To Sir Andrew With Love

So Brunie and I spent the day together, which was lovely and stimulating (hee! that was a secret joke for Brunie) and involved almost no alcohol! And we talked of many things, but not of Idol, not even once . . . which confirms for me that this season is, frankly, a bit dull. TPTB cannot seem to recreate the charisma of Season 5—and even though Taylor is one of my least favorite Idols (my true unfavorite, as we all know, rhymes with "aphasia"), the combo of him and Katharine and Chris and Elliot and Paris and Ace and even freakin' Kellie Pickler was some kind of crazy funky Gestalt, the likes of which we won't see again any time soon, apparently. And it wasn't even that they were the Best. Singers. Ever!! (even though they were good)—the kids this season are perfectly talented as well. But I really want to fast-forward Season 7 to the ending we all know is coming, David v. David, mano a mano, and have that sweet sweaty TV showdown: Tiny Earnest Crooner vs. Gritty Smoldering Rocker. That will be some good watching.

As for tonight—I like Andrew Lloyd Webber's stuff okay, Mr. Lady Chardonnay and I danced to "All I Ask of You" at our wedding, and Brunie and I had a swell time at a local production of "Superstar" (until the fog machines during the crucifixion set off the smoke alarms and we had to vacate the premises—fortunately, she called the theatre to find out how the story ends, so we weren't left hanging, because, that ending? Kind of a downer), but I'd rather chew off a limb than sit through "Cats" or "Joseph." The one ALW show I can wholeheartedly embrace is "Evita," which I've seen dozens of times. And did the Idolettes oblige me by singing any of those awesome songs? No. They did not. Brooke sang the crap song written for the MADONNA movie, for pity's sake, instead of "Another Suitcase in Another Hall," which would've let her emote like crazy, if that's what she wanted to do. Of course, it's sung by, basically, a teen hooker, and maybe that would be too much for our no-R-rated-movie girl. Oh, Brooke.

My 30-second take: Syesha looked and sounded fantastic; Jason looked sickly and sounded, as Brunie said, like a stone-passer; Brooke looked emotional and sounded very bad on the low notes; Arch looked dorky and sounded sweetly earnest; Carly looked like she was having a blast and sang a different chorus from the back-up singers, which I found odd; Man David looked sexy and hot and sounded sexy and hot and communicated his total devotion to me with his eyes. THAT is a skill, my friends.

I'll miss Brooke, but she seems to have lost her confidence. Actually, I've been missing Brooke for weeks, "Let It Be" was a long time ago. Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time rewritten every line? Maybe Andrew Lloyd Webber will write a ballad about it all—"The Muzak of the Night." Fingers crossed!

Lady Chardonnay OUT!