What the Haley?!

Wow, who saw that coming? America, you are one sneaky sister. I'd've bet anything that the upset would be Antonella over Haley, Sundance over Sanjaya. Ah, well. As has been noted (by me), I have the prediction ability of a yam.

Frankly, for anyone bitching about the decision, the blame rests squarely on one person: Simon. We don't mind him deflating the arrogant and entitled (Antonella), but when he starts savagely kicking puppies and kittens (the limited-but-sweet Sanjaya and Haley), our inner Mama Bears come roaring out. If Simon had simply said, "Okay, but not good enough" a la Jared, I think we'd see a different Top 12. (Then again, Sanjaya's working the Tiger Beat vote; I think his journey was fairly secure. But what do I know. [See "yam," above.])

Daughter Mimosa had been an Antonella fan (and wasn't this mother's heart proud? What more could one ask in a role model? ....Yeah), but the weeks of suckage took their toll, and last night, even before the big booting, she said, "Mom, I'm picking a new favorite," adding, after only a moment's thought, "....and it's Stephanie." Cool, huh? My nine year old's got class.

Li'l Martini has championed Brandon and Sanjaya throughout the competition, and recently added Blake to his roster (Li'l Martini, he's six; he don't like the ladies so much), so he is one happy little dude. I sent him to bed at 8:15, but he kept sneaking out, so what the hey. Don't tell DSS.

This is still one crazy-ass season. Two trends that disturb me:

• I am deeply tired of the weird underlying sexual vibe among the judges, night in, night out. Explaining "what he meant by that" to Mimosa is wearying. I stand ready to denounce homophobia whenever called, but for heaven's sake, I didn't expect it to become my hobby. (A quote from a resume once submitted to Mr. Lady Chardonnay: "My hobbies are playing the trombone, film-making, and civil rights.") It's still a "family show" (meaning: who's watching), and my family bears more resemblance to the Partridges than the Osbournes. Give it a rest, Rymon.
• (Bravely standing alone on this one) That newfangled music the young people listen to today—hey, it's fine for them, I'm not judging, it's just not for me. But my Idolettes are singing too much of it. I like 12 dewy youngsters singing "Build Me Up, Buttercup." Or even some nice Motown (that's edgy, right?). (Yes, Mrs. Cynicletary, I hear you snorting. Hush, I'm blogging now.) Hopefully, the theme nights will be my salvation (words I never expected to utter!), since "Pearl Jam" is an unlikely theme. You never know, though.

(Hey, whatever happened to the wicked-hot 16-year-old boy who had all of us salivating? I find myself missing him. You know, for his personality.)

One final note: I've got to hand it to our Miss Paula Abdul, who's had her moments of loopiness, for sure, but has been remarkably cogent for most of the season. "Girl, what are you not on?" I've marveled, more than once. She's been astute and focused more often than not, and it's nice to see. Keep saying no, Paula! Friends don't let friends judge loopy!

(The big exception, of course, was her praise of Sundance last night: "You've been one of our strongest singers!" Hello? You liked him on "Mustang Sally" and his audition. That was it, girlfriend. Me, I've never been a fan of the sweaty. Or the excessively hairy. Or those that bellow. Happy trails, Mr. Head. And, a tip? They sell antiperspirant at pretty much every drugstore. Knock yourself out.)

Lady Chardonnay (today's look: Farrah Shops at Sears) OUT.