Do you see it? Do you see it? Creepy as all giddy-up.
Lady C. OUT.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Mug Shots
The Joy of Idol
Did you see the mug shot of Rhonetta or whatever sequin top girl's name was? There was one with the blonde wig and another scary one with her own hair. Yikes! And what about XL twins busted for identity theft? Advice to potential contestants: Clear up all criminal proceedings BEFORE you audition. Thank you.
Did you see the mug shot of Rhonetta or whatever sequin top girl's name was? There was one with the blonde wig and another scary one with her own hair. Yikes! And what about XL twins busted for identity theft? Advice to potential contestants: Clear up all criminal proceedings BEFORE you audition. Thank you.
Friday, January 27, 2006
He's gawn!
Oh my heavens to Betsy - Simon has left the show! Whatever will become of Paula and Randy? Will they turn on each other? Will they start sniping at each other in more and more pointed ways until finally they look into each other's eyes and realize that all this passionate hatred is misdirected and then they make sweet sweet love to the strains of hot sauce saint boy singing "Ribbon in the Sky"?
Or will Simon come back next week?
Or will Simon come back next week?
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
My future in sequins
So this is the top that I plan to wear for my own Idol audition next year. I am going to sing “The Tennessee Waltz” because Simon likes his big ladies to sing sad songs. And everyone agrees that it sounds really sad when I sing “The Tennessee Waltz”. I am fairly sure I can pass for 28. Particularly if I am wearing this magnificent spangley silver tube top. And that is all I am going to say about spangley silver tube tops, or girls who wear them or for that matter, girls who wear lingerie they got from their stripper-mom. (Although I loved the way that Stripper, Junior said, “She was a single mom, she did what she had to do, I don’t judge.” I hope she was able to be that unfazed with it in middle school.)
Speaking of middle school – I think it is the perfect age to enjoy AI. Frank watched with me again last night. When little Kelly “my grandpa WHO I LIVE WITH because my life sucks and so you need to pick me” Pickler was adored by Simon, Frank said, “Well Simon even likes her, and he’s not a “people person”. Hee.
We both felt sorry for “That Old Black Magic” Poster-Board boy and wanted to gut his little brother. Although it was nice how he stuck up for his big brother, it was painfully obvious that they were home-schooled.
I think that Dummy-Boy (“Hello Paula – you will be timidly looking for me under your bed every night before you go to sleep for months!”) might have gotten in if he hadn’t had that freakin’ dummy.
I accidentally said “Paula, you are one crazy bitch!” in front of my kids when she was talking about being “blessed to be in your presence” to the (granted) awesomely talented granddaughter of Grammy winning singer. Hey she’s a Grammy Grammy!
I felt sad when the personality-free boy sang “God Bless the Broken Road” and played the death music in the background. They could have been kinder. If someone is nice but just ugly, they deserve better.
On the other hand the guy who sang “A Whole New World” into “Straight Up” should be taken out and shot. I told Frank that that is why you should just say no to drugs. “Stay off the pipe!” I screamed to him. He told me the closest he ever came to drugs is benedryl. And then he played belly bongos. But I did like it at the end when he threw his hands up and said “Superstar!” Mary Katherine Gallagher style. So I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt and consider him hopped up on goofballs rather than clinically insane. And after last night’s show, that is the highest possible praise I can bestow on anyone affiliated with that show.
Except Ryan! When the girl was calling him short I just wanted to ruffle his hair and put him in my pocket.
Brunhildecrow, OUT!
(I am totally stealing that from Lady C. and Ryan. but they haven’t complained yet. And it makes me feel zippy.)
Speaking of middle school – I think it is the perfect age to enjoy AI. Frank watched with me again last night. When little Kelly “my grandpa WHO I LIVE WITH because my life sucks and so you need to pick me” Pickler was adored by Simon, Frank said, “Well Simon even likes her, and he’s not a “people person”. Hee.
We both felt sorry for “That Old Black Magic” Poster-Board boy and wanted to gut his little brother. Although it was nice how he stuck up for his big brother, it was painfully obvious that they were home-schooled.
I think that Dummy-Boy (“Hello Paula – you will be timidly looking for me under your bed every night before you go to sleep for months!”) might have gotten in if he hadn’t had that freakin’ dummy.
I accidentally said “Paula, you are one crazy bitch!” in front of my kids when she was talking about being “blessed to be in your presence” to the (granted) awesomely talented granddaughter of Grammy winning singer. Hey she’s a Grammy Grammy!
I felt sad when the personality-free boy sang “God Bless the Broken Road” and played the death music in the background. They could have been kinder. If someone is nice but just ugly, they deserve better.
On the other hand the guy who sang “A Whole New World” into “Straight Up” should be taken out and shot. I told Frank that that is why you should just say no to drugs. “Stay off the pipe!” I screamed to him. He told me the closest he ever came to drugs is benedryl. And then he played belly bongos. But I did like it at the end when he threw his hands up and said “Superstar!” Mary Katherine Gallagher style. So I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt and consider him hopped up on goofballs rather than clinically insane. And after last night’s show, that is the highest possible praise I can bestow on anyone affiliated with that show.
Except Ryan! When the girl was calling him short I just wanted to ruffle his hair and put him in my pocket.
Brunhildecrow, OUT!
(I am totally stealing that from Lady C. and Ryan. but they haven’t complained yet. And it makes me feel zippy.)
If I only had a heart by Mrs Cynicletary
If I had a heart, I would have wept when that sweet girl from 700 foster homes was chosen for Hollywood, but she was so funny and upbeat.
If I had a heart, I would have teared up when super talented, sweet and polite brown girl with high speaking voice and low singing voice got so emotional at going forward, but how could she not have known that she would go through? Watch your head in the doorway there, honey!
If I had a heart, I would have shed a tear for motherless blondie with prison Daddy when she went through, but she was so happy to write her Daddy in prison to tell him the news. Do you think the other prisoners will let him watch Idol? How will this affect his felon "rep"?
No other performer, not Cowboy Confidence, not carry-on- post- surgery- and-dumping, not not-so-bad in fireman outfit, not even the out-on-a- day- pass-crazies can melt this cold cold cardio.
Will I leave my heartless in San Francisco tonight? Tune in tomorrow.
If I had a heart, I would have teared up when super talented, sweet and polite brown girl with high speaking voice and low singing voice got so emotional at going forward, but how could she not have known that she would go through? Watch your head in the doorway there, honey!
If I had a heart, I would have shed a tear for motherless blondie with prison Daddy when she went through, but she was so happy to write her Daddy in prison to tell him the news. Do you think the other prisoners will let him watch Idol? How will this affect his felon "rep"?
No other performer, not Cowboy Confidence, not carry-on- post- surgery- and-dumping, not not-so-bad in fireman outfit, not even the out-on-a- day- pass-crazies can melt this cold cold cardio.
Will I leave my heartless in San Francisco tonight? Tune in tomorrow.
My Man Is a Cheatin' Dog / I Had Surgery On My Back / But Now I'm Off to Holly-wood / And I Ain't Lookin' Back
Last night brought me some musical joy and a new best friend. Also, to a new level of loathing and disgust, but that was somehow less remarkable.
So much that was good! The hotness of Army Guy who danced with Paula! (Sure, he's his own biggest fan and is lacking the spontaneity that would have made him truly great—but he brought the voice, and he's easy on the eyes. All good.) The sweetness of “My Daddy's in Prison” and her big voice. The pure beauty of Granddaughter of Someone Famous, the sweet sass of 41 Foster Homes (and almost that many children of her own...not that I'm here to judge, except, wait—that is why I'm here), the quiet confidence of Australian Cowboy (what a voice! my new boy favorite), the total surprise of Fireman's Son (I'm not sure how far he'll go, but I purely love when Idol surprises me in a good way)—and my number-one-with-a-bullet new favorite, my brand-new BFF Tyra Juliet!
Tyra Juliet, Tyra Juliet, how I loved Tyra Juliet! She had me at “hello,” or in her case, “My boyfriend just dumped me.” Loved her confidence, loved her braid, loved her “I'm getting on with life” attitude, loved her all-around niceness. I don't pray for things like Idol, but I do indulge in goofy twee wish-granting things like crossing my fingers, and I practically cut off my own circulation crossing my extremities for Tyra Juliet to be a decent singer. And she was! Not the best, and she probably won't win, but I don't care, she's going to Hollywood, land of dreams, where anything can happen, and even the mediocre become stars every day. No, I don't have anyone particular in mind, but give me a minute.
So, a good night, and even the usual cavalcade of mental health challenges, gender confusion, and acting out was somehow less alarming than usual (with the exception of Potty Mouth in a Tube Top, and I felt more annoyed with the producers for giving her so much of my life than I did with her tiresome underwear-optional self).
Of the freaks, I actually found Ventriloquist Boy delightful (and without the dummy, I believe he would've had a shot). As for Bring Back the Standards boy, with his school project and talky brother...well, here's the thing. As my legions of fans know, I am all for bringing back the standards, so you'd think this boy would be a natural love for me—but he completely creeped me out, and it took me a minute to figure out why. The unnatural pallor...the suit...the sunken dark eyes and red red lips...oh, good heavenly days, he looks like one of The Gentlemen from the most bone-chilling episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ever!! (Brunhilde, back me up on this!) Scary, scary dude.
Tonight we're in my favorite city, San Francisco, and my hopes are high! And the fact that my four and a-half day weekend starts in about 30 minutes has nothing to do with my euphoria, nothing! (insert evil laughter sound)
Lady Chardonnay OUT.
So much that was good! The hotness of Army Guy who danced with Paula! (Sure, he's his own biggest fan and is lacking the spontaneity that would have made him truly great—but he brought the voice, and he's easy on the eyes. All good.) The sweetness of “My Daddy's in Prison” and her big voice. The pure beauty of Granddaughter of Someone Famous, the sweet sass of 41 Foster Homes (and almost that many children of her own...not that I'm here to judge, except, wait—that is why I'm here), the quiet confidence of Australian Cowboy (what a voice! my new boy favorite), the total surprise of Fireman's Son (I'm not sure how far he'll go, but I purely love when Idol surprises me in a good way)—and my number-one-with-a-bullet new favorite, my brand-new BFF Tyra Juliet!
Tyra Juliet, Tyra Juliet, how I loved Tyra Juliet! She had me at “hello,” or in her case, “My boyfriend just dumped me.” Loved her confidence, loved her braid, loved her “I'm getting on with life” attitude, loved her all-around niceness. I don't pray for things like Idol, but I do indulge in goofy twee wish-granting things like crossing my fingers, and I practically cut off my own circulation crossing my extremities for Tyra Juliet to be a decent singer. And she was! Not the best, and she probably won't win, but I don't care, she's going to Hollywood, land of dreams, where anything can happen, and even the mediocre become stars every day. No, I don't have anyone particular in mind, but give me a minute.
So, a good night, and even the usual cavalcade of mental health challenges, gender confusion, and acting out was somehow less alarming than usual (with the exception of Potty Mouth in a Tube Top, and I felt more annoyed with the producers for giving her so much of my life than I did with her tiresome underwear-optional self).
Of the freaks, I actually found Ventriloquist Boy delightful (and without the dummy, I believe he would've had a shot). As for Bring Back the Standards boy, with his school project and talky brother...well, here's the thing. As my legions of fans know, I am all for bringing back the standards, so you'd think this boy would be a natural love for me—but he completely creeped me out, and it took me a minute to figure out why. The unnatural pallor...the suit...the sunken dark eyes and red red lips...oh, good heavenly days, he looks like one of The Gentlemen from the most bone-chilling episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer ever!! (Brunhilde, back me up on this!) Scary, scary dude.
Tonight we're in my favorite city, San Francisco, and my hopes are high! And the fact that my four and a-half day weekend starts in about 30 minutes has nothing to do with my euphoria, nothing! (insert evil laughter sound)
Lady Chardonnay OUT.
Friday, January 20, 2006
A little pitchy...
So Wednesday's episode was a little painful. And yet wonderful at the same time. My dear friend who goes by the name "Lacks Compassion" found that she did have the tiniest bit of feelings for other human beings. She felt the need to look away on several occasions. And I think that she added "Flawless" to her personal prayer list. Luckily she had to race home to see "Lost" before the tragedy that was Zack.
Of course, being me, I can't remember any of the good singers. Except for possibly homeless girl and Variety Barbie the bestest 16-year-old ever.
And at this point can I just say that I have had it up to here (picture me stretching my arms so that they are 471 miles long and reaching for the heavens) with the "vocalizing"? I understand that Mariah Carey started this obsession with vocal bobbling between 96 different notes when one would easily do and I am sure that she will someday pay for her crimes. (And heaven knows I suffered with her regarding that Golden Globes outfit.) But please, PLEASE make it stop!
And finally, I hated the way that they promo-ed Zack. And I hated Simon's face. And I hated that Zack was so naive to think that American Idol was where he was going to gain acceptance. If he had been a better singer it would have been really interesting - but if he were the butchest boy or the prettiest girl on the planet he would not have been invited to Hollywood. And the whining at the end was not pretty. And his mom's lipstick was awful.
But I still love Ryan, protector of the down-trodden, repetitive promoter of forthcoming embarrassments. Ryan. Maple Syrup. Hee.
Brunhildecrow OUT.
Of course, being me, I can't remember any of the good singers. Except for possibly homeless girl and Variety Barbie the bestest 16-year-old ever.
And at this point can I just say that I have had it up to here (picture me stretching my arms so that they are 471 miles long and reaching for the heavens) with the "vocalizing"? I understand that Mariah Carey started this obsession with vocal bobbling between 96 different notes when one would easily do and I am sure that she will someday pay for her crimes. (And heaven knows I suffered with her regarding that Golden Globes outfit.) But please, PLEASE make it stop!
And finally, I hated the way that they promo-ed Zack. And I hated Simon's face. And I hated that Zack was so naive to think that American Idol was where he was going to gain acceptance. If he had been a better singer it would have been really interesting - but if he were the butchest boy or the prettiest girl on the planet he would not have been invited to Hollywood. And the whining at the end was not pretty. And his mom's lipstick was awful.
But I still love Ryan, protector of the down-trodden, repetitive promoter of forthcoming embarrassments. Ryan. Maple Syrup. Hee.
Brunhildecrow OUT.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
The Sweet, Sweet Beauty of My Fast-Forward Button
Never have I loved that little guy so much. "Coming up. . ." Ryan would bubble, and schwoom! Fast-forward, fast-forward, fast-forward (wow, those Jell-O girls can jiggle!). The whole show was only about 45 minutes without commercials or Ryan's bubbling. And I like Ryan, truly, kinda the way I like maple syrup; in other words, I won't be glugging a big cup of it any time soon, as some twee folks did on Gilmore Girls, the fine show I enjoyed while taping Idol.
Still, I was up past my bedtime, which is probably why this morning it's all a haze of corn mazes, sweat stains, and a very tanned girl in two different outfits (what is THAT about? Is she twins?). And it becomes ever more clear that I can never be an Idol judge. I fall in love with the sweet ones and want them all to win. Like Prom-Dress Girl with the funky glasses--how I loved her! How I wanted to raise her as my own daughter! (And that will be my reality show someday: Who Wants to Be Lady Chardonnay's Daughter? Ooh, I see a whole series here! Lady Chardonnay's Bartender! Lady Chardonnay's Back-Up Singers! Lady Chardonnay's Finder of Lost Earrings! Could be cool.)
Also, I get so tired of the bad that I become absurdly excited about the merely decent. Like, the crooner with the greasy '70s hair--he stayed on tune! Why are they even hesitating? Send this sleepy guy to Hollywood (and get him a latte, and some dry shampoo, STAT)!
Ah, well.
So, early favorites. Fishnetted Dental Assistant--liked her. Both sets of twins. The sisters--LOVED them. Sleepy Crooner Boy and I-Sit-in-My-Car-and-Sing-Sinatra Boy (that sounds creepier than he was)--they were fine. Big Girl with the big voice and the poncho. These are the ones who stick in my mind. The rest are lost in the wave of horror that is the audition show. I truly dislike it--meanness for the sake of meanness turns my stomach--and yet I can't not watch.
But fast-forward button--yeah, sugar, I'm talking to YOU--we have a hot date again tonight. Best get ready now.
Lady C OUT.
Still, I was up past my bedtime, which is probably why this morning it's all a haze of corn mazes, sweat stains, and a very tanned girl in two different outfits (what is THAT about? Is she twins?). And it becomes ever more clear that I can never be an Idol judge. I fall in love with the sweet ones and want them all to win. Like Prom-Dress Girl with the funky glasses--how I loved her! How I wanted to raise her as my own daughter! (And that will be my reality show someday: Who Wants to Be Lady Chardonnay's Daughter? Ooh, I see a whole series here! Lady Chardonnay's Bartender! Lady Chardonnay's Back-Up Singers! Lady Chardonnay's Finder of Lost Earrings! Could be cool.)
Also, I get so tired of the bad that I become absurdly excited about the merely decent. Like, the crooner with the greasy '70s hair--he stayed on tune! Why are they even hesitating? Send this sleepy guy to Hollywood (and get him a latte, and some dry shampoo, STAT)!
Ah, well.
So, early favorites. Fishnetted Dental Assistant--liked her. Both sets of twins. The sisters--LOVED them. Sleepy Crooner Boy and I-Sit-in-My-Car-and-Sing-Sinatra Boy (that sounds creepier than he was)--they were fine. Big Girl with the big voice and the poncho. These are the ones who stick in my mind. The rest are lost in the wave of horror that is the audition show. I truly dislike it--meanness for the sake of meanness turns my stomach--and yet I can't not watch.
But fast-forward button--yeah, sugar, I'm talking to YOU--we have a hot date again tonight. Best get ready now.
Lady C OUT.
Primordial Ooze
I was so excited about AI starting again and I completely forgot about what a train wreck it is before they get to Hollywood. I know that this is a necessary evil. I think if it like the first bits of life coming together in the primordial ooze. I know that it is basically just a big pile of shit with tiny sparks of potential.
So who will it be? One of the rotund bearded twins? One of the baby-faced, arm-grabbing sixteen year-old twins? One of the corn maze sisters? I can’t remember anyone who sang well by themselves. Except for the young, gay Sinatra. He was so pretty, and he begged so charmingly. I smell Lady Char’s new son.
I started watching with my family. My seven year old went to bed when Simon made what I believe to be his only fat-girl crack of the night. It was so sad. Last year my son said (of every single person no matter how terrifying) “They sounded pretty good for a 16-year old” (or a 24-year old or however year-old they were). But this year he just watched with a sad, pinched little look on his face and went to bed at 8:30 with no argument.
My husband lasted until the effusive girl who used to show cows. Then he declared that Simon was the only one with a brain in his head and prognosticated that “some idiot” would win and that he was “pretty sure” that he would never ever give a shit. And off to bed he went.
My 12 year old son was the only one strong enough to make it to the end with me. Although he started throwing oranges at me when I suggested that someday he could marry a girl just like really tan girl. We both stared in horror when Paula and Randy invited Crazy Dave to Hollywood. Actually, Crazy Dave looked vaguely familiar to me. He really creeped me out when he rolled his eyes into his head while singing. An interesting performance choice to say the least.
At one point in the festivities, an ad for Kentucky Fried Chicken came on. Frank (my 12 year old) said, “No one eats Kentucky Fried Chicken anymore. Except people who live in Kentucky. And they just call it fried chicken.” Then later when we saw the promos for Colorado night he said “That place is so crazy that when Crazy Dave goes there to visit, they just call him Dave.” I love having another Idol fan in the house.
(posted by Brunhilde Crow)
So who will it be? One of the rotund bearded twins? One of the baby-faced, arm-grabbing sixteen year-old twins? One of the corn maze sisters? I can’t remember anyone who sang well by themselves. Except for the young, gay Sinatra. He was so pretty, and he begged so charmingly. I smell Lady Char’s new son.
I started watching with my family. My seven year old went to bed when Simon made what I believe to be his only fat-girl crack of the night. It was so sad. Last year my son said (of every single person no matter how terrifying) “They sounded pretty good for a 16-year old” (or a 24-year old or however year-old they were). But this year he just watched with a sad, pinched little look on his face and went to bed at 8:30 with no argument.
My husband lasted until the effusive girl who used to show cows. Then he declared that Simon was the only one with a brain in his head and prognosticated that “some idiot” would win and that he was “pretty sure” that he would never ever give a shit. And off to bed he went.
My 12 year old son was the only one strong enough to make it to the end with me. Although he started throwing oranges at me when I suggested that someday he could marry a girl just like really tan girl. We both stared in horror when Paula and Randy invited Crazy Dave to Hollywood. Actually, Crazy Dave looked vaguely familiar to me. He really creeped me out when he rolled his eyes into his head while singing. An interesting performance choice to say the least.
At one point in the festivities, an ad for Kentucky Fried Chicken came on. Frank (my 12 year old) said, “No one eats Kentucky Fried Chicken anymore. Except people who live in Kentucky. And they just call it fried chicken.” Then later when we saw the promos for Colorado night he said “That place is so crazy that when Crazy Dave goes there to visit, they just call him Dave.” I love having another Idol fan in the house.
(posted by Brunhilde Crow)
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Is This Thing On?
Simply the fact that Idol Woman posted at 7:09 a.m. should indicate the level o' fanatic we're dealing with here. Me, the seasoned sage of our trio (no, that is not code for "old bag") — my posts will be reasoned. Well thought out. Reflective. Grammatical.
As for mystery blogger #3, she has yet to reveal her style. I will note that she has an annoying tendency to refuse to pick favorites early on and to judge the idolettes by their nightly performances, rather than holding grudges based on hotel-room behavior in the early days, as another blogger might. I'm just saying.
Lady Chardonnay OUT.
As for mystery blogger #3, she has yet to reveal her style. I will note that she has an annoying tendency to refuse to pick favorites early on and to judge the idolettes by their nightly performances, rather than holding grudges based on hotel-room behavior in the early days, as another blogger might. I'm just saying.
Lady Chardonnay OUT.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
It's Almost Here...
We wait, like young noviates in a convent, for the day that is to come.
The perfect and righteous day when our souls will once again burn with righteous joy.
The joy of Idol.
The perfect and righteous day when our souls will once again burn with righteous joy.
The joy of Idol.
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