Sweet Melissa . . . girl, I'm sad for you. I did what I could, I singlehandedly got you into the Top 12, but after that, babe—as I say to my husband all the damn time, "I will do all the vacuuming, you just need to pick up your feet!" You can't be forgetting the words, hon. Not now, not ever, and especially not on live TV. This is the time to bring your A game, and if you can't run with the big dogs, best stay on the porch. And a heartfelt huzzah! to anyone who followed all my metaphors here.
So she's gone, and in a way it's a relief. I'm willing to hit redial till my pointer finger grows weary, but there are so many great voices this season, and I'm just not ready to pick the one favorite who will, in weeks to come, drive me to the precipice of obsession and hold my hand while I jump. I know that day is coming, but I'm determined to savor the pre-madness stage as long as I can. This will be a relief to Mrs. Cynicletary, who was driven to her own kind of madness by my Anthony adoration last year. (She didn't like Bo either. There is no pleasing the heartless.)
My Big Four are Elliott of the smooth-as-butter voice, Katherine, a lovely and controlled singer who is also such a giggly goofball, Chris (which shocks me! I used to be frightened of Chris!), who I fall deeper in love with every week, and my dearest darling Mandisa, who I'm also in love with. (I identified most with Ayla, the goal-focused driven girl, but Mandisa is the one I'd be BFFs with.) Chris and Mandisa, Mandisa and Chris, I want to have their bald black babies, how I love them so!
I love Taylor when he sings, but when he's not singing I need to slap him. And, sometimes he's not singing. That's all.
The beauty part is, I don't hate any of them. I've mellowed on Bucky, who has his own kind of possum-loving gap-toothed charm, I'm enjoying Kevin's sweet sass (now that I'm sure he's in on the joke, rather than being mocked on live television), Kellie and Ace are mighty pretty, despite their vocal limitations, and Lisa, who doesn't stir my heart, is nonetheless a fine singer. I would be happy if this nice group of 11 sang me through the spring. I may just skip Wednesdays and pretend they don't happen. And then say things to myself like, "Kevin must have earache tonight . . . that's why he's not here."
Baby, I'm on to something!
Lady Chardonnay, blowing a kiss to Melissa the dear departed, and otherwise OUT.
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