The Mad Merry Month of May

Lady Darcy, my UBFFL, you need to be keeping those college stories to yourself, missy. My memory is that you also read some Scripture back in the day, and that's all I'm saying.

Man, last Tuesday seems like a long time ago, doesn't it?! Yes, I had the glorious experience of watching with Brunie, after a pleasant evening of community theayter (we are patronesses of the arts, or, as they say it 'round these parts, aaats) [rhymes with "pats," if that wasn't clear enough], and on this night we learned that our taste in everything—boys, booze, ballads, barminess—could not be more different.

Example: If you jig about the stage with any display of pep, no matter how fit-like, you'll get a big thumbs up! from Brunie, and I had to remind her that this wasn't a dahncing competition. In other words, she enjoyed the performances of Taylor #1, both Parises, and kneeling Katharine. (We mostly giggled while Chris sang—me, girlishly, and Brunie, under the influence of spirits. Though those flames behind him were wicked funny. "Chris is ON FIRE—it's a METAPHOR!" I said, and we giggled, (1) girlishly and (2) boozily.)

In contrast, I enjoy a good song sung well, so I liked both Elliots and Chris #1. I even liked Katharine #1, though I can see the problems. Taylor #2—well, "Something" is one of the greatest love songs ever, but he didn't move me. I don't blame barmy Taylor, obviously he's moving someone—sometimes you just don't click with a singer, and that's that.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been watching with my 8-year-old daughter (on tape, the next day, I hasten to add—Idol is on WAY past her bedtime, in the Chardonnay household where we have actual bedtimes and structure and we embrace the Food Pyramid, unlike the Crow house, where the children watch TV at all hours, have memorized their mother's tender admonition "I can't hear you when I'm reading! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!", and have learned to forage for nourishing tumbleweeds out in the yard. Or the Cynicletary household, where the youngest is served three square meals of meat, day in, day out, and the elder two have become, respectively, a vegan and a vegetarian. None of this is my point, though, and both ladies are excellent parents. Just, my kids go to bed earlier.)

As I was saying, my girl has been watching Idol, she loves Chris (aka "Mommy's guy") and Katharine, but her chief ardor seems to be for Simon, and what am I to make of this? She plans to sing "A Moment Like This" when she herself appears on Idol. (Somewhere, Mrs. Cynicletary is weeping.)

Tonight—wow. This is a pretty rockin' Final Four, and I hardly know what to hope for.

I want Taylor to be outstanding tonight, to justify his position here—and tonight of all nights, i.e., ELVIS NIGHT, the stars are shining on Taylor and everything's in his corner. He had best be magnificent.

I want Elliot to be outstanding tonight, because he's so dear and so wonderful, and I always fear that he's going next. Which I've been wrong about for 25 straight weeks, but hey.

I want Chris to be outstanding tonight, because why should tonight be any different?

I want Katharine to be outstanding tonight—to bring it home for the girls and leave the boys in the dust.

They're all capable of knocking our socks off, and tonight, I want my toesies stripped bare!

Lady Chardonnay OUT.