Simon Hates a Fat Girl

Not to be all whiny but Simon is really a snot about fat girls. When that over-peppy contest winner came in I saw him shut right down. He didn't want to even look at her. If a skinny pretty girl had had that voice they would have been on her like white on rice. I didn't care for her, but listening to her with my eyes closed she sounded like any other Mariah-wanna-be that they would choose. And before you leap in, Simon, and say, "Yes, but it is a television program - people don't want to have to listen with their eyes closed. Being attractive is part of it!" I have three words for you - Scott Freaking Savol! That being said, I found her annoying as can be - but Simon found her annoying before she even had a chance to get all the way into the room.

That was only a tiny slice of the hell that was this episode. I have really enjoyed the auditions this season so this was surprising to me. (It could be because I am sick, sick, sick.) The only two parts I enjoyed were both Simon-centric. The first was when he called the first contestent's boss to get her job back. And the other was when the horribly un-funny iPod guy was auditioning and Simon said, "Okay, I can't listen to this anymore. I really, really can't. It's just awful, it's everything I hate. Everything, I mean the whole act, is excruciatingly bad." And then the kid pulled a lion out of his pocket and Simon's synapses just turned into feral cats and he manages to choke out, "What relevance is you, standing there with a lion on your hand, to a singing competition?" And then the guy yells, "It's the circle of life!" And Simon dies. Okay, he just dies inside, but it helped make up for the fact that if I were ever in the same room with Simon I would be invisible to him or worse.

Cozying up in a big hot tub of self pity -
Brunie OUT!

"You can't judge people by the cover of the book"

So true, Not Goth Girl. Except that sometimes you can.

Well, last week we clearly had Obama Fever, but I'm back to a cool 98.6 now and ready to re-assume my blogging duties. As for my sister bloggers—still sleeping it off, I expect.

Not much to say about last week, except that I very much liked the object of our final sob story, Ms. Thuggish Ways and her mega-watt smile. And I seem to recall a fellow who resembled our David Cook, only younger and sleepier, and I liked him too.

All of it pales in the glow of Obama, though, and that's that.

Moving on!

On Tuesday, I thoroughly enjoyed Joshua, who sang (and played) "Let's Get It On." I'm so glad the judges got the joke and sent him through. He's fun. And I liked Anne Marie, the girl they sent out for more make-up (?? what was their problem with her?).

Other "winners" had less appeal, particularly 16-year-old Jasmine, who sings straight through her nose, and Miss Teen Latina Something, whose singing voice is surprisingly un-awful but is nonetheless as grating as all giddy-up.

Sharon (Girl with Dog) I found bemusing, as she sang the words of "Superstar" to a completely different tune.

And then there was George Ramirez, that stone-faced wonder: "Where do you see yourself in 10 years, George?" [pause] "In a simple house, with nice floors . . . . . . marble floors." How can you not love this guy? Oh, but then he sang, and it was all over. Bye, George. (Hold on to your dream, guy!)

And on to Salt Lake City, where much to my joy we're immediately greeted with an Osmond. And not just any Osmond, but THE SON OF ALAN, Alan being my personal favorite Osmond, next to Marie, who was my idol, "Paper Roses" was my first album, oh, how I adored Marie. But I digress.

Son of Alan is an adorable boy and sings adorably and I'm simply dying of all the adorableness, except for the sad non-adorableness of Alan, my former love. MS is a terrible disease and I hate it, and not only because of its adorableness-stripping nature. Son of Alan inspires an insightful comment from Paula, even! Son of Alan is magic.

Three girls perform, who are very different from one another and yet have similar "raggedy" tones to their voices: Frankie (like her a lot), Megan with the tattooed arm (she's not for all tastes and I actually hate her voice, but I like her and can see that she's talented), and Rose, tonight's sob story, who is cute as a button and talented to boot. I like all these girls, they're interesting.

So, one more night of auditions (curious, that—auditions on a Thursday? my viewing rhythm is all off kilter!) and then Hollywood, baby! Color me excited. And the doo-wop foursomes are back!! I cannot wait.

Lady Chardonnay OUT!

Welcome to Happy-ville!

Well, other than having missed the party of the decade yesterday, (the one at Mrs. Cyn's) and being sicker than Miss Shirley's dyspeptic goat, I am a-twitter with joy. Oh, no reason!

Of course I mean because of President Barack Obama! Certainly not because of Idol...

I am enjoying it, but no one is jumping out and making me squeal. Former record label was okay. Really pretty Bad Company boy was okay. Teen mom freaked me out with her Aretha Faking voice.

I do think Leneshe (the homeless girl) is as cute as a bug and can write a song! "I like your thuggish way..." hee! Wilbur rewound her sad face when Paula said no to her about 10 times. He is either in love or a sadist.

This is craziness, but soon we will be in Hollywood!

Brunie, OUT!

Our FOURTH Season

Okay - I may be slow in the posting and I may not remember much. But aside from the pity factor, the reason Lady Char and Mrs. Cyn keep me around is that I have the uncanny ability to look at our blog archives - conveniently located 2 inches to the right and 4 inches down from HERE* - to determine that we began writing in January of 2006. Math ladies, it is what seperates us from the millipedes.

I second the emotion on both Lil and Asa. I also adore the lanky graduate student studying barbeque. I liked the voice of widow-man, but I do hate the pimpin' of the dead wife. I like to think she is looking down from heaven and laughing her butt off at the emotional manipulation.

Creepiest of the season? Love-Songs-For-My-Mother (and Grandmother)-Boy. Oh how painful. I hate it when the show acts like this. I appreciated it that the judges tried to contain the ugliness when they realized how sad he truly was. Dang...

Put me on the Kara bandwagon. I really like her. She is funny and a nice fit. I read somewhere that she and Paula go way back. I like the new dynamic.

For some reason I am not finding these auditions as mean as usual. Let's see how long I keep my youthful idealism!

Brunie, OUT!


*Distances subject to change when other people write.

Two for Two!

Another perfectly okay round, give or take a few freaks. Standouts for me:

• Matt Wrightsy, big bald guy with the sweet voice. I love me a big bald guy who can sing.
• Sweet Jessica, who lives with very deaf Grandma. (It's wrong, so wrong, to laugh at the deaf elderly, but Grandma was a hoot.) I don't even care if Jessica can sing well (though she does), I love this girl and want her to go far. She reminded me of the bespectacled cutie who auditioned in her prom dress a few years ago. In fact, I'm pretending that Jessica is Prom Girl, all grown up. A happy ending! What an inspiration!!
• Anoop, who is simply adorable.
• Asa Barnes, Band director—when he first appeared on screen, Mimosa and I, in unison, went, "Mmmm." And he has the cutest daughter.

And possibly the best:

• Lil Rounds, mother of three—gorgeous voice and a class act to boot. This year's Melinda, I think, but with a more proportional head. I really really really like her.

I was most disturbed by Brian (chest hair, medallion, "operatic" voice)—not by his audition itself, though it was dreadful, but by the sweetly hopeful looks on the faces of who I assume are his parents. Have they . . . never heard their son sing? Has their love for their child truly made them that tone deaf and and that clueless? This upset me on so many levels. Thank God for strong drink.

I was underwhelmed by Von Smith (Fedora Guy who BELTED "Over the Rainbow," though we've had great fun imitating him ever since), but I did like the dorky little skipping he did afterward. Oh, yeah—he'll go far.

Today's Idol Tale of Inspiration belongs to poor Danny with the poor dead wife and the singing BFF Jamar: "an emotional story of strength and courage." So far, all the Inspirers have been decent singers who are "going to Hollywood, baby!" I wonder if that will always be the case. Would Idol simply toy with our heartstrings with no emotional payoff? Would it? Could it?

I'm sorry we didn't see more of the blonde with the funky glasses and the purple dress (who's also going to Hollywood)—I like her look.

And finally, the unexpected joy of the night—seeing sweet Jason Castro again! Sweet spacey Jason. And I like his brother fine. Michael Castro doesn't seem to have big brother's sleepy charisma, but there's something there. We'll see. (Li'l Martini adores him and has anointed him his new favorite.)

Very promising beginning, I must say!

And that is all from Lady Chardonnay.

Here we go again...

As we begin our 20th year of Idol, (I have no idea how long we've been doing this either, Lady C.) I would like to thank my two charming, witty, comic cohorts, Lady Chardonnay and Brunhildecrow, and of course, our dedicated readers. So, here we go again. As I have written, oh 19 times before, I do not like the audition part that much. Watching the mentally ill be criticized is not my idea of a good time. There seems to have been somewhat less humiliation on show #1 last night. I cannot believe that you have memorized anyone's name so soon, Lady C. I don't even try to commit anyone to memory until after Hollywood. However, one cannot forget bikini girl, of cute little butt, and passable imitation of Mariah singing Vision of Love. I feel confident that when she has to sing a song she does not already know, she will fall apart. You can tell the one-song wonders many times. They have practiced the one song forever, and can sing it well, but when taken out of their comfort zone, they implode. I do think that tattooed girl who will abandon her band is VERY good. I think she will not fall apart under pressure, and may go far. Beyond that, it is too soon to tell, but, I remain your humble criticizer of total strangers on parade,

Mrs. Cynicletary

Here You Come Again

Hello, gentle readers! It's me, Lady Chardonnay. Welcome to Idol Season Whatever (dedicated blogger that I am, you'd think I'd remember these things—but you'd be wrong). Much of it is same ol', same ol', but there are also some ch-ch-ch-changes in store, namely: (1) a new judge! More on Care-uh/Carr-uh below. (2) a shorter audition period! All good. (3) fewer freaks! more stories of inspiration! Yeah. A part-time freak show—again, all good. The feel-good self-congratulatory portion of Idol (hint: last night's inspirer rhymes with Shmott Shmacintire)—again, more below.

This year I took almost no notes on the sad, the bad, the ugly, the freaks. The sad touch my heart, and I'm choosing not to prolong the pain. The others have already taken enough of my life. So I'm taking my cue from Newly Inspiring Idol, and here is last night's Parade O' Talent!

• Emily Wynne Hughes, who sports numerous tattoos and hair-color shades, is blessed with a completely awesome mom, and has a lovely voice! I like Emily fine, but mostly I want to see more of Mom.
• J.B., sweet-singing Utah boy with very large eyebrows. He tears up, his dad tears up, it's all very sweet.
• Arianna, cute as a button (I'm writing that just as Kara's saying it—me and Kara [I'm holding up my crossed fingers now], we are LIKE THIS), sings a song I instantly loathe. Gah, these kids and their current modern music of today! What's wrong with a pretty melody, I ask you? Or any melody? And who moved my cane? ha ha
  
• Stevie Wright, my favorite of the whole show (ma semblable, ma souer Kara loved her too)—she has the voice, she has the personality, her smile lit up the whole room. And she's only 16! Okay, a la Jordin Sparks, am I looking forward to Randy reminding us that she's only 16 for the next five months? No. No I am not. But for my girl Stevie, I will endure. (Look! I'm another Idol Inspiration story!)
• Michael Server, the semi-hunky roughneck with the surprisingly sweet voice—he sings fine, again I hate the song, but the best comment came from my eight-year-old son, L'il Martini: "He's good and delicious!" Oh, I do love my little gay son.
• Bikini Girl, to the eternal disappointment of my spotless mind, didn't suck. Nonetheless, I loathe her. (I thought Kara's rendition was fabulous. Way to support your new co-worker, Simon! Ass.) She won't make it through Hollywood—once she puts on clothes, her perfectly average nice voice will be shown the door, and Kara and I will toast our joy.
  
• Cute bouncy Brianna is cute and bouncy and I like her, because I like the spirited girls, and I'm glad they're giving her a chance—I thought her voice was fine, and not nearly as marginal as they were making it out to be. She does need to chill, though.
• Deanna, nice country girl with no family present—again, a perfectly fine voice and a nice girl, and I have NO IDEA why they're so gaga over her. I would say that her average nice voice and Brianna's average nice voice and Loathesome Bikini Girl's average nice voice are all pretty much the same, but what do I know, I'm just here to blog. Anyway, Ryan's quite adorable with her, pretending to be all the missing members of her family, which I found very dear.
• Alex has a nice voice and an almost total inability to tell a joke, but I did like when he offered to sing "God Save the Queen" for Simon. I'm betting we'll never see him again, but I like Alex.
• And finally we come to the "audition to give you hope"—oh, shoot me now. I loved Anthony Federov, it's not his fault he had a tracheotomy and that Idol decided to pimp that for all time, but I don't want to sit through it again. And the object of the pimping, sweet Scott Macintyre, who is legally blind, seems like a perfectly nice boy and does indeed have a lovely voice (and an unfortunate resemblance to Steven Tobolowsky with a moptop—again, not his fault). I truly truly hope that Idol simmers down with this guy, but I wouldn't bet the farm.

I loved Elijah Scarlett (look at that name! how can you not love him?), he of the preternaturally deep voice, but it was not to be. (I didn't love his singing voice, I hasten to add—he reminded me of the fellow who sang "Go Down Moses" last year without moving his lips. Though, come to think of it, I loved that guy too.) And I didn't hate the pink cowgirl, Lea Marie, mostly because I knew she didn't have a shot and I found her harmless—and when she rolled her stomach for the camera (which was . . . an odd choice), my 11-year-old daughter, Mimosa, remarked, "She can do that thing that Grandpa can do!" Too funny.

So, the judges chose correctly, I think—the bad went home, the good went to Hollywood. I am inspired.

And I like our new judge Kara! She's smart and direct but not overtly mean—and she'll be a more effective foil for Simon than Paula is. (Though I'm worried about her tendency to look like she's sneering when her face is still. I mentioned this to Mimosa who said, very sagely, "Maybe she's had the Botox." Maybe, indeed.)

We're off!