"When does the singing start?"

That's a quote from my son, Li'l Martini, who saw the first 20 minutes of the Minneapolis auditions and promptly revised his definition of injustice (which, only minutes earlier, had centered on the fact that sister Mimosa gets to stay up till 9:00 to watch Idol). Li'l Martini simply blew a kiss to the spirit of Prince and went to bed without a whimper.

I almost called this post "When Jugglers Cry," but, clearly, didn't. Big topic on GMA this morning: Has American Idol gotten too mean? "Yes!" cried the earnest author of Odd Girl Out and assorted people on the street. (Who should not be called street people, or streetwalkers. An important distinction.) But anyway, it's funny that we're all focusing on everything but the actual singing.

Because—the singing? Not so much happening.

By 9:30 I was quite cross and ready to love somebody. As sweet as Crack Baby was, as fun as Hoochie Koochie Girl was, as I-don't-have-an-adjective as Sailor Boy was, none of them grabbed me in any way. But then came Fatigue-Sporting Mechanic Girl, and I liked her instantly. Her voice isn't the best, but I don't even care; I'm just so happy to have a pulse again.

Fatigued Mechanic was immediately followed by Lovely With Lots of Hair, who was delightful, but it didn't matter, my heart was already full. (However, the sixth pick of the night gave me a freak; I love California Dreamin', but what is that thing on his nose? I'm lighting a candle for it in church this Sunday, I cannot watch a nose growth for an entire season.)

Frankly, I'm pretty much done with the audition shows. I love it when they get to Hollywood (which is actually my favorite part of all—the only time we get to see them working and being their best worst selves). We could fast-forward through all this crap, and you could color me happy. But 10 quadrillion viewers clearly have another opinion . . .

(Though the person who said it was annoying, I do love the phrase "urban Amish." I'm going to do that from now—take a random adjective and random noun and put them together to describe my fashion choices. Today I'm "1970s' Air Hostess." Really, you should see me; I have a little scarf and everything.)

It's good to be back!

Lady Chardonnay OUT.