American Idol 7 Recap – Top 10, part 1

27 Mar

Howdy again.
OK, this part 1 of my recap of last night’s top 10 show.

And before you email me two days from now, asking me where the hell part 2 is, let me tell you right away: it’s already been posted. All you have to do is scroll down and read it.

And before you email to ask me why the hell did I post part 2 before part 1, let me tell you this: go read part 2 immediately, I’ve explained why there, right at the start.

Now that all this has been cleared up, let’s not dilly dally any longer, and let’s jump right into it:

AMERICAN IDOL SEASON 7, TOP 10 RECAP, part 2!

Idol is in HD you guys. Fox widescreen HD, even. I love shows in HD, they’re the best. Especially singing shows.
Spotlight on Ryan. Then the credits come on, and it’s kind of funny the way Ryan goes off the screen; it looks like a big trapdoor just opened below his feet, and he’s falling down the hole. Like he’s being pulled down by an invisible force.
Or maybe, it’s just Krist-Hee down there, out of sight, blowing Ryan off his socks, and this weird sinking move is just him passing out from boredom.

The new credits suck, simply because they give phony Jordin Effing Sparks face time for two seconds. I have such contempt for that bitch that in comparison, my feelings towards Krist-Hee are those of a true loving fan.

Enters Ryan, and we get to take a good look at the studio, which actually doesn’t look that big when seen from the back of the stage. The “peppit” (the bastard child of ‘pep rally’ and ‘moshpit’) looks really aggressive tonight; like you could be in there, and one of those crazy wild 12 years olds could like, walk on your toes or elbow you in the ribs or something.
The camera shows a bunch of folks who are talking among themselves, oblivious that they’re attending the most notorious cheesefest in the world and that we can all see that they’re not paying attention.

As usual, we say hi to the band, the crowd, and the judges, whom Ryan calls “superstars” tonight, because he’s in a sucky up mood. Maybe Ryan is hoping that if he’s nice enough to Simon, Simon will give him his old Cadillac, the one that he doesn’t need anymore because he bought himself a new one, with one of those hard-earned million ‘IDOLlars’. (Haha!, I’m so clever, I’m giggling right now!)
Paula sparkles tonight. She looks nice actually, although maybe a tad overdressed. I’m not sure about the long gloves though, honey; these are a pain in the ass when you go to the can, because you have to take them off, do your business, wash your hands, rinse them, repeat, dry, then slide your hands back into them, and the next thing you know, the results show is over and you take a pay-cut.
Tonight, Simon and Paula are sharing the same Coke cup, and as a result, Simon is high as a kite. He smiles, he winks, and he’s leaning towards Paula and has his elbow resting on the back of her chair; I’m sure these two went to make out in the back of Simon’s new Cadillac, after last week’s result show. Oh, c’mon, it’s OBVIOUS. They’re acting all giggly and cute and stuff. I’m keeping an eye on their hands from now on. And if I don’t see both pairs of hands at all times on that desk, I’ll just know that something dirty is taking place underneath.

We welcome the top 10: they walk in, and aww, they brought a little girl on stage with them, so sweet! Oh, no, it’s Ramiele, I’m sorry.
The Idols are standing in a somewhat disorderly line, all clapping, grinning and waving.
Who is that tall blonde middle-aged woman, standing next to Ramiele, on the right of the stage?

1st up is Ramiele. The 10 seconds of her “Alone”, that I heard during last night’s recap, didn’t convince me at all, but I’m willing to listen to the other 87 seconds of it, because I love that song anyway, although I still think that no one but Carly, Carrie Yawnderwood (I hate her, but she did nail it) , and Ann Wilson should be allowed to sing it.
I know I mentioned it last week, but the fuzzy part of me, that’s hiding somewhere behind my ‘tough cookie’ exterior bullshit, cannot help but being touched by Ryan’s tender brotherly attitude towards the cute little Pikachu. He’s got his hands on her shoulders, but in not in a dirty way, more in a protective way. It’s really sweet, I find.
In fact, I’d even bet your ass that Ryan is a pretty decent fellow when he’s not torturing the contestants with long dramatic pauses. In fact, just for that, today, I’ll give him a break, and be nice with him for the whole recap. I’m feeling charitable.

Today, the pre-performance clips show us baby pictures of the Idols, while they’re telling us how bratty and annoying they were as kids.

When Ramiele was born, she weighed half-a-pound, and used to sleep in one of these jewelry boxes that is padded with red velvet, and has a ballerina doll that starts spinning when you lift the lid up.
When she was little, Ramiele used to be a cannibal, but she at least had the good taste to only bite people her own size: freshly-born infants.
Then, at age 3, she became a vegetarian, and, to distract herself from her cannibalistic urges, took up singing as a hobby.
Then, six months ago, at age 12, Ramiele started “singing-singing”. Like for real.
She tells us that singing on Idol is scarier than singing karaoke in front of a bunch of wasted relatives at a birthday party. Well duh.
She also wants to prove that she belongs to top 10.
Since I personally don’t want her to do that, I’ll give her the following advice: Ramiele, girl, don’t strain yourself, and watch out: Ryan won’t always be around to protect you, and there are a lot of tall people in this competition, who will surely beat the crap out of you, if you outsing them.

As Ramiele starts singing (“Alone”, from Heart), Ryan and I are both relieved to know that if she gets, indeed, beaten up by jealous contestants, it won’t happen this week. One may even wonder if it will happen at all.
This is not good. She just isn’t cut to sing rock and this just. Doesn’t. Work. Ramiele does have a big voice, but it’s a pop-diva big voice, and Ann Wilson don’t like no pint-size wannabe diva butchering her songs, so she sends Ramiele a big boatload of bad vibrations, and it works.

Ouch. This is painful, you guys. She just reached the moment when the song goes big, and her big notes are big, but they’re not good. Not good at all. I have to press ‘pause’.
OK, my ears are rested. I’m going back for more.
Eek. Have to take another break, sorry. Ooh, this is terrible and shouty and terribly shouty. I feel a little bad for her actually. She is going to get nailed badly for that, I hope. Let’s find out.

Verdict:
RANDY: Yo, yo. Randy heard that Ramiele is a little under the weather. Him too, actually; he’s not feelin’ too hot tonite, yo. That dang California climate, so rough and full of viruses.
Pussies.
Randy: wrong song choice, the song was too big for her, pitchy all over the place. In short, Ramiele is no Carly.
I wholeheartedly agree.
PAULA: She’s sedated again. Ha. Things are back to normal. She stutters some stuff about America barely knowing that Ramiele has got a big voice. Hey, Paula? We know she does. Unlike you, we weren’t passed out drunk during her good performance back in Hellywood.
Paula hopes that Ramiele sticks around, and tells her she’s a big talent for someone who can fit in a jewelry box.
SIMON: Is DEFINITELY on the same narcotics as Paula: he tells flat out that Randy is being a total bitch, and that the beginning of the song wasn’t that bad. And also, Randy? She’s sick. Not her fault. Give the kid a break. No need to be an asshole, Dawg.
Simon adds that if you go by the laws of comparisons, and you look at how much she stank last week, tonight, she was, in comparison, really really good. So there. She’s not going anywhere, just because she rose from horrible to a little less horrible.

ME: I’m totally with Dawg on this one. I don’t trust stoned people’s opinions anymore.

Bizarrely, Ryan and Simon, later joined by Paula, gang up against Randy, and they both call him harsh and a dick.
Ensues a long discussion between Ryan and the judges. Ramiele, obviously thinking that she has been forgotten, sneaks off to go catch some zzz in the red green room.
I won’t transcribe the conversation because I ain’t got all day and neither do you, but if you do want to hear the details, search “Ramiele” on YouTube, and pick the 12 minutes clip: it’ll all be there.
But ultimately, Randy still thinks that Ramiele is nothing but consistently shitty, and he’s right.
Ramiele pops back on stage, to say that none of this is her fault, it’s just that her voice went bye-bye.
Eyeroll. Jeez, enough already with the cuteness. She’s becoming almost as nauseating as Wittle David.
Meh, she officially gets on my tits now.
Ryan tells her tenderly :”Good luck, darling”, all touchy-feely, and goes and puts her to bed while we head to commercials.

If you’re a budding songwriter and would like to hear Wittle David sing your crappy song at the finale, you got a week left to submit a crappy song.
It’s gotta be a soppy ballad with not too many words, though, otherwise, Wittle David will only sing half of it.

JASON was born in Dallas, Texas, and has been told he’s an Aries, but he doesn’t quite buy it.
Aww, it’s his birthday you guys! Happy birthday, you hippie, you! Maybe he won’t have to sing tonight, because of it. They could just be nice to him, and, as a present, put him through to next week. And that way, I’d have one less performance to recap.
But these Idol guys are sadistic bastards.

As a baby, Jason had a passion for passports. He’s seen holding one.
As a kid, Jason had a passion for women, and developed and perfected a secret weapon to capture them: kick-ass gorgeous blue eyes, with a smile to go with it. Back then, he used to grow hair on his head, but all these women constantly telling him how cute he was eventually got on his nerves, so he tried to put them off by growing rope instead. If I go by the number of threads that read :”omg JAson Castro is so hottt, loL” that I see on the IMDB message board, it didn’t work.
Oh, what’s that, Ramiele is singing again? Oh, no, it’s Jason and his brother, as kids, playing on battery-operated instruments, respectively: a stringless toy guitar, and a toy keytar.
Mr. and Mrs. Castro have a message for America: never buy musical instruments that sound like Ramiele for your kids, or there’ll be hell to pay. Jason nods in agreement.
This guy really is adorable. He’s wayyy too old for me (yes, I said ‘old’. Get lost and leave me alone.) but I still can’t help swooning a little. He’s the kind of guy with whom I could spend hours just lying there, caressing his face and gazing and getting lost into his eyes. I couldn’t do dirty stuff with Jason, because he is just so beautiful that I don’t think that I could stop looking at him. He’s cute in a distracting way. Like no matter what you’re doing, you keep finding yourself staring admiringly at him.

He’s singing “Fragile”, by Sting, sitting on a stool in his pajamas, with a grown-up guitar, the kind that has strings.
It’s okay, but just okay. I have to be honest, the first thing that came to my mind 20 seconds into the song, was that he could make quite a bit of cash doing street entertainment at next year’s Jazz Festival.
And given that Montreal is multicultural and multilingual, learning one foreign language every week, like he’s been doing lately, can only help him.
In case you missed it, last week, he had to become fluent in French, so that he could sing “Michelle”; and this week, he learnt to speak Spanish for “Fragile” (that bit was in SPANISH, right?).
I hope he sings Nena’s “99 Luftballons” in German next week.

Honestly, I don’t have much to say about this performance. It was… bof. (‘Bof’ means ‘okay’ in French.)

Verdict:
RANDY: That’s one of his favourite songs, and he thought it was nice and pleasant, but not all that special. And again, I side with the Dawg.
PAULA: She is clapping with the gloved palms of her hands, which makes even less noise than usual. She says ‘nitch’ again, instead of ‘niche’, and adds that Jason knows exactly who he is, and knows exactly how to identify the magical songs, the ones that keep on bringing him back week after week, even when he sucks. Paula is strangely rational at this moment.
However, she isn’t blown away either. Randy takes a sip from her Coke cup, and starts repeating everything she says.
SIMON: Birthday boy or not, he’s just about had it with Jason’s goofing around and not taking the competition seriously. Jason doesn’t seem to realize that Simon wants him to treat the whole thing as if it’s a question of life or death.
Hey! Simon plagiarized me! He said Jason’s performance was the equivalent of someone busking outside a subway station!
(Yo, Jason! Dump Simon and come work for me; I can get you a much better gig at the Jazz fest. It pays better, and you can shack up at my place; I live just up the road and I have a double bed. And no funny business, I promise. As long as you let me caress your face and gaze into your eyes two to three hours a day, I’ll be happy. Just remember to put down the toilet seat after you’re done.)
Simon adds that if Jason doesn’t stop showing up stoned on performance night, he’s going to confiscate his stash and send it to Amanda as a consolation prize.
If finds that Jason has potential, but that his pot habit of his makes him a bad role model for the children of America.

Back on the stage, Ryan asks Jason:
“Why do you keep fucking around, dude? I mean, do you really care at all, or are you just here for the snacks?”
Jason: Huh? Say what?
Ryan: Simon kind of has it out for you, y’ know? You better watch your ass and tell Simon exactly what he wants to hear. Repeat after me: “Yes Simon, from now on, I will learn two new languages every week instead of just one, and I’ll study harder”.
Jason: Yeah… Hehe… Can I go back to the condo and watch the cartoon channel, now, Ryan? Because honestly man, Simon’s right, I don’t give a shit about this show… And anyway, it’s not like I’m not gonna be back next week. I mean, look at me, I’m gorgeous. Girls love me, man. And a lot of guys too. All I have to do is flash my pearly whites, and they’ll vote their asses off for me. So why should I care?
Seriously Ryan, I gotta split, Family Guy is coming on. So, quick, read that number so that I can get the hell outta here.

Man, this is hilarious, Jason is so evidently totally out of it!!! He’s giggling his ass off while making those goofy peace signs and, he is totally awesome!
Happy birthday, Jason, see you next week!

SYESHA with was born in Connecticut, on a cold winter day of … …1987. She takes such a dramatic pause before saying ‘1987’, that I’m almost surprised when she doesn’t say: “I was born in … …1887, and people always look surprised when I tell them that I’m 121 years old.”
I love her!
When Syesha was 4, in 1891, she kept throwing epileptic tantrums all over the place, but mostly on floors. She was basically a fucking brat.
She does this awesomely accurate of impression of a baby wailing, and she is totally adorable. I’d love to go shopping with her.
OMG! Syesha and I are the same person in a parallel universe! When she was a kid, she was part of an aerobic dance team, who waved pompoms, dressed in corny sequined costumes, and their pompoms waving was so good, that it won her team a lot of gold medals.
Me: EXACTLY the same. This is fucking crazy. It’s like she’s describing my life as a pre-teen.
I too was part of an aerobics dance team, I too wore corny sequins, I too waved pompoms (I was even team captain on my last year), and the team I was waving pompoms for, won a trophy in that competition in Spain. Third place, we got. We did really well, we beat like 30 teams.
So OK, it wasn’t a medal, but a trophy, and it wasn’t gold. But still, close… Close enough.
Anyway, back to Syesha, she has two personalities: the serious one, who has curly hair, and then the goofy one, who has straight hair.
Which one will sing tonight? I’m really hoping for the goofy one, but Syesha was paying attention when Simon was giving shit to Jason for screwing around, so she knows that tonight’s goofiness quota has already been filled.
She goes serious and curly on us.

She sings “If I Were Your Woman”, by I don’t know whom. It’s a diva song. One of those that Ramiele should sing, because I don’t like diva songs, and I don’t like Ramiele, so that would work well for me.
However, I like Syesha a lot, and I want to like her even more, but for some reason, she keeps picking songs that won’t let me.

This is dull. She has a good voice, but the song bores me to tears. Then lulls me to sleep.
By the time she hits the big notes, I’m too dozy to really be able to appreciate them.
It’s over. Oh well, that was a snooze and a half.

Verdict:
RANDY: Has come up with a new Randyism since last week: “for you for me”. It’s the second time that I hear him say that tonight. I’ll transcribe it for you so that you understand the context.
“This is a good moment for you for me”. Got it?
Randy loved it, it was stellar, best vocals like, ever, and yeah, awesome and great, with gravy on top.
Syesha is really hyper, and full of sound bites and exclamations, and “Yeahs” and “Awws” and “Wows. I understand; she must feel well rested after that performance. I sure do.
Randy adds that Wittle David better watch his ass, because Syesha could very well kick it, thus depriving him from what will otherwise be an assured, eventless victory for him.

PAULA asks Simon and Randy ” Did you like it? What should I say to Ryan? That I liked it too? Yeah, I won’t be a bitch, I’ll just say that.”
Oh, it’s this time once again: Paula’s “Animals 101” weekly special! Tonight: horses again. Dark horses, to be specific. Is this a repeat? Because according to Paula, Syesha has just turned into a dark horse, and the exact same thing happened to My David a few weeks ago.
Paula loves Syesha’s upper register, lower register, and all the registers in between. Meanwhile, Simon is lovingly gazing at her, and looks like he’s just about to kiss her passionately, and she looks like she would let him.
Then he bites. He said that it was her best so far, but that there are limits to her vocals, then, with a big smile on his face, attempts to really nicely explain to Randy and Paula that they are morons.
It’s starting to look obvious to me that Syesha’s presence is conducive to the judges arguing. You can hear them squabbling during the jingle.

Ryan, who had briefly stepped out to check on Ramiele and bring her some chicken soup, missed the judges’ critique. He asks Paula what they said. Paula said that they all loved it, including Simon. Simon pulls Paula’s ponytail. She jumps on him, they disrobe, and do it right there on the desk, in front of everyone. Ryan watches, Randy sneaks out for a quick puff backstage, with Jason, My David, and Michael Australia.

Meanwhile, Syesha uses her phone number announcement time to showcase her acting skills, and to demonstrate how well she can play someone who has Tourette syndrome.
After a last glimpse of Syesha, circa 1889, we head to commercials.

Chikezie is up next. Sitting with Ryan, in front of a moving Coke backdrop. He looks like he’s just coming back from plastering or something, because the sleeves of his jacket have white marks all the way up to the elbows.
Chik is wearing an ear monitor. If he sucks tonight, we’ll know why. Paula said last week that ear monitors turn good singers into Paula Abduls.
What’s going on here, no baby pictures for Chikezie? Does that mean that he was born at 22 years old and skipped all those awkward years of crawling and drooling and throwing epileptic tantrums on people’s floors?
Ryan and Chikezie reminisce about the good old times, when Chikezie used to do ballads and it didn’t pay off. Then, defying all logic, Chikezie says that he’s going to do a ballad tonight. What the…??? WHY? Idiot.

Oh, wait. Chikezie WAS a baby once. But he didn’t want to bring it up, because he was born on September the 11th, and that day kind has a bad rap.
Chik learnt to sing before learning to talk. He was a natural born hummer. His parents are Nigerian, which makes him also Nigerian.
He grew up listening to Nigerian music, religious music, and love songs. he is very focused on faith (mummy) and education (daddy).
Hihi! Chikezie’s mum just downgraded the first auditions’ “gold ticket” to “yellow ticket”! In your face, Hollywood, LOL! Religious or not, she rocks!

Zzzzz… This is boring…

I’m hungry. I’ll be right back.

Would like a smoked oyster?
This is still going? What is this, “Stairway to heaven”? “Echoes”?

I’ll use the rest of the song to speculate: Chikezie has had a lot of airtime tonight. First, the chat with Ryan and the Coke backdrop. Then the baby clip. Now a 17 minutes song. I think he’s out.

Ah, it’s finally over. Chikezie then proceeds to shake hands with everyone in the room.
Personally, although I found the song boring and the performance cheesy and slightly OTT, I can’t deny that the guy has got some serious vocals. But please, no more ballads.
Chikezie, listen to me for a sec’… If from now on, you follow Amanda’s example and scoff every you hear the word “ballad”, I promise to love you unconditionally until the end of the season. Which for you, will be in two weeks, max, if you’re lucky.

Verdict:
RANDY: doesn’t like to make comparisons.
However, when compared to Syesha, who made her boring shitty song hip and cool and young (really? I didn’t hear it, but what do I know, eh?), well, in comparison, Chikezie’s boring shitty song sounded old-school and unhip and uncool and un-yo.

Now, I just have to transcribe this wonderful statement from Randy: “It wasn’t that viby Chikezie that I love and all that energy different […]” Seriously, that is what he said, verbatim. Don’t you love Randy when he puts all the words of a sentence in a bag, then fishes them out in random order? I love it! That totally cracked me up.
Randy concludes his random speech with the word “Boring”. I nod.
PAULA: I disagree, Randy.
Two people in the peppit start clapping and screaming, and a good part of the studio audience wakes up, stretches, yawns, and starts heading out the door before Ryan calls them back. “Hey! You twats. Where are you going? Sit down, we’re not done yet.”
Paula says a bunch of nonsense, followed by “You did an amazing job with the textures of your vocals.”
(Paula, I’m still struggling to keep up with the old ‘colours’ rating system, so can we please leave the textures out of it for at least two more weeks?)
SIMON: Chikezie sang that song well, but his performance was cheesy.
I agree with Simon. Chikezie doesn’t and starts arguing, then Simon argues back and calls Chikezie a selfish asshole who sings only for himself, without thinking about America. Then Paula jumps in to defend Chikezie, who’s biting his tongue to not talk back to Simon although he really really wants to.
A huge riot ensues, the peppit turns into a moshpit, innocent teenagers are left for dead, and we’ll see you next January for American Idol, season 8. Thank you for watching, Seacrest, out.

When we come back, in January 2009, the show opens on Simon still giving shit to Chikezie. He tells him that he misses his energy and personality. Randy, still wearing the exact same shirt he wore at last year’s riot, totally agrees, so do I, and so does everyone else, besides Paula, who doesn’t understand all this rationality.
I predict that a big block of very hard cheddar will land on Cheesyzie’s sweaty head tomorrow night.

A baby Sunshine Yellow appears on the screen. Then disappears.

Did you*ITunes* know that you *ITunes* could download the live *ITunes* performances on ITunes, as well as the studio recordings, on ITunes, *ITunes*?

Sunshine Yellow is a Gemini, and the oldest of 4 kids, whom we all meet.
Then one day, a piano moved in with them.
Wait, is that Brooke’s mum? She’s hot! She could actually easily pass for Sunshine’s sister.
Brooke has a natural gift for all things piano, and never had to learn it, she just guessed it and it worked. Wow. Ever since, she’s been playing intuitive piano; it’s a lot like normal piano, but it’s powered by intuition instead of pedals.
She goes on to say that seeing her family in the audience makes her really happy, then starts tearing up. Cut the crap, Brooke. Just shut up and sing.
Which she will be doing in a second: “Every breath you take” by the Police.

Tonight, Brooke actually looks like she could be her mother’s mother, what with the very stern businesswoman outfit and the straight-haired businesswoman hairdo, which I do not like at all on her, and her make-up, which makes her look like a businesswoman in her 40s. What’s up with the look, Sunshine, trying to counteract that Yellow overload from last week? I haven’t forgotten about that, you know?… And I won’t anytime soon…

She’s sitting at the piano. She wearing businesswoman like black stilettos, I think. Hey Sunshine? I thought you said you couldn’t play the piano with shoes on?
You’re killing your inner hippie tonight, Yellow, be careful! Karma’s a bitch, and you may soon find yourself having to sing “Purple Rain”, or worse, “Somewhere over the rainbow”. That’d be a laugh, actually.

She starts singing.
Then stops.
Then starts again.
Hahaha, you guys, Brooke screwed up, LOL! This is even funnier than the Yellow Overkill, if, like me, you don’t really like her! Whoo!!! Hihi… I’m wicked, I know. But seriously, that was funny. Brooke. Screwing up. Hahaha!
Is she wearing gloves? Her hands look really wrinkly. She needs some lotion if these are her bare hands.
She sounds good though. I really like it, I find it’s a great song choice for her, it fits her somewhat smoky voice perfectly, and although I’d really like to, I just cannot find anything bad to say about that performance, besides “Hahaha, she screwed up at the start!” and “She’s wearing shoes, she’s a lying Mormon!”. But that ‘s about it. Really nice performance.
Because of it, I’ve decided to give her a break this week because that was really good; from now on, I will be picking on Pikachu instead, OK? OK.

Verdict:
RANDY: Thought the song choice was interesting, and liked the start, with the piano. Then he goes on to tell her that she should have pulled a Joshua Lemming and told to band to shut the fuck up and get their sorry asses off the stage.
He even would have preferred she took the Jason Castro approach: Brooke, alone with her song, her piano, not giving a fuck about the rest of the world. Basically, Randy’s advice to Brooke, is exactly what Simon gave Jason shit for, not half and hour ago. These guys puzzle me sometimes.
Brooke scrupulously approves and okays every one of Randy’s comments.
PAULA: Liked tonight’s much better than last week (who wouldn’t? Whoo!) She then says the word ‘great’ 9 times in a row, then goes on telling Brooke the exact same thing she told Jason, not half and hour ago; and she uses ‘nitch’ instead of ‘niche’ again.
SIMON: He agrees with Randy and thinks that Brooke should have done what he told Jason and Joshua not to do: dismiss the band.
I would argue, but I’m not the one sitting there shitting golden eggs for trashing people every Tuesday night, so I’ll just say that personally, the band didn’t bother me, and that this was my favourite performance by Sunshine Yellow since like ever.
I might even download it, but not from ITunes; after all, she fucked up at the beginning, so why should I have to pay for her mistakes, huh?
Simon adds that she’ll stick around next week because, like Jason, she’s got those wholesome superpowers that simply prevent them from being sent home before top 6.
Simon goes on and on and on, like Brooke is the only contestant left in the competition worth giving some constructive feedback to. Randy grunts “yeah” after everything Simon says.

Ryan reminds everyone that Brooke fucked the start of her song, all the judges start mumbling something, then stop when Ryan gives us her number. Brooke profusely thanks everyone and their cousin.

Photographs of Michael Australia and Carly Ireland flash on the screen. OMG, Carly is so funny-looking, in a really cute way! Unless it’s Michael, with ribbons in his hair? Anyway, best baby? The one on the right, who’s wearing big round glasses and is missing a tooth!
Foreign Idol when we come back”

It’s that time once again when Ryan is at the judges desk, helping them convince America that Coke is actually good for you, and for you budding Coke cup designers out there, here’s a challenge: make Coke look even better for you, and come up with a design that involves nuts, pineapples, or anything healthy.
Got that, Coke cup designers?
Oh, and here’s a tip: Paula drinks her lethal concoction with a pink straw, so make sure to include a polka dots straw with your design, before you submit it.

Why is Michael always wearing woolen hats and scarves? I mean, isn’t this California? I don’t know what he would do over here, poor guy. He’d have to rely on me to warm him up, I guess… To which I’d comply, because it’d would be cruel to both me and him not to.
Michael was born at some point in October, somewhere in Australia, which makes him an Australian Libra.
Australian Libras are balanced, and therefore that makes them excellent yoga instructors.

As an aside, I’ve never dated a Libra, not even a Canadian one. I stick to my fire signs, which is why My David is just perfect for me: he’s Sagittarius. They’re great in bed… My first boyfriend was Sagittarius too. Actually, now that I think of it, his name is also David; his last name’s initial is also C; he also plays the guitar; he also is a leftie, also has a receding hairline, and OMG! I’ve actually dated David Cook in a parallel life! And now, we meet again, him as My David, and me as Syesha. You guys, this is fucking spooky.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Michael Australia and his baby pictures. Turns out the funny-looking toothless kid was Carly.
Mike’s super-cute mum tells us that Mike was a competitive jock, as well as an asshole, a bully, and a passive-aggressive paranoiac sore loser with an inflated ego. Hey, he sounds like a catch! Gimme, gimme!
Mike thought he would become a tennis player with an inflated ego, but at 15, he discovered sex, drugs and rock’n’roll, and decided he would become a rocker with an inflated ego instead. Nice smile, though.

He’ll be singing some Queen tonight, which brings back good memories from a long long time ago, back in Hollywood’s Golden Age.
“We will, we will rock you”
Yeah! Aussie Mike is back! With a big great rocking voice which reminds me why I liked him in the first place.
Then, all of a sudden, we change songs: “We are the champions” WTF? Didn’t Michael learn his lesson last week, that you don’t try to cram three different songs in 90 seconds?
Actually, my doubts melt a hell of a lot quicker than the fucking pile of snow on my balcony. He sounds terrific, and it just keeps on getting better, and better, and better. I have goosebumps, and sweat drips down my back. He looks, sounds, rocks something absolutely awesome.
I ADORE. Up till now, the best, by a mile. I’m gaga.

This. was. brilliant. Wow. Just, wow.

After that valiant and sublime effort, Mike is panting and sweating like a pig, but there is very little he could do to make me hate him right now.

Verdict:
RANDY: Cannot say a word. The studio is ripped by an onslaught of FH (Female Hysteria)
Randy: You know, it… (then, he is cut off by a wave of FH.)
Randy: Dawg, I… All the women in the room throw their bra at Michael. Randy is distracted. Ryan grabs a big garbage bag and gathers all the bras, to play with them later on when he gets home. Meanwhile, all the girls are throwing their knickers at Michael.
Ryan calls Kady, the new cleaning lady, to pick ’em up. He’s a boob guy, panties do nothing for him. Kady asks “Can I keep them, then?”

When all the girls in the room have finally lost the rest of their collective voice, Randy finally gets to complete a sentence, which starts with “Finally! Finally! Finally!” Word. Michael finally retrieved the backpack that he had forgotten in Hollywood, the one that contained his big great awesome voice.
Randy calls this Michael’s best performance since he’s known him, while I’m still frantically clapping and jumping up and down.
PAULA: In that circumvoluted way of hers, says that this was Mike’s shining moment, and that now, the three judges can finally stop whining that he wasn’t bringing it, that he was picking bad songs and la-di-da, and just put him straight through to the final 3. In a word, it was fantastic. (It absolutely was.)
SIMON: Makes a face, and then solemnly announces that this is the first time he’s seen star potential in Aussie Mike, and that tonight, he did everything right, and gave the only memorable performance of the night.

ME: I’m still clapping and jumping up and down. Australia for president!

Ryan congratulates Michael for a job well done, reads the phone numbers, and then they both head back to Ryan’s place to go play with Ryan’s new bras. My David wants in, but he still has to perform, so he’s stuck here. He’s fuming, so he asks Brooke if she can go along with them and spoil all of their fun by making them play: “Feminism”; that game where the goal is to burn as many bras as possible.

Carly is a Dubliner and a Virgo.
Virgos love books, and also enjoy playing with electricity, which would explain Carly’s carrot-coloured crinkly afro. Either that or she’s Carrot Top’s illegitimate daughter. Which is doubtful. Who in hell would ever have sex with Carrot Top… … Excuse me, I have to go throw up.
Since Carly’s mum used to get wasted every day during her pregnancy, she never actually thought of a name for whatever it was that was making her fat.
When she got to the hospital, she found out she was just about to have a daughter. The doctor asked her what name she would give her, so that he could pass the information on to the administration. Carly’s mom didn’t have a clue, so she asked the nearest nurse: “Who’s the bitch who’s singing on the radio right now?”
The nurse said “Carly Simon”
So Mrs. Smithson said: Excellent, I’ll call her Simon.
Nurse: I’m an amateur psychic, and I can tell you that the name ‘Simon’ will turn your daughter into a conceited British man with a poor attitude and an even poorer sense of fashion. I’d go with Carly, if I were you.
Mrs. S: Shove your advice where the sun don’t ever shine, you slag. I’ll call my daughter Carly if I want you. Now fuck off, and give me either an epidural, or a pint of Guinness, whichever is closest.

Carly’s mom has since gone to rehab, and she looks pretty damn good now.
What’s with the Irish and those crazy Siamese cat blue eyes, seriously? They all have them. I dated an Irish Aries for two years, (those are no picnic, believe me!) and he had those crazy blue eyes too, and all his Irish friends, the ones he was fighting with every Saturday night had them too.
I have fond memories of all those Sunday morning trips to the hospital, sitting in the waiting area, wondering who had punched a wall, this time… Ah, good times…

Carly says she always wanted to be a popstar. Turns out that God listens to people who ask him for stuff politely.
Carly’s wish to become Madonna or Kylie Minogue almost came true, but then Carrot Top sued her ass for Hairdo copyrights. Carly had to take a job in a pub and learn how to pour Guinness to pay him back. She did manage to trick some of her drunkest patrons, into buying her CD, but not enough to quench Carrot Top’s insatiable greed; so Carly learnt a new trade: tattooing people.
And eventually, one Disney character at a time, she earned enough money to get a haircut, a dye job, go to the States, get her papers, audition for Idol, drive to Hollywood, and suck Simon’s dick so that he would put her in the top 24, where she would become the butt of VFTW’s jokes, as well as the recipient of the title of “plant”. Go to VFTW and look it up. All I can tell you is that they don’t like Blackbirds over there; they much prefer Harley ridin’ Growlin’ nurses.

Carly will be singing “Total eclipse of the heart”, by Bonnie Tyler. I love that song, and I love Bonnie’s voice, and I love Carlyplant’s voice, so this should be good.
I know that song by heart, and Carly fucks up the words. It’s not “every now and then I get a little bit frightened”, it’s “every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes”.
Damn. What are these people doing with their rehearsal time? Getting tips from Jason on how to roll a five-skinner joint? WTF?
In spite of that fuck up, I love it. Carly’s voice gives me goosebumps. And the more she pushes the song, the more I love, and I get goosebumps some more. Wow. That girl has got some serious pipes, the kind that should make Ramiele run away and find refuge in the colourful world of Pokemon, if only she had a brain.
I loved it.

Verdict:
RANDY: an interesting song choice. (I don’t like it when Randy used the word “interesting”; it’s a bit like when Paula tells you that you look beautiful tonight.
It’s like offering someone a rose with a razorblade hidden in the petals. You think it’s nice until you nose starts bleeding.)
Randy didn’t love it? He didn’t find it was the right song choice? He didn’t like the big note at the end? WTF, man? Getting cranky, Dawg? That under the weather thing that you caught from Ramiele is getting to you? OK, I’ll let it go, but just this one time. Paula and Randy then get into a fight.
PAULA: Says that no matter what shitty song that she hates Carly releases on CD, Paula is so gullible than she’s likely to buy it.
You can both see and hear the gears spinning in Carly’s brain, as Carly realizes that if she can get Paula to visit the pub she works at and buy her a few shots of mouthwash, she can flog her the same old blank CD at least three-four times, maybe even more.

Elsewhere, some dude who wasted a couple of millions on Carly, is cursing Paula and brandishing his fist to the skies, screaming: “This is not true! I spent a fortune on that bitch, and she sold 17 albums! Shut up, Paula Abdul, and go fuck yourself! Die! Die!” And then he shoots himself, but he’s drunk, so he misses. Happy ending, at least for now.

Paula and Randy fight some more, over whether or not Carly’s final run, at the end of the song was in tune or not.
SIMON interrupts to tell them to STFU. Then he tells Carly that it didn’t quite work, because she was too tense, and could she please ask Michael Australia to show her some of them yummy yoga moves where I get to stare at his butt while drinking beer and eating potato chips.
Simon didn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he would, although he does admit that she did nail parts of the song. I agree. She nailed everything, besides the bit where she should have said ‘terrified’ instead of ‘frightened’.
But ultimately, Simon sides with Randy, and tells Carly that she needs to lighten up already.

Carly considers getting into a tirade about how rare total eclipses of the heart are, in the music industry, and how disheartening it is when you miss one because of some stupid fucking clouds. But she changes her mind when My David gives her the ‘cutthroat’ signal, while shaking his head in a frantic ‘NO’.

Ryan: Were you relaxed during that song?
Carly: I went to the bathroom before. But I had fun. I love that song.
Ryan: Did you flush?

Then Ryan threatens to call security for Randy, while Carly heads back to the bathroom, and we, back to commercial.

End of part 1.

Well, so much for shorter recaps. I guess I’ll have to try again next week.

So all in all, a great night. I thought a lot of them did well, but Michael Australia really took the cake for me.
I also enjoyed Sunshine Yellow and Carly Ireland’s performances a lot too. And heck, I’m a little light-headed and exhilarated after all this great singing, so I’m in a generous mood now. Hence I choose to rather carelessly announce that Krist-Hee really was like not bad.

Best of the night: Michael. (Followed by My David as a close second)
Worst of the night: Pikachu. (With Wittle David as a not-too-far-behind second).

My bottom 4 predictions (when I actually get paid to do this, I’ll narrow it down to a bottom 3. Until then, you can kiss my ass.)

Chikezie
Ramiele
Krist-Hee
Syesha

Boot: Probably Chikezie, although I’ll be secretly rooting for a Pikachu fueled rocket heading to Philippinoville.

Rendez-vous tomorrow then, same place, sometime.

Ciao!

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