiming that you love motocross, big cars, or "mah dawg, Cawmet!" You are just you. I don't care if you are a Tracy Flick/Type A personality behind the scenes... I adore your dry humor, biznitch. I honestly have such a girl-crush on you. I DO! You are all beautiful and giggly and spazzy and bouncy, sort of like me! Except for me not having much to bounce. Because of my lack of boobage? Damn. Now I'm depressed. All right, over it. I mean, first you endure being accused-- while on camera, no less!-- of being a quitter who is also, by the way, pregnant with Chicken Little's lovechild. Then you step on stage and just bring it. You stand there, just singing and bouncing away (way to flaunt what you got, baby!), running those vocal chords like a cherried-out showroom Ferrari. And hey, bonus points for the sly slam on Constantine. You did me proud tonight, woman.
Katharine: I'm sorry! I keep saying the same word over and over and over!
Ryan: Don't worry. We're used to Randy.
Ayla: Natasha Bedingfield (Unwritten)- You thought your dad was Elvis? Hee. What a dork. And, hey! I freaking LOVE this song. It's totally iPod worthy, just so you know. That being said, I thought it was decent. Seriously. Plus, I buy a 17-year-old girl singing a current pop-song over the Barbara Steisand slash Bette Midler slash Oldie MacOld crap the other younger girls keep singing. It just seems a tad more believable. Now stop terrorizing Ryan with those Frankenshoes (which I'm fairly certain broke local height limits) and stop doing that strange squatting thing, and we're in bidness.
Mandisa: Chaka Khan (I'm Every Woman)- Randy? Dawg? What's a "bitchmark"? No, really. I don't get it. Uh-oh. Can't... resist... the urge... to sing... "Chaka Khan, let me rock you, let me rock you, Chaka Khan!" Sorry! Whenever I hear "Chaka Khan" I just can't help myself... "Ooooh! I think I loooooove you!" Okay, done now... But have you ever seen that skit on SNL where Will Ferrell and Ana Gasteyer play the classically un-hip middle-school teachers Marty and Bobbi Culp, and Bobbi belts out I Feel For You in her awesome opera voice while Marty accompanies her on his electric keyboard? Hoo! Hilarious. I LOVE that one. (Fine. Focusing.) I am a big fan (no pun intended), Mandisa, really, and you can definitely sing, but I wish you would stop shouting at me. Seriously, I can hear you. Okay? That being said, you sang your heart out and rocked it for the big girls everywhere. And how glad am I that the obligatory diva cover of I'm Every Woman was got out of the way before the final 12? So, SO glad.
Kellie: Melissa Etheridge (I'm The Only One)- Don't you know that Melissa Etheridge songs are guaranteed flaming defeat? Defeat flaming much like the ridiculous Burger King flames flaming behind you? Oh, wait, of course you don't... because you are freaking STUPID. Right? RIGHT? Good lord. WE. GET. IT. Of course we also get that it is just an act. That's right. Busted. Yep. You're THAT girl. You know, the one who acts ditzy and says utterly retarded things then acts the fool in an "Aw, shucks! I'm dumber than a box of rocks but ain't I the cutest thang" sort of way? I hate those girls. And now I'm a little more stupid for having watched you act the fool. So thanks, biznitch. Then you strut out there and start just a'kneelin' and a'yellin' your little lungs out... Flang that hair some more, you naughty minx, you! Flang it good! Woo! Also, way to sink down to your knees, girl. Get those guys voting. OH, YES. I did just go there.
Oh, HELL no! Simon, you did not just say that. Oooooh... You are so dead to me. You hear me? Dead. I'll take Carrie's reserved personality and fabulous vocals over Kellie's "Hi! I'm Jessica Simpson's Dumber and Sluttier Sister" act any day of the week. Because there is no way you were referring to her vocal talent. No way.
Gone? Kinnik, definitely, and Melissa (or POSSIBLY Lisa)
Wish would go? Please, God, please... let it be Pickler.
Tonight, ACE! Um, and all the rest of those guys.
I didn't watch the Academy Awards last night because I have a freaking life and can't spend every single second watching television even though I may not-so-secretly want to because there are some awfully good shows I've missed due to the whole TV Equals Bad So No Cable For Us, Only Bunny Ears! phase we went through so I'm trying to catch up and also because we haven't had the internet for two whole weeks now so what am I supposed to do at home besides cleaning and cooking and playing with my kiddos? Plus, you know, the Oscar's are hella boring?
But it would be remiss of me not to mention that I was utterly thrilled to learn that Reese Witherspoon won the Oscar for Best Actress for her portrayal of June Carter in Walk the Line. Really. I was like, "Woo!" when I heard it on the news this morning, and I assure you, when I can do the "Woo!" at 5 AM on the Capital Beltway, I am clearly WAY excited, what with the insane earliness of the aforementioned "Woo!"-ing and all. But indeed I did. "Woo!", that is. Even though I haven't even seen the movie yet. Because I freaking love Reese Witherspoon! And her husband Ryan Phillippe! And their cute little kiddos! I do! I don't care!
Even though her role as Tracy "Pick Flick!" in Election is seared in my mind as one of the most disturbing portrayals of a Type A, uber control-freak personality, like, EVER, I still love her. And here's something even freakier... I once had a student EXACTLY like Tracy Flick in personality and looks. She was my head Varsity cheerleader the first year I coached. Good lord she was scary! Hmm... I wonder what she's doing now? Probably something, well, scary, like working as a krav maga-trained CIA operative or an elementary school principal. But I digress.
Sooo... oh yes, guess what I rented and watched on Saturday? Guess! Just Like Heaven, starring one Mrs. Reese Witherspoon, that's what (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). I mean, how's that for a coincidence, eh? Eh?! I KNOW! I rent a movie with Reese Witherspoon in it, then she wins an Oscar the very next day? You just can't make this stuff up, I tell you what. It just can't be done. And DUDE-- if you think about it, the Oscar Committee probably tallied the votes for the Oscar winners beforehand, so technically speaking she was more than likely already an Oscar winner on Saturday when I was watching her in her other movie (which was absolutely adorable, by the way). Where am I going with this? No clue, but you have to admit... it's a freaky coincidence. Or not.
Say it with me now: Wild.
And Ryan was there at the Oscars with her and she was so excited that his film-- Crash-- won an Oscar and he was so cute and so proud and he obviously had decided to lay off the sauce so he was NOT as drunk off his arse as he had been at the Golden Globes where he cut loose and made a complete fool out of himself and probably ended up sleeping it off in the limo where a disgusted Reese more than likely left him snoring in a pool of his own drool.
(Aside: Wait. Did you see him at the Golden Globes? Hoo! Classic. When they announced Reese's name for Best Actress he flipped the freak out, but in a good way. Except in the excitement of the moment he gave Reese what TGIM terms a Love Tap, which essentially means that Ryan walloped his wife like a linebacker. "Okay, my husband just hit me so hard I almost fell over!" Reese laughed. Preaching to the choir, babe. And settle DOWN, man! Drink some coffee. Good lord.)
Apparently the Academy does not dare keep the champagne flowing at the Oscars as the event planners from the Hollywood Foreign Press Association do at the Golden Globes because they know that all the actors and seat warmers would SO drink themselves silly and heckle Jon Stewart until they finally passed out in their seats from drunkenness and excruciating boredom.
Well, freak. I lost my train of thought.
(Aside: Um, did you know that Reese worked with her husband-to-be Ryan for the first time in the movie Cruel Intentions? And in the scene where Sebastian (Ryan) dumped Annette (Reese), Ryan was so into the scene that he was off-camera shouting things like "I never loved you!" and "You're not attractive!", which were not in the script. Reese totally freaked, bitch-slapped him (also not in the script), and burst into tears, screaming at him, "Get out!" And they kept it in the movie! RUDE. But cool. Because that scene-- a scene which never fails to set me bawling-- and the actors' reactions were utterly genuine. So genuine, in fact, that right after the director said cut, Ryan ran behind the set and threw up. True love, hello! When a guy vomits over you (wait, not "over you" like on you, I mean because of you-- okay, that doesn't sound right either...), he's yours for keeps, that's all I'm saying.)
Ah, yes. Seriously. I love Reese and Ryan. I think they have an adorable family and they seem so down to earth and likeable.
They're keeping it real, you know? Fo' rizzle! They have even admitted to seeking out marriage counseling during rough patches in their marriage, rather than checking out emotionally and rushing into their co-stars' arms and beds (yes, I'm looking at you, Brangelina). And after the Golden Globes Reese was quick to share with the press that the next day she would be changing diapers and carpooling her daughter to gymnastics. Solidarity! Woo! She and I? We're like twins. Except for the diapers becuase I am so over that.
Reese and Ryan are honestly the only couple in Hollywood that I would genuinely mourn if they decided to split up. I'd literally be heartbroken. Okay, not literally. Obviously not literally. But it would feel literal, so whatev. I like them that much.
So Reese? This one's for you:
Woo! Carrie Underwood! Looking good, sister-friend! Have you lost some weight? Because damn! Come on over here and give me some sugar now, honey.
And OMG. What in the Sam Hill was the deal with Paula? I mean, am I the only one who though she was she absolutely out of control last night?! First she caught up on some zzzzzzzzzzzzzz's right there at the judges' table, then woke up long enough to make some very strange references to pizza and salads and fortune cookies before practically sliding under the table, at which point I fully expected her to snake her way across the studio floor humming Cold-Hearted Snake interspersed with hysterical laughter before collapsing in a pool of tears at Ace's feet. Huh? Just me, then?
Okay. So here's the thing: I voted for Carrie last season and I meant it. I loved me some Bo, I did, but Carrie's singing? It touched me. I admit it. She has a beautiful, controlled voice, and-- boy howdy!-- does she knows how to use it. She had me at Alone. I never saw her as robotic or vacuous or devoid of any personality whatsoever. I saw her as reserved, sure, but there was life in her voice and her eyes. And I honestly think that in order to sing at her caliber she has to focus. She deliberately concentrates on what is important... the music. Plus, there was that whole Can't Dance Worth Shizz thing... Her performances were (almost) always flawless, and she was never in the bottom three. I thought (and still think) she totally deserved to win. I have most of the songs from her album on my iPod. Yes, y'all. She's iPod-worthy. I love her that much.
Wait! I have a point! See, I was watching Carrie sing last night and I suddenly realized that WOW. The girls this season sort of SUCK. Like, a LOT. Seriously, with the exception of Mandisa and Kat, and perhaps Ayla, they have nothing on this girl. She was awesome! Aaaaaw. I miss Carrie.
Hey! It's my blog and I'm allowed to gush! Deal with it! GOSH!
Whether you liked Carrie's Dollywood look (Seriously, girlfriend? The hair? What the hell were you thinking?!) or the message behind the song (I personally think it's a beautiful thought) is a moot point. That girl can sing her butt off. Kellie Luanne Pickler WISHES she had that kind of talent and control! Hopefully people will be like, "Oh!" (slap head) "Well, yeah! That's what it's supposed to sound like, duh!" and not!vote "Pick Pickler!" right off the show (*fingers crossed*).
As an aside, the female country constituency singing along in the balcony was cracking me right up. Even Boomhauer was singing along, come to think of it. Heh. Cool.
And why didn't someone smack Brenna upside the head at the close of the show as she stood front and center in her patented smile-slash-smirk intended to be saucy but coming off slightly lip-rictus-y pose? Anyone? Why? WHY?!
Oh, yeah, and I totally called the bootees. I rock. SOLID.
(Kristine: Here's the URL at the official American Idol website. I do have to make small changes to language here and there. I mean, they BLEEPed Malibu Slut Barbie, for heaven's sake! Honestly. "Malibu BLEEP Barbie" just doesn't have the same ring to it, right? But whatev.)
Best moment of the evening:
Paula: Hello, Ace.
Second best moment of the evening:
Paula: Ace, you're even better than you... (hugs herself, smiles dreamily, and flies away to her happy place. Awkward.)
Ace: ...than I know? (flashes winning smile)
Classic! Seriously. You just can't make this stuff up.
And now, without further ado, behold my breakdown.
Taylor Hicks: This is totally crazy, but there was a Taylor Hicks Elementary School in the town in which I grew up. I would pass it every afternoon on my way to gymnastics. Isn't that FREAKY?! The coincidence?! I know, right?! Man. The first time I heard his name I was like, "Nuh-freaking-UH!" I was. For reals. Oh... the song? Dude, you are a natural, you are, and I love you, but the "Woo!" and Hey!" thing? You need to cut that right out, and I mean it. It's incredibly distracting and comes off as a tad affected. It's probably genuine, but as a friend I have to say it: TOO. MUCH. WOO. (Aside: In my neck of the woods, a toboggan is a sled. Imagine my surprise he said he likes to wear one on his head...)
Oooooh, Hi, Bo! Hi! How you doin'? How's the fam? And OMG, Ryan just totally burned you Simon. BURN! The Too Tight T-shirt burn! Hoo! I'm dying! Gosh. That just never gets old...
Elliott Yamin: Huh. Nice voice. I'm not a big fan of jazz, but I'm pretty sure that was a decent performance. Still, you totally need some Queer Eye and to choose songs that appeal to a more diverse audience. Because boring? Even though it was nicely done? On a more shallow note, the ears and the teeth? Well, that's why God invented ear pinning and porcelain veneers, right? Right? You're winning me over, dude. Good on you.
Ace Young: I was watching the pre-performance interview when it hit me... you are so Vinnie Barbarino, circa 1976! Totally! Rrrrawr. Hey, you should totally say "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" to Simon. Please? Because that would be AWESOME. Sadly, you were not made for that song, dude. (Oooh! A pun of sorts! Cool.) Okay, I hate, hate, HATE that song very, very much, and you-- oh, man, this pains me, it really does-- yeah, you absolutely blew it. And quite possibly pulled something during that high note, am I right? But still... PRETTY! With the smile! And the beanie! (Aaaaaw, the beanie...) So, really, all you have to do is sing another song with the word "naked" in it and you're golden.
Gedeon McKinney: Dude, you freak me the freak out. Just a thought: couldn't your intro be, like, a montage or something? You know, with absolutely no actual words coming out of your mouth at any time during it? Like, ever? I thought we talked about this. Because your intro? Again with the freaky! DUDE. But... you can sing. And I am strangely attracted to your old school sensibilities. You can imagine the emotional distress I am experiencing in response to this obvious case of cognitive dissonance. How can you act so freaky and perform so charismatically? Huh? Whatev. Well-done, my freaky little friend. But still. You freak me the freak out. Maybe if I just turn... down... the volume... during the intro...
Kevin Covais: Heard It Through The Grapevine?! Whoever put you up to that must really hate you, dude. Just sayin'. And obviously the judges snuck into the red room to smoke a little crack during commercials, because hello? Were we even listening to the same song? Good LORD that performance was... unfortunate. With the vibrato? And the lisping? And the stiff sway thing you had going on? As I watched you perform all I could think was, "Ooooh... awkward." I still have absolutely no desire to squish or pinch you; thank goodness we did not have to suffer through that whole "Maybe I'll get a kiss next week!" ploy for mackage action. (Brrr! I just got the shivers.) And the blinking? Totally reminiscent of He Who Shall Not Be Named And Yes I Am Looking At You, Scott Savol. Not good. Not good at all. That being said, the Chicken Little reference? For me? Most definitely uncalled for.
Ho-Sway Penala: No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Just no. Y'all, I was so not overjoyed with that performance... (Thank you! I'm here 'til Thursday!) Huh. However, as you appear to have given Mario back his pimptastical hat o' ugly, I won't hold it against you that you successfully sucked the glee right out of the room with that performance. No, seriously. You killed the glee, man. Killed it dead.
Will Makar: I'm sorry my wee Ryan molested your shirt on national televsion, dude. Uncool. I will totally have a talk with him (Bad Ryan! Bad!) It's just, you look so much like Donny Osmond! And who can resist Donny Osmond?! Honestly. I had SUCH a crush on him when I was younger, and have you seen him in Joseph and the Amazing Techinicolor Dreamcoat? Meow! *sigh* But I digress. Listen here, Johnny Bravo, do not pay one bit of attention to those crackhead judges. You have a killer voice and awesome control, and you nailed that song. I mean it. To the wall! However... PICK. BETTER. SONGS. Holy mother of heaven that was bland! Beautiful, sure, but forgettable? Absolutely. Oh, and thank you for not dancing. Good boy.
Bucky Covington: You're as country as a chicken coop, ain't you Boomhaurer? Not that there's anything wrong with that! But Garth Brooks? Cajones of steel my friend. With a little more vocal control, you could have pulled it off, too. So I've got one word for you: E-NUN-CI-ATE. Mm'kay? But not as much as Gedeon does! Um, because that would be freaky? Oh, wait, here's another word for you: Caaaaa-li-maaaar-ii. I hear it tastes great with smashed potatoes.
David Radford: Okay, you worked it out the best you could, I give you that, but Harry Connick, Jr. you are not. Don't get me wrong-- the American Idol title could totally be yours... in 1958. Sadly, you are completely out of your depth and I do believe you will get the boot, sympathy votes notwithstanding. Which is good because you are breaking my heart up there! What with the panic-stricken eyes and the hand-wringing and whatnot. Aaaaaw! Don't cry! Resist the urge to purge! Projectile vomiting is never pretty, you see, and you might hit my wee Ryan.
Chris Daughtry: Commercial in a good way; this could totally play on the radio. Sure, you aren't old school rock like Bo, but modern rock is a'ight. Hey, at least you're not emo! I mean, you'd probably look hawt with the scarf and the tight wool sweater and the black, square-rimmed glasses, but I'm pretty sure the absence of greasy, overlong hair means instant disqualification from the genre, so there you go. Here's the deal: though I have to give Will and Gedeon top scores for best technical vocalizations of the evening, this was the most genuine performance I've seen or heard so far. Sure, it was a bit sloppy in parts, but as you delivered it with true rocker conviction, I can't find much fault with it. Except for the screechy thing. Loud is NOT the new Good, Chris. Note it. And why does bald look oh so good on you, yet on Sway... not so much? Huh. We may never know.
Buh-bye: David and Ho-Sway. Most def.
I'm off to watch the elimination show.