First-up, as a public service, I present my "American Idol" Bottom-Line Recap for Feb. 20, 2007. It was the first Guys' Night Out, and it proceeded thusly:
Rudy Cardenas — Suck.
Brandon Rogers — Suck.
Sundance Head — Suck.
Paul Kim — Suckie suckie.
Chris Richardson — Suck.
Nick Pedro — Suck.
Blake Lewis — Cool.
Sanjaya Malakar — Suck.
Chris Sligh — Cool.
Jared Cotter — Suck.
AJ Tabaldo — Suck.
Phil Stacey — Cool.
What? Not meaty enough for you? I'm just keeping it real, dog. If you want more details on the singers, check out the deliciously snarky Average Jane or the "Wait Until I see a Whole Episode and THEN I'll Really Get Started" Sassy.
Actually, the most entertaining/uncomfortable moments of the night were provided by host Ryan Seacrest and embittered Brit Simon Cowell. After an evening in which Cowell was crankier than usual, Seacrest took him to task for his general grumpiness, to which Cowell responded, "I'm just trying to be honest, sweetheart."
“Don’t call me sweetheart. ... We don’t have that kind of relationship,” Seacrest said. “I don’t want that kind of relationship.”
“I don’t want that kind of relationship,” repeated Cowell, to which Seacrest replied: “Exactly. We’ll just work together, that’s fine with me.”
Eegads. If I didn't know better, I'd say Seacrest was auditioning for a murderous redneck in "The Laramie Project." But "Idol" noob that I am, I was informed the dueling duo are actually good friends in "real life." So it seems more likely this was just a good-natured queen-fight.
It's a good thing, too. I was halfway expecting one or the other to call in these guys for reinforcements.
***
In other news
I was able to roll through our alley without assistance today for the first time since the Great Snow of '07, which has been quickly followed by the Great Melt of '07. In fact, I was able to roll around with only a long-sleeved shirt this afternoon*, further evidence that when you mix Illinois's already-volatile weather with climatic change (nee "global warming) and shake well, you get Corn Belt End Times.
*In the spirit of full disclosure, I was in fact wearing pants along with my long-sleeved shirt.
Speaking of slush, I've discovered that my least productive window at work is from 1:30 to 3 p.m. It's like I'm stuck in cold gray stuff, and I have to rock my mind back and forth for about 90 minutes before rolling free of it.
A sure sign I'm getting old is that I've been spending more time on line playing Scrabble than surfing for porn. It's not just the gray creeping into my goatee that gives it away now.
Mrs. Z is on the road a lot these days selling class rings as a soldier in the Josten's army. She seems quite happy, and that makes The Good Doctor happy.
It also allows for White Castle (last night) and Jack in the Box (tonight) runs. Literally and figuratively.
It seems strange not to be banging our heads against a wall preparing a Muni audition. While it's a season that should sell well, there's absolutely nothing there for the missus or me, which gives us time to focus on our burgeoning TV watching:
- Grease: You're the One That I Want
- The Amazing Race: All-Star Edition
- Heroes
- 24
- Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip
- American Idol
- Jericho
- Lost
- Survivor: Fiji
- CSI
I'm not saying I'm turning into a couch potato, but that's only because I rarely sit on the couch.
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