Love, American (Idol) Style

(Truer than the red, white, and blu-u-ue!)

Yeah, what kind of Love-In doesn't include "Endless Love"? "Love, soft as an easy chair / Love, fresh as the morning air"? "Theme from freakin' Love Boat" ?! (You know—MY formative love songs?!) But that is pretty much my biggest gripe, so for today I'll color myself: generally happy with just a pinprick of ennui.

A pretty good night, I thought. And I liked that Simon Legree music producer. Well, actually, I didn't like him at all, he was a nasty mean snake man, except when he was salivating over Andrea Bocelli—but he worked wonders with our baby Idols, as much or more than Coach Manilow, even, and I give him full props for that. And my mental image of deeply abashed Chris singing while prone is going to tickle me for a good time yet.

Because it's my headline news, I'll start with this: I didn't hate Kellie!

But now I need to back up and tell everyone: If someone gets voted out tonight, it's all Brunie's fault, because she called me at every single commercial of Veronice Mars, aka My Natural Voting Time, and kept me from my rightful duty. And also, I wasted all my funny throwing her into void-inducing hysterics, so I have nothing left for this blog, nothing! But she promises to spackle all the gaps in my humor memory, and for those who remember her peppy anecdote about big girls singing longingly of pie, you know how relieved I am.

Yeah.

But I digress.

Kellie did make an unfortunate hair choice, and that one freaky high note that Simon Legree put her up to—'kay, she should never do that again, EVER—but generally, I thought she sounded pretty good. Except that is one boring-ass song unless sung by a hottie who's about to rip your clothes off and you're just biding your time on a pottery wheel or something.

I don't know what the judges had up their collective asses this week, but I thought Katherine was great. I thought of Whitney exactly NEVER. Katherine got my vote. (In the metaphorical sense, because I never could get through on either of her lines, in the eensy window of time I had between Veronica and tooth-brushed oblivion.)

Elliot, I'm over my little crush, but I do still love his golden voice. I get a Tony Bennett thing from him, even though I don't like Tony that much and I adore Elliot. But Tony is this little froggy man with a voice that people love, and that's kinda Elliot too, though he's more elfin than froggy. But I can't come up with an elfin golden-voiced counterpart. Maybe if Yoda hit the Vegas circuit. Anyway. I fear for Elliot tonight—his voice is first-rate, he just doesn't have the charisma of the other five (why, he's this year's Jessica Siera!). I was only able to get through once for Mr. E, but I've learned my lesson on that little "He's safe!" delusion. Well, we'll see.

Paris cracks me up. "I'm only 17, so I have to choose a love song carefully," she squeaks, and I think, "Girl, you are so smart and brilliant." Then she says, "I don't have love thoughts, only memories," and I giggle myself into another state. Memories? At 17? Of what, the Junior Prom?! Oh, Paris.

She sounded great. Her only misfortune was to sing a song I know so extremely very well that I could track every one of her mistakes, in particular, swallowing the wistful "Would we...?" to prepare for the belting of "MEMORIES...!!!!" that came a millisecond (read: way too soon) later. I also didn't like her gusty Al Gore sigh before the final note, though Mrs. Cynicletary thought it was cute.

Taylor....has peaked. Sorry.

And Chris—ohhh baby. Chris was fine, and not in the that's-the-best-we-can-say-about-that-peformance way. Chris was supah fine!!!! Love me some Chris. I managed to get through only once for him as well. Make of this what you will.

(Hee. Chris prone. And abashed. Hee.)

So Love Night, on the whole, didn't suck. But still—I continue to say that the themes this year are hella weird. Bring on Motown Night, already!

Lady C, preparing to say a sad goodbye to someone (Brunie's fault, remember), and OUT.