Tonight, as I write about each of the remaining contestants, I think I'll treat you with a view into my crystal ball.
I think that they are all really good and could record CDs. (I guess that's not saying much, since technically, with the cool gadgets on my laptop, even I could record a CD.)
They each have their own style to an extent, so I'm going to pigeon-hole each one by determining what movies they'll be invited to do soundtracks for.
First up, Anoop, singing a little "Usher" with "Caught Up." Did a good job, and gave me my first real glance at his potential "concert" style, which was a little flat and gave Simon a headache. Since I see him more in the boy band style, I'm struggling to figure what that means for a soundtrack. Probably, it would be some light-hearted chick flick. I'll just make up a movie about two strangers (guy and a girl) who both rent the exact same storage unit because of a mix up at the rental office. They decide to share it and split the cost and end up hanging out there occasionally and turn it into a sort of rec room and become friends heading towards lovers. When one finally has his new home built and no longer needs the unit, he considers keeping it just to keep her in his life. Anoops sings the song during the flashback/montage of all the fun times they shared in their 24-hour access, climate-controlled storage facility. I think I'll call the movie AND the song "What's In Store," and it will star Jennifer Gardner and some random guy with a British accent. Chicks dig accents. They bloody do.
Megan Joy, in all her quirky wiggle-dancing tattooed-ness, is destined to sing the soundtrack for the kind of movie that has a free-spirited barefoot coed falling for her biology lab partner who thought he was gay but discovers that he really isn't. Whatever you call that genre. The nice thing about singing on a soundtrack is that you usually aren't seen, and tonight the worst part of Megan Joy's performance was watching her. She totally looked like she was uncomfortable, but that can be solved by borrowing a stool next week per Paula's suggestion. I suppose she can pick one from a catalog or go to a furniture showroom and check out some stool samples.
Danny. A couple weeks ago when he wore that white polar jacket, he looked like some personification of a singing angel. So I'm actually putting him IN a movie playing a soul-singing guardian angel who delivers messages to a runaway teen who thinks she's seeing things. I guess it's kind of like Touched By an Angel, but the musical version...with jazz hands. For tonight, once he got past that first put-you-to-sleep verse, I felt like he did just OK, but what in the world? The judges are crazy about this performance while I'm just a hair above underwhelmed. Maybe it has something to do with the distraction of trying to listen to these songs while writing all these screenplays at the same time. YOU try it.
Allison Iraheta. I'm glad that tonight we got to hear at least a little of her "softer" side without all the yelling. Plus, it's cute the way she let her 3-year-old cousin dress her and do her hair. (That's what happened, right?) With the lungs on that beast, she could sing the theme song from Cold Case if they make it to the big screen someday. If you know the show and the sliding howl at the beginning, then you know what I'm talking about. Youtube it something until I can hunt it down for you.
Scott MacIntyre. Pro: combed or cut his hair, and maybe some brow grooming? Con: Master Cuts must've still had their '80's catalogs in the waiting area. For a movie, I see him playing piano and singing for an upcoming Pixar project. I don't know what they have in the works, but if they do a movie about a partially blind robot whose owner's mom throws him away and he befriends a pack of lost housepets journeying across the country to find home, Scott should definitely sing the songs for that movie.
For some unknown reason, Matt Giraud standing at his keyboard in a section of the crowd reminded me of Ross Geller playing keyboard in the coffeeshop on "Friends." It would've been cool if he'd pushed the button that makes those space noises. The judges might have liked him better if he HAD. Let's just give him a coming-of-age movie. One of those where a boy and his dog face life and all its problems...until the dog gets hit by pizza delivery Pinto, and the boy has to face his parents' divorce, his swim team tryouts, and his geometry test alone.
Lil Rounds I'm giving the much-anticipated sequel to "My Bodyguard" (please don't tell me it's already been made and I've missed it). With yet another wig tonight, it's clear she's keeping some mall kiosk in business. Way to stimulate the economy, Lil! And the singing 'tweren't bad at all tonight, even though it was a less-than-stellar song choice.
Yep, you guessed it; Adam should do the soundtrack for one of the sequels to "Twilight." With his eyeliner, black nails and the blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth, he's a shoo-in for shrieking out a song during a vampire fisticuffs or love scene (or both at the same time since vampires are weird that way). Tonight, he sang "Play That Funky Music, White Boy" or as Cassie sang it when she was two or three "Play That Fungy Moogic Why Boy!" (I have a story to tell about this , but I'll not throw it into this alread-too-long post. I understand some of you have things to do today besides reading my blog for hours.)
I liked Kris Allen's performance of "Ain't No Sunshine" tonight more than enough to overlook the use of "ain't." (Heck, I'm not even bothering to proofread this post, mainly 'cause I just proofed about 63 bazillion pages of Cindy's current coursework.) With that youthful cute face, Kris'd be good for a teeny-bopper movie. If it weren't for the fact that Hannah Montana sings her own stuff, I could picture Kris doing "Hannah Montana's Canadian Tour" and doing a great job capturing the wholesome charm. That, or a sleepy love flick on a beach in Mexico in the winter; someone has a terminal illness and is flipping through scrapbooks with family, reliving the past to the tune of Kris's guitar.
Based on both
A) Performance quality tonight
B) Their projected future performances for the imaginary movies I've slaved over,
I think that Megan Joy could be in trouble, even though I like the tar out of her.
We're just getting to that point where really, really good singers are going to have to start leaving, because in the end, there can be only one.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tonight, as I write about each of the remaining contestants, I think I'll treat you with a view into my crystal ball.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Based on the comments from several ("two" can be considered several in cultures whose population is under 10) readers, I guess I've let you down by taking time off during our Spring Break and not live-blogging about American Idol on the night that Adam sang "Ring of Fire."
Since then, though, I HAVE had a chance to watch the show in its entirety.
Unfortunately, our reserves of bleach, Lysol, Spic-n-Span and Febreeze weren't enough to successfully remove the images and sounds of Adam's performance from whatever synapses in my brain that they've latched themselves onto.
Nothing against Egyptians and their music, but I wholeheartedly believe that when Johnny Cash wrote that song (or June or whoever wrote it if it wasn't him), he never imagined that it would one day be sung by a gothish freak channeling a 5,000-year-old decomposing pharaoh clawing from within his sarcophagus clutching a hairless temple cat. Couldn't he at least have worn a cowboy hat or boots or chewed on a piece of straw?
I honestly had never listened to the lyrics of "Ring of Fire," so I just now Googled it. It seems to be about burning and fire and falling in the fire and burning, burning, burning. Essentially, it was a prophetic description of the sensation of watching Adam sing it.
Perhaps if I stick a bit of Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser on the end of a long skewer and jab it in through my ear canal, I could remove that haunting performance from the spot in my cerebral cortex where nightmares reside.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Sure I can fit my new truck in the garage, but it only has about 1 millimeter clearance on all sides. Less in the front. I know I've pulled in far enough for the garage door to be able to close when I see the big shoe rack begin to crumple under the pressure from the front bumper. Some people hang tennis balls on strings from the ceiling; I crush furniture.
And don't even try to open the doors. I have to put on my Daisy Dukes, tie my tight shirt in the front, and yell "yehaw!" as I slide in the window.
So you can see why I've decided to clear out my garage in the next few weeks.
I'm going to invest some money into storage/organizational solutions, because the Throw-It-Over-There Method has reached its threshold of effectiveness. When it takes longer to find my Phillips screwdriver than it would take to mine iron ore, build a honkin'-hot fire, forge a new tool and carve a handle, something just ain't right.
If any of you has stumbled upon some great garage solutions, let me know. I've gone the route or just "tidying up," but it's time now to buy/build what I need to do it right this time. COMPLETE overhaul. Shoot me genius ideas, even if they're not your own.
Of course, I just saw "Mall Cop" so I feel like I can take on the world right now, but tomorrow I'll probably wake up without the least bit of interest in cleaning my garage, finding lost tools or ever accessing the food that's been trapped in the unaccessable garage freezer for the last 7 months.
Posted by Scott at 9:02 PM
Thursday, March 26, 2009
This morning, Cindy told me about the girls' Spring Dance at school.
It's just for our older daughters, so the younger ones will stay home, and one of us will stay with them and one of us can chaperone.
So Cindy asks me, "One of us needs to go to the Spring Fling. Do you want to work it?"
To which I replied, "I can, if by 'work it' you mean..." and I proceeded to do the white-man's-overbite and a little cabbage patch dancin'. I got mad moves when it comes to dancing.
She decided she should be the one to go.
Posted by Scott at 8:16 AM
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
After missing last week's show because of our Spring Break, we'll see if I can ease back in. I'm not making any promises. It would sure be a lot easier if it was a themed night that I could get passionate about...like, say, "80's Power Ballads" or "Country Songs About Girls Whored Out By Their Moms."
So tonight it's Motown Night. It'll work, I'm sure, but I'm really curious to see if any of the contestants come out looking extra white in this genre.
Well, let's get it on....
...which turns out to be the title of the first song with Matt Giraud. While I'm not really sure what I was expecting to see in the way of wardrobe tonight, I certainly wasn't expecting Matt's Mr. Roger's cardigan. The thought of Mr. Rogers singing "Let's Get It On" represents the colliding of two very different worlds; kind of like the beginning of "Thundercats" when that planet swings by and blasts into the moon and cracks it. But singing-wise, it was good and didn't crack any moons.
Kris Allen showed up tonight, guitar in hand and boy scout badges on shoulder. I spent much of the time trying to read his shirt; the whole bottom half had some kind of text crammed all over it. I'm assuming it's sublimally printed with "VOTE FOR ME" over and over and over. But between you and me, I don't think he needs the extra campaigning. So maybe instead it was the lyrics for "How Sweet It Is.". Nice job.
Scott MacIntyre sang "You Can't Hurry Love" which cracks me up because of the way it's always sung so fast. He's a good singer, but not in the star way. He hits each note right and clearly, but in the way that a Broadway singer might need to, or a guy on a float in a Disney parade, or that guy on the piano on the third level of the floating casino.
Judge's Attempt At Humor Alert:
Paula got fed up with Simon's juvenile antics and whipped out box of crayons and some coloring books. I personally couldve come with better props to make the same point, but nice try, Paula.
Oh my, Megan Joy, oh my. If Simon does not make a cruise ship lounge singer reference, I will eat this Blackberry I'm typing on. At least, her dress matches her arm tattoo. The judges aren't digging it; so many better song choices out there. OK, Simon's up now...mention the cruise...or a lounge. Crud. I have to eat my phone now.
Next up, Anoop. I have lofty expectations for Anoop Dog, what with him being the only man of color left in the competition and all. He's going to wow us with the lyrically electrifying "Oo Baby Baby." I'm guessing he could could really do something with a hauntingly beautiful song I wrote for Cindy in our early years called "Oo, Baby, Yeah Uh-Huh."
Note: Have all the guys worn ties so far? What's up with that? Are we interviewing for internships with a bank?
Michael Sarver sang some song that also included the words "Oo Baby Baby" ("Ain't Too Proud To Beg"). I actually think he's done the best job of anyone tonight so far of SOUNDING like old Motown. But considering he LOOKED more like a middle-aged white dude with his shirt unbuttoned and that chain necklace... Well, the judges tore him apart.
Lil, Lil, Lil. She should rock tonight. An African American woman should be able to burn up the stage tonight with "Heat Wave." Check out that wig, the dress, the earrings even. She is definitely bringing it before she even opens her mouth. Good performance to watch, girl, but I agree she could have picked a song with a melody that would have shown her off more.
Next, Adam's up. To quote Smokey Robinson, "I've never heard 'Tracks of My Tears' sung that way before." Hold it! What! Is this Adam?! He's wearing a suit and his hair's slicked back, no nail polish! With 30% less eyeliner, he doesn't look even remotely like a Twilight vampire tonight, thank goodness. Possibly the best of the night, which pains me because I haven't liked him up till now. But now that he looks more like Jason Bateman instead of Edward Cullen strung out on bad elk blood, I'll have to reconsider.
Danny's up with "Get Ready." I already liked him, but I like him even more now that I've seen him scoot back with the back-up singers and do some rolling motions along with them, having fun on stage.
And finally, Allison's doing "Papa Was a Rolling Stone." Oh boy, I love songs from the 70's that incorporate the "shikkawokka shikkawokka" sound. She's got pipes and played them full-force. Awesome, one of the best tonight. And I'm not just saying that because she's a redhead, thought that's reason enough to vote for her. (I swear I'll vote for Obama if he dyes his hair red in '12.)
My predictions for bottom three;
Megan Joy, Scott MacIntyre and Michael Sarver.
I'm just going to close with this mental image for anyone who missed the show. Google images for "Paula Abdul Crayon Moustache" and sleep well. (Don't really Google that. I just checked, and there's everything BUT Paula Abdul with a crayon moustache...including a charming William Hung and a shirtless Hall or Oates.)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
First of all, I'm sorry I've been absent from the internet for lo these many days during Spring Break and following. I'm still worn out from all the not working and all the not cleaning and all the not doing anything important.
Second of all, my real reason for writing today is to apologize to the nice man in the truck driving down our street.
Dear Mr. Nice Man In The Truck Driving Down Our Street (Mr. NMITTDDOS),
I was returning down our long driveway after grabbing a handful of mail from the mailbox when you drove by.
As you may or may not know, Mr. NMITTDDOS, this is a friendly street, and its residents frequently wave regardless of whether or not we recognize you. For all I know, you were a serial killer hauling the duct-taped bodies of Mr. and Mrs. McGillicutty in the bed of your truck. But being the neighborly soul I am, you were getting a wave from me regardless of any homicidal tendencies you do or don't have. I'm not one to judge.
Unfortunately, with the dog leash in one hand and a stack of mail in the other, I turned around, lifting the arm with the mail to attempt a wave. As you undoubtedly noticed, because of the mail, I didn't have many fingers able to extend to do a formal wave. In fact, I had only one finger free.
Yup. THAT one.
So in case you were planning to come back for me after you drop the McGillicutties off at their eternal destination, I want you to know that I truly was waving...not making an obscene hand gesture, even though that's what it looked like.
And I'm not just saying that because I'm scared of you, Mr. NMITTDDOS.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
It's a rather unevetful day here in paradise.
Cindy found us a great little vacation house on the beach in Florida.
So currently I'm just chilling here in a beach chair on the sand.
The girls are alternately boogie-boarding and sand-caslte creating.
Cindy is napping.
Ah...feel the tension just ebb away.
The owners of this beach house also own a coffee shop down the road, so we dropped in there earlier for some smoothies and to hop online to do a little research for tonight's space shuttle launch.
We're still debating whether to watch it from our deck (about 90 miles away) or cruise down the coast to get a closer peek.
Until we decide, it's more swimming, sleeping, digging, kite-flying and shelling.
I could get used to this.
Posted by Scott at 3:41 PM
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Every year as I blog these American Idol shows (ok, this is only my second year), I have tried to adhere to a particular mission or purpose.
Last year, I went several rounds doing my best NOT to talk about their actual singing. And so far this year, I've worked hard to avoid using actual names.
I dunno. Maybe I'm missing the whole point of the show if I work hard to be a purist in my goals.
Let's just see how this goes, and maybe I'll be inspired and come up with a whole new strategy for live-blogging this life-sucking show. I'm ready to push "play" on my DVR, so pour a little artificial strawberry syrup in your milk with me and settle in for what I expect to be a night full of jaw-dropping talent...or perhaps just some poor wardrobe choices. It's too early to tell.
Well, well, well. The judges have just stolen a scene from "The Right Stuff" or "Apollo 13." They have just entered from backstage walking side-by-side in orange jump suits and holding their astronaut helmets...except without the jumpsuits and helmets. Instead, Paula had grabbed a molting emu on the way to the theater and tossed it over her right shoulder. For his part, Simon mixed it up a bit and wore a black shirt.
On with the contestants.
Lil Rounds. OK. There, I did it; I'm using names. I've just figured out her name is "Lil" which is probably short for "Lilly" or "Lillian" or "Lilliputian" instead of short for "Little" like "Li'l Wayne" or "Best Li'l Whorehouse in Texas." I was so saddened when she chose to sing a Michael Jackson song, but then my wife told me not to be too hard on her, especially since it's Michael Jackson night. So unless there's a loophole and they're allowed to sing songs by Micheal Norbert Jackson of Duluth, it's going to be a long night. Instead of giving her a hard time for her song choice, I shall just mock the prom dress top paired with some snazzy white Jordache-esque jeans.
Scott (didn't catch his last name, but I will totally fight the urge to refer to him as "Sightless Scott." Oops.) played piano and sang a song I didn't know, so I couldn't automatically hate it. Good voice, but it could possibly sound better if he'd just remove that sound insulating wad of hair that is consuming his head. Note: that previous line is simply the jealous rantings of a bald man.
Now is the point in the night where my wife implores me to help with the all-important task of SCRUBBING GUNK OUT OF THE BOTTOM OF A BATHROOM DRAWER. Why! Why! Tell me why must this particular job be done right now? She told me that it's human nature. (Give yourself a moment and that line will be funny.) Therefore the next several singers were heard whilst scraping makeup, soap, lotion and other years-old spills out of that blasted drawer, so don't expect much commentary.
Danny Gokey has a knack for matching his glasses to his clothes. I automatically assume he is independently wealthy if he can afford more than one pair of glasses. I, on the other hand, am at this moment wearing my 1980's glasses because I can't afford to update to the 90's. Danny's sounding good on a song I thought was called "EYG." After spending a moment completely stumped by what "EYG" could stand for, Cindy finally stopped rolling on the floor laughing and informed me it was "PYT" instead, which goes nicely with the phrase "Pretty Young Thing" which he repeated about twenty-leven times.
Michael the Oil Rigger sang a song and smiled too many times at my wife throughout the whole thing. Paula liked it and had occasion to wave her arm during her judging which allowed her to dangle a bracelet which looked remarkably like a rhinestone-studded price tag. How much do you think she costs?
Jasmine Murray sang "I'll Be There," and I thought she sounded just like a young Michael Jackson. She's so pretty and will look great on the cover of a CD, but needs to polish the singing just a little more to wow me.
Kris Allen. Something about him seems so familiar. Once Paula called him "sexy," I figured it out. He reminds me of myself, possibly because I wore a shirt like that in 3rd grade, and I own a guitar, and I have two eyes, and a nose...
Allison Iraheta sang a rocked-out song. Again, I didn't catch the title, what with the distraction of cleaning that cursed drawer. She did very nicely.
Next was Anoop doing "Beat It." Frankly, I like Weird Al's version of "Eat It" much better and think Anoop should have mixed it up a bit and interwoven some of the lyrics from each of those songs.
Jorge and his eyebrow sang some oldish-sounding song and left me without much of an impression worth writing about. At this point, my attentions have been turned to folding laundry so my attitude is heading toward angry and mean because there is NO reason why there are ELEVEN unmatched socks. So Jorge, I'm sorry if my impressions of you are affected by unrelated disdain and utter loathing.
Cute little Meghan brought back the quirky dancing which was perfect for "Rockin' Robin." But thanks to those stupid socks, I didn't have the opportunity to devote the necessary amount of time to deciphering her arm tattoo. I WILL figure out what it is, I promise you.
Adam Lambert still has the swoopy bangs that reach out and mock me, so I choose not to write more about him right now. He'll last a while, though, even without my help.
Matt Giraud (is he The Scarf from last week?) is up next with "Human Nature," and all the drawer-cleaning and laundry-folding has worn me out and I'm too tired now to come up which many more thoughts besides saying that it was nice.
Finally, we watched Alexis Grace teach her daughter to say "Seacrest Out," and then she sang "Dirty Diana" (Alexis sang it, not her baby girl). I liked it.
Golly. A lot of great talent in this bunch. I have no clue who should go home, but I'm thinking it should be me because I am absolutely withering.
But here's a stab:
My Tops: Danny, Kris, Lil
Low on the Totem Pole: Jorge, Jasmine (unfortunately), Anoop.
If you're looking for more coherence, check out Cindy's assessment of these fine singers.
I promise to write something more life-changing next week.
Posted by Scott at 11:34 PM
My wife sent me the following email. This is it in its entirety: "Your dog"
"just chewed up the weather stripping by the
door. We will need to replace it asap."
When the subject is missing like that, it's usually implied to be "I" as in "just thought I'd drop in" or "have been thinking about you" or "must remember to curb my appetite for weather stripping."
I know that we need to make a run to the grocery store because our pantry is sorely lacking. I just hadn't realized how desperate the situation was.
Of course, Cindy is pretty smart and generally grammatically correct. So upon closer inspection, I noticed that the "subject" line of the email read:
Posted by Scott at 4:59 PM
Monday, March 9, 2009
In my last post, I shared how I geniusly sold my car which I had parked in our parking lot after our last basketball game there.
And then I realized that my four girls and I were stranded.
I failed to finish the story, mainly because I hadn't yet told my wife how the story ended.
Simply put, Fred, who works at the church, gave me a ride home.
Nothing major there. End of story.
Except for the part where there wasn't enough room in Fred's car for all of us so I left the girls alone together at church to play basketball until I returned later.
It's really not that dramatic...
...unless you're a mother
...and you watch Lifetime Television For Women
...and your husband is incompetent.
But let's look at the facts:
It's not like any of these girls are daredevils and could put themselves in dangerous predicaments while unsupervised...no, wait. They ARE.
Well, it's not like one of them was feeling sick and lying on the floor sleeping, just waiting to die...no wait. She WAS.
Seriously, for the record, another staff member was there.
Sure, he was a young, single, childless guy who would have no idea how to deal with the kinds of emergencies my girls can cause, but Shelby surely could've walked him through it.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
We have a tradition in my family of origin where we buy cars from one another.
I've bought a couple of my parents' cars.
I've bought a brother's car.
My parents bought an uncle's van.
A brother bought another one of my parents' cars.
Another brother gave me a car.
That car made me smell like gasoline.
I generously donated it to some kidney foundation I saw on a billboard.
Anyway, it was time for my parents to unload their latest vehicle and I jumped all over it which put the dominoes into play.
After having a financial seance and getting in touch with the thrifty and fiscally-responsible spirit of Dave Ramsey, we decided to sell our Blazer and gather up some cash to pay my parents.
After less than 24 hours listed on Craigslist.org, I'd received a few bites on my car; the very first one arranged to see it at our church today after we finished basketball there.
When I came out, the family was already there climbing under my car, kicking tires, licking bumpers and whatever else people traditionally do to determine the quality of the vehicle they're about to be burdened with.
We shook hands, and I sent them off on a test drive around surrounding neighborhoods while I went back inside to clean up the gym.
When I came back out, they weren't there, and I started to think of various scenarios, all of which included this family of strangers cackling wildly about some sucker who gave them a free car.
A friend who was there with me asked if she should wait just in case I needed a ride home if these people never returned with my car.
Fortunately, these folks DID come back. On top of that, they whipped out a stack of 100-dollar bills and bought the thing right then and there.
UNfortunatley, my friend left when the family returned from the test drive; it wasn't until I'd watched my Chevy Blazer ride off into the sunset that I realized that my four daughters and I now had no way to get home.
Posted by Scott at 9:37 PM
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I took some time off today and came home early to prepare emotionally for tonight's uberexciting American Idol Wildcard Sing-Off.
(Well, actually, I had a sick child to come home and take care of, but I thought a fictitious story of my obsession with American Idol would add just the touch of drama you're looking for.)
I have no idea if the judges pick tonight or if the phone lines open again, but we'll find out in a few minutes.
Before it starts, let me just make my predictions. Bear in mind that my "predictions" do not necessarily match my "wishes.". For example, I "predict" that Tatiana will get through. However, I would sooner "wish" to have blisters on the soles of my feet for eternity.
Naw, just kidding. I'm sure Tatiana is a dear, dear girl. I'm just concerned that the valves in her heart might fly right off their hinges if she gets any more emotionally caught up in the glory of it all.
Note: I was planning on continuing to avoid using actual names in tonight's live-blogging, but "Tatiana" has become more than just a name [ex. "Did you see that guy tatiana-ing when he won the golf scramble?" or "they locked her up because she contracted a serious case of tatiana"]. So if I use the word "tatiana," it's as a descriptive term, not as a name. That way I can still maintain the purity of my blog's namelessness.
Well, Ryan has just confirmed that the judges will make these final picks. Whew. I feel like a burden has been lifted...
First up is The Redhead in Grandma's Hand-Crocheted Afghan. She sang something like "Tell Me Something Good" which didn't sound like an actual song. Doubtlessly, the best of the night so far.
Bluesy Scarf Guy sounded great. I'm guessing the scarf does something to enhance the acoustics of his throat. Perhaps, if he removed the scarf, he'd sound like Carol Channing.
Awkward Dancing Girl is back with the same moves. She is totally dancing like that quirly 6-year-old girl in the front row at VBS last summer.
The Guy Afraid To Commit To An Actual Mohawk. As soon as he started to sing, my oldest daughter started snoring loudly. I honestly don't know if she was trying to make a statement, or she actually fell asleep. After all, she IS the girl who stayed home sick and slept the day away. The judges all called him "too serious." If he makes it through, I recommend a clown suit next time with the rainbow wig and size 29 shoes.
Janet Jackson's Daughter. I adore her. She's taken the judges' suggestion last time to sing something younger to match her age and style. A little Christina Aguilera was a perfect choice for her. Unfortunately, the pitchiness and flatness revealed her weak side.
Oh No. This guy is leaving me completely at loss for a nickname or description. Nothing is standing out, even though he sang well. Immediately, one of my daughters asked, "Why is he wearing such tight pants?" So the Non-Outstanding Guy In Tight Pants it is. By the way, to answer her question, I replied, "It's easier to get through security when you wear tight pants because they can tell you're not sneaking in contraband like Pepsi or foreogn cars."
The Loving Girl Who Loves Loving Love and Loves Us For Loving Her. And how touching that she's singing "Saving All My Love For You," that lovely song about a mistress waiting for her married lover to ditch that woman he married and had children with. Then she got all weepy and tatiana-ed all over the place.
The Sock Tie Guy Without His Sock Tie sang "My Perogative" (I'll check the spelling on that later). Why does he continue to dress like a junior higher? And yet, when he sings, he sounds more like a sophomore, so it's all very perplexing. Hee hee, Paula called his moves "a little nasty"...like it was a good thing.
Well, they make their picks now, and I don't know if I should spoil it for you...so leave now if you don't care to read the results.
Janet Jackson's Daughter is in.
As is Awkward VBS Dancer.
Meanwhile, Tatiana may be the fist "loser" not to have the grace to congratulate the winner standing next to her. Very tacky. Very Tatiana.
And finally between the Afghan Wearer, the Faux-hawk, the Scarf and Sock-Tie-Less Boy, the twelfth seat went to The Scarf....
In the most dramatic rose ceremony EVER, the judges opened up a 13th spot for...
The Jr. High Sock-Tie-Less Wonder Whose Name Sounds Indian But He's Really From Carolina!
So there you have it, folks.
I've got a few days to learn some names. Too bad the one name I DO know, I won't be able to use...
...or WILL I?
Posted by Scott at 9:11 PM
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
OK this is the last week for my American Idol live-blogging without contestants' names. Next week, I'll actually learn some names. Maybe even the right ones.
But for now, let's just sit back and enjoy what many will refer to as "How we spent a couple hours killing time waiting for the horror of 'The Bachelor: Ultimate Last Final Finale.'"
The Man With Two Red Shoes. Tennis shoes with a suit over a t-shirt would not be my style choice, but that doesn't mean much coming from the guy blogging on his couch wearing gym shorts, a sweater vest and old-man socks. He sang really well, but I just don't know if America can pick a guy that dresses like the love child of Don Johnson and Justin Timberlake.
The 27-Year-Old 17 Year Old Girl. Why do teenagers try to look so much older? Again, who am I to be throwing stones, sitting here all pudgy and bald at 37? But she's done singing, the judges are done judging, and already I've forgotten what she sang. Not a good sign.
The AV Club President. Now this guy looks just like someone I'd go to school with and sit at lunch with and talk with about how "Ladyhawk" was our favorite movie. He was cracking me up with the gutteral screaming of "That's Why They Call It The Blues" and kicking over of microphone stands. Unfortunately, we learned last week that cracking us up doesn't get us to vote for you in a singing competition. Now, a gutteral screaming and mic stand kicking competition is a whole other matter.
Cute-As-A-Button Girl sang "The Winner Takes It All" in an ironic attempt to intertwine the obvious genius of Abba with the riffy liberties of Beyonce. Couldn't be cuter, though.
Handcuff Guy. I remember this guy from auditons with what can only be described as the cutest little toddler boy the world has ever seen. But I'm watching him sing, and the light's reflecting off the handcuffs dangling from his belt loop. (I think it would be fun to see him shoot Simon with a Taser.) I'm loving his "Hey There, Delilah" with his buttery voice which is credited to the cortizone shot in his buttocks, no kidding. Seriously.
Duotone Hair Girl has got some nice bluesy grooviness in her Brady Bunch dress. And it wasn't until the very end of her performance that I realized she looks like Bonnie Hunt or Goldie Hawn, or I would have more accurately named her Dutone Bonnie/Goldie Girl. I believe she's a better singer than this song revealed.
Male Drama Queen. When I squinted, he looked and danced like a middle-aged woman singing Meatloaf's "Anything For Love" on karoake night at the condo association fundraiser (and when he mentioned he used to dance and sing this song with mom at home, it all made sense). For some people that would be a compliment, but maybe the judges are looking for something less atrocious.
The Mom Who Didn't Make It Past Hollywood Week...But Did...and will probably continue. The only thing I didn't like was that the song went on forever; however, it turned out that Cindy had rewound it and started it over so it was only half as long as it seemed.
Curly-Haired Blind Guy sang "Mandolin Rain" which took me back. It took me back to a couple of weeks ago when the song came on the radio and Cindy screamed how badly she hates the song. She has yet to explain why, but we can all assume that some heartless mandolin player went home from prom with someone else in 1990.
He sang this well enough, but more like a college choral rendition than a star performance.
The Alligator Dancer's Daughter. As a blonde country singer, she didn't quite compare with Carrie Underwood or Kelly Pickler, but she was awfully cute and could still do Noxema commercials.
Antonio Banderas sang some Elton John "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me." Given his dancing history, I kept waiting for him to break into some flamenco or perhaps a touch of the forbidden dance, but the sun indeed went down without any dancing. Not spectacular, but neither is it condo-association-karaoke-worthy. (By the way, does anyone remember Forrest Whitaker singing this on Saturday Night Live? Perhaps one of my favorite SNL moments.)
Oh crud, Cindy's just switched over to "The Bachelor" so I better hurry up and tell you that I think the girls blew away the boys tonight.
I think Lil and The Mom Who Didn't Make It will make it.
But which guy? Probably the Handcuffs.
Posted by Scott at 10:55 PM
Sunday, March 1, 2009
I appreciate those of you who sympathized with the previous post regarding our family's pictorial directory photo shoot...and the sleeves.
So you can clearly feel her pain.
Posted by Scott at 7:34 PM