American Idol: Dollywood Stock Just Plummeted

“The magic is inside you. There ain’t no crystal ball.”

Remember how I suggested that an awesome twist for American Idol would be strapping the judges to the lie detectors used on the godforsaken shitshow that is The Moment of Truth? Well, some story editors at FOX must be reading my lil’ ole’ recaps, because Seabreath totally stole my idea. “Due to industrial action by the League of American Vocal Coaches, we will be instead airing a special celeb edition of The Moment of Truth featuring Simon Cowell,” he announces. April Fool’s, we get it. What’s more alarming is that I totally know what FOX is thinking.
It’s slightly gratifying and also completely disgusting. It’s like I accidentally bathed in Eau de Ann Coulter and immaculately conceived, through the omnipotence of Rupert Murdoch, the blueprint for Fetus’ rise to stardom. If they come for me, Gasmii, tell the world that I gave Fetus his name.

One of these days, I fear the futuristic stage will seek revenge on Seabreath (like the Ray Bradbury story “The Veldt”). I’m always a little worried that the high-tech sliding doors will immediately reverse directions and smush him into orange jelly as he strolls onto the stage.

An episode of Rescue 9-1-1 waiting to happen.

Everyone harps on Simon for not dressing up (although his shirts and sweaters appear to be supremely expensive and lint-free), but no one ever picks on Randy for wearing only man-cardigans with colorful edging.

Is it because Randy is contractually obligated to wear ugly bracelets from Paula’s line?

Paula Abdul appears to be shopping from the leftovers of Prada’s Spring/Summer collection and the Michael’s sale on huge fake flowers, which she’s fashioned into a brooch.

Who wants to have a tea party? Meeeeee!

It’s Dolly Week on AI , and you know that Kristy Lee is going to milk this to her advantage.

We had a very prolific lemon tree in our backyard when I was growing up. The lemons the tree produced were nothing short of ginormous, and were often the same size as supermarket cantaloupes. We’d pick the lemons with the picker, a basket on the end of a long stick, but they’d fall of their own free will and nearly kill us as we scrambled to avoid them. My dad called the lemons “Dolly Partons” but I was much too young to understand why. I thought the woman just really, really liked her citrus fruits to be large. Suffice it to say, I was sent off to first grade one day with a bag of Dolly Partons for my teacher and totally got put in time out for calling them that. Dolly Parton will always remind me of making lemonade, unfair punishment, and being bonked on the head by giant yellow fruits.

Dolly, in a silver lamé mini dress that RuPaul totally covets, confides that she never had children of her own so she considers her songs her children. During the writing of “9 to 5,” she had no instruments around, so she played it with her acrylic fingernails, which allegedly sound like a typewriter. Or spoons on a washboard, which I believe were a precursor to Morse Code. They do a group sing of “9 To 5″ around the ole’ pianny, and it’s cornier than a state fair.

“I never want to go back to Nordstrom’s!”

You have to respect a woman who openly says things like, “I look just like the girls next door…if you happen to live next door to an amusement park” and “It’s a good thing I was born a girl; otherwise, I’d be a drag queen.” Dolly admits that she also won’t be criticizing any of the singers since it’s very hard for her to do so. If it were still April 1, I’d write this recap in homage to Dolly’s sunshiny optimism-fueled compliment factory, gushing about each singer, full of praise and delight at their performances, no matter how atrocious. I’d pretend to be tone-deaf so that everything would sound delightful and moving. I’d put myself in the shoes of Paula Abdul and write like I was sipping on Kool-Aid laced with ecstasy and was able to see all the colors of their voices. I would bow at the altar of Kristy Lee Cook.

Yeah, well, this won’t get published till April 2, so there goes that.

Brooke White is up first. She’s going to tackle the equivalent of Dolly’s “Let it Be,” which is “Jolene.” We get some shots of Brooke brownnosing during rehearsals, dressing in a plaid workshirt she must’ve stolen from Kristy Lee. Dolly clearly requested that Brooke hold a guitar in her hands so that she wouldn’t twirl or try to hug her. Dolly, of course, has nothing but nice things to say. “Brooke is..really…awk – good.” Brooke, gushes that Dolly is a tiny gal, but HUGE.

Exhibit H: Crazy Eyes Killa

Brooke’s got quite the motley crew with her. An aging hippie who’s wearing a shirt made of old flowery comforters, an S&M sassy momma in a tartan plaid corset on backup vocals, and Gordon from Sesame Street on percussion. Only he’s dressed as a Silicon Valley venture capitalist in a button down and suit jacket with jeans.

…and that’s what happens when you use Craigslist.

She starts off pretty flat. The pace is plodding, and she needs a metronome. She totally didn’t get the memo about the tempo, but the rest of the band did. I keep thinking the song will increase in energy/dynamics/something. But it just doesn’t really go anywhere. I’m bored. Every time she sings “Jolene, Jolene” I hear “Go lean, Go lean” like Kashi cereal. Compared to other performances, the song seems to drag on forever. Has it really only been a minute and 30 seconds? Eeesh. She doesn’t do any awkward dancing since she’s stuck on the stool, but that doesn’t spare us from her crazy bipolar looks. This song is an angry song full of steely resolve, and I realize that Brooke totally doesn’t get the song when she smiles.

This is not an optical illusion, half of her face is actually paralyzed.

Brooke has the gall to high-five her bandmates at the end. It’s kind of patronizing/insulting. Randy’s running out of things to say besides yo, yo, check it out. He definitely thinks this music can suit her voice. Pitch problems, timing problems, but he thinks she could make an album out of this. It was alright. Paula slurs that Brooke put her heart and soul into this, emotional rainbow connection, excellent and wonderful, unique and beautiful cornflakes – thank God this show is only an hour long this week. I love when they have to be concise or get cut off by the theme music! Brooke, the kind of contestant who always has to reply to the judges, compliments Paula’s hair, and then hastily adds Simon in there too. Please, for the love of Cheetos, just take her away! I. Can’t. Stand. Her.

Simon thinks she’s busking her way through the song, lacking any emotion. He notes that the posse looked very strange together on stage, because none of the other musicians would ever willingly play music with Brooke. Randy’s all, dawg, she’s not in a group Paula is indignant that Simon is insulting the band. He says it wasn’t one of Brooke’s best.

Might I add here that you don’t learn anything from praise being heaped upon you. Constructive criticism teaches you how to improve. Simon just gets a bad rap because people enjoy deluding themselves and still amateurishly believe that “positive self-esteem” exists in the music industry.

Next up, David Cook reveals his fetish for small Filipino girls as he and Ramiele wave to us from the rafters!

After the commercial break, David Cook reveals that he’s just hijacked and mashed-up existing arrangements of songs that suit his style, and cites all of them, including Whitesnake and Chris Cornell. But tonight, it’s gonna be “different” because he’s doing his own arrangement of Dolly’s “Little Sparrow.” Simon is bracing himself for Blackbirdgate 2.0.

Dolly says: “He seems secure…in himself. With singing gayly.” We get a little bit more praise for his voice, and how David “doesn’t mind reaching for it” because he usually catches it. Alrighty then.

David Cook looks like he’s OD’ed on hair putty and wax with his new cut. Dude, shave the pubes off your face. Please. The soul patch must go. As in rehearsal, he tries to reach for the first high note on “sparrow” but doesn’t quite hit it. On an unrelated note, the mosh pit/holding cell needs to go. The teenyboppers can’t wave their arms in time with the song.

As the song progresses, I think “he’s the poor man’s Rob Thomas!” and start wondering if Santana is going to pop up for a solo. It’s all a bit Latin-world-music-tinged when the drums come in, and David still struggles with the falsetto parts. It’s more contemplative and softer than his other performances, and I actually don’t hate it. I just don’t want to look at him. His vocals are fine.

If only I could roofie my sight. Just my sight, not my hearing.

This week, the judges can’t use “This song was written for a woman and you can’t sing that” as a reason to dislike song choice. Randy deems it both cool and hot that David did his own arrangement. “I LIKE YOUR HAIRCUT!” yelps Paula. It’s strangely delivered, as if she was thinking super-hard about the words coming out of her mouth. What would we do without her? She’s never heard a guy do that song, but she’s totally seen hot tranny messes. Simon declares it not as good as last week’s performance, but concedes that he made a song about sparrows good, so congrats. He totally disses Dolly, but the man seems to hate birds in general. Ah, the backhanded compliments of a cantankerous British man.

The comparisons made between itty bitty Ramiele and Dolly’s petiteness fail, because Ramiele is as big as Dolly’s left tit. BTW, how bummed is Ramiele’s BFF Hannah Mantana over not being on the show this week? Dolly is Miley Cyrus’s godmother! How awesome is that? You’re set to inherit a closet full of ridiculous sequined, fringed get-ups and a lifetime’s worth of wigs (on top of all her record-breaking discography, of course).

Dolly waxes on about how adorably tiny and precious Ramiele is, and how she can overcome her size to do big things. A big part of the appeal of petite people is that we appear pocket-sized and portable to bigger people. This is why we’re always being carted off under someone’s arm like a Trapper-Keeper or hoisted unwillingly onto someone’s shoulders. Because everyone, male and female, represses their desire to play with Polly Pocket Toys and Pokemon. So the closest real-life (and free) substitute is your neighborhood shorty, who is too small to protest. Even when you do, you just look comical. You might as well be tapdancing. And that’s why I moved to a town full of senile, geriatric people who have shrunken down to my size. So go on, Ramiele, strap some basketballs to your chest and sing your lil’ heart out.

Ramiele is dead in the eyes as she begins “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?” in a precious little jumper. My boyfriend thinks she looks like the villainess from Captain Planet with the hair falling over one eye. What Ramiele needs to do is drink a ton of Red Bull before performing, because then maybe we’d see a flicker of life and personality. It’s a bouncy little ditty requiring audience participation and sashaying on stage. But it doesn’t work out the way Dolly predicted. Ramiele’s more lost than I am when I’m at those Mega-Super Target Heartland centers. Ramiele doesn’t seem to connect to any of her songs the way she did to her audition. Is it Shorty Soy Sauce’s time to go?

Randy says he wasn’t jumpin’ up and down “but I wasn’t mad at you either.” Great constructive criticism, dawg, because I have no idea what that means. Signs of strength and conviction. He scores it 6.5/10. Paula was worried that Ramiele was not going to connect to the song, but showed conviction and connected to the audience and, by the way, did she get that cute cherry charm necklace from Claire’s? Ramiele perks up when she realizes how loopy Paula is today.

Side effects may include effusive fist pumping.

Ramiele realizes that Paula is off her rocker and grins. Simon, ever the voice of reason, flatly states that no one’s going to remember this in ten years. It was cutesy and reminiscent of cruise ship singing. There’s room on Rosie’s! You can get two for the price of one, Hannah Mantana and his BFF Ramiele!

During the commercial break, I contemplate the meaning of healthy radiance for one’s teeth. Would you take radiance over health? Are they mutually exclusive? What does it even mean to have radiant teeth?

We’re back with Seabreath and Jason Castro. Castro’s being stalked by a girl with a postcard fetish.

“This one says ‘I know where you sleep.’”

Jason says Dolly wasn’t intimidating at all, but was really comfortable to be around.

That’s probably because she mistook you for a Komondor.

He’s kinda funky looking, says Dolly, which is kinda cool. Everyone’s busting out the guitars this week. Our resident Austin hippie has turned “Travelin’ Through” (from Transamerica into a Jack Johnson anthem, complete with bongos and congas and laid-back tempo. I wouldn’t pay to see this guy at Coachella, either. He looks like the middle Hanson on weed as he sings about being a weary pilgrim. Also, I’ve noticed for several weeks that he seems to have gone barefoot on stage, but this week he appears to wear some pointy elfish boots.

He uses both “crucified” and “Sweet Jesus” in the song which ought to win him points with Middle America Christians who don’t realize this song is about the struggles of transgendered people. Can you believe Dolly lost an Oscar to the shitsong that is “It’s Hard Out There For a Pimp” from Hustle&Flow? Me neither. It’s not the most exciting piece, but it settles into a soft rock-alterna-country groove by the middle of the tune. I wouldn’t download it.

“I want to get down on my knees and start pleasing Jesus, I want to feel his salvation all on my face!”

Like the title of the song, it’s just travelin’, travelin’, travelin’ but never quite gets anywhere and ends as unassumingly as it begins. It’s pleasant but not memorable. Like the guy in your freshman dorm who’s always plugging away at the singer-songwriter thing and asks you if you like his songs. You lie and say yes. To be honest, it’s good background music. It’s okay but nothing to write home about. Except for the part where he almost sings “I’m a puzzle, I must figure out why I’m a piece of shit.” I don’t know, there’s some serious slurring going on there where he’s supposed to sing “I must figure out where all my pieces fit.” I’ve played the section back and forth, and it sounds like it’s somewhere in between the two versions -he doesn’t quite curse on air, but the words are all jumbled together and he pulls through (18:47 to 18:56 in the episode if you’re interested in taking another listen).

If he doesn’t pull out another “Hallelujah” soon (which was a great song choice), he might be back in the bottom 3 next week. Not this week, since I bet his fans will save him after last week. He needs to sing something with honesty and earnestness. At least he knows he has a stalker out there who’s willing to send him generic postcards with encouragement.

Randy thought it was rough at the beginning but picked up halfway through. Paula lurves it. Duh. She even calls it one of his strongest performances yet. Hmm, from the shouts of the teenage girls screaming, “I want to have your babies, Jason!” he might just pull himself out of the bottom three. Simon is fine with losing his annual pass to Dollywood as he proclaims that he didn’t like it at all. Simon explains the song didn’t suit Jason, it wasn’t sung particularly well, sounded the same – and Paula interjects with a slurred “IT. WAS. GREAT!” He adds that if it were the first time he was hearing/seeing Jason, he wouldn’t get it at all.

Who be this?

Want to see Carly Smithson being annoying, err, promoting her epic fail of an album, Ultimate High in 2001?

It’s unnerving to see her with curly, reddish hair. Her tats (if she even had the sleeve back then) are hidden, and she’s rocking the bare midriff look of 2001. If anything, the unruly hair might’ve ensured her failure as an artist. I catch snippets of Bravo’s The Millionaire Matchmaker while channel-surfing and she always insists that curly-haired women invest in thermal straightening, ’cause men like straight hair. I think she’s got a point. But then I think about how coveted curls used to be, in the days of Laura Ingalls Wilder and Little House in the Big Woods where Ma ties up her hair in rag curls before she goes to bed and they hurt her head like crazy, sleeping on little knots of hair. It’s worth it, just to have curls like her sister Mary.

But curls couldn’t save well-behaved Mary from going blind, sucka!

Anywho, Carly’s selected one of Dolly’s signature songs “Here You Come Again.” I think Dolly has a wig named after it, too. Dolly admits that it was written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weill. That’s fine, Dolly’s written like 5,000 songs. Dolly, unable to produce the slightest bit of constructive criticism on camera, proclaims it’s a perfect choice and ribs Carly about Kelly Clarkson covers. At least Carly doesn’t bow to Dolly the way Douche Cook did.

We’ve got Carl Winslow from “Family Matters” strumming at her feet. It begins as a simple, pared down arrangement that really showcases her voice. It’d be a good opportunity for Carly to show her vocal versatility, right? But she’s borrowed Amanda’s eye makeup kit this week. I have nothing against looking sexy on stage, but just when Carly had the chance to soften up her “I’m an Irish rocker gal with a big voice” persona and appear vulnerable (and possibly appeal to the people voting for Fetus and the other top guys), what does she do?

She mistakes leggings for pants.

They’re accompanied by a cheap looking halter top which isn’t flattering either. Appearances matter. The outfit just detracts from the ballad. She pulls out a big diva note at the end to the audience’s applause, but mucks up the straightforward, simple arrangement with some extraneous trills and embellishments. What does that look like, you ask?

It worked for Bach. But he didn’t wear leggings.

Carly’s consistent. But I’m bored. She’s not doing anything I haven’t heard (or seen, if you’re Paula) before. It didn’t sparkle. Randy does his best impression of a lawyer: “I do believe that that will probably be one of the better performances of the night.” Hm, that was performance #5 out of 9 total performers, dawg. If the final four are better than Carly, will you pull an Alberto Gonzalez on us?

“I don’t recall ever saying this.”

Paula (surprise) loves it. She calls it glorious, amazing talent, beautiful voice, OMG! OMG! With each OMG, she veers into what I call “Pee Wee Herman Voice Land.” You know what I’m talking about. Something is wrong with Paula’s speech patterns today. Then she gets in Randy’s face about how he was hard on Carly last week and how he claimed she was pitchy. Go, Scrappy Paula, go! Paula gets up from her chair and jabs a finger in Randy’s face, insisting she watched the tapes from last week and Carly not off key. Hmm, perhaps Paula is seething that this season’s men are getting more attention than the gals (and Paula’s comeback)?

The best flipbook ever.

Simon stews silently while waiting for it to be over. He thought it was good, not great, and he thinks she needs to have a word with her stylist. Ryan snits back at Simon about his own lackluster wardrobe, but seriously? America’s not voting on the judges. Simon explains he hasn’t seen Carly evolve into a star, and Paula jumps up indignantly, saying Carly’s become more beautiful and beautiful, like a beautiful butterfly! Seabreath asks Simon what his issue is, if he just doesn’t like country music. Simon rolls his eyes (I’m sure I would too) and explains he’s evaluating the singing and performances, which have been pretty lackluster tonight.

Next is someone whose supple, elastic skin Dolly would love to get her hands on. And promptly transfer onto her own face during a nip and tuck. Compared to many of the other contestants, it seems that Fetus has truly moved her. The lady’s virtually tearing up while he performs, which I’ve got to give him points for. No one else has made Dolly Parton fearful of losing a false eyelash.

“What part of you is real, Dolly?”
“My heart.”

“Is she clutching at her Jarvik artificial heart?”

It’s significant that Dolly believes that Fetus has the voice to become a really, really great singer. Hmm. Do you think she’s secretly his godmother, too? “Smoky Mountain Memories” is – surprise – a ballad. I would like to just have one week where Fetus is forced to sing and dance to something faster than the speed of old people driving to Trader Joe’s. His ears are particularly prominent this week (let’s blame it on the ear monitor) and I remember reading about some guy who would tape back his ears so they didn’t stick out like cab doors. Sadly, I think even Simon will eat this up, especially after Carly. Fetus knows how to play the game.

Fetus sings it the way he’s sung Bryan Adams, and I don’t think he’s picturing Zion National Park’s mountains. I’m sorry, but I’m tired of all these freakin’ ballads. He sings it pretty well, but all Fetus ever sings are ballads. He doesn’t forget the lyrics. He sticks a note in the high range near the end and all the 10-12 year old girls in the audience simultaneously outgrow their training bras. Did his voice break? Did a testicle finally descend? Is our wittle baby growing up? I can understand why people love him (he’s so precocious! And so young yet talented!) but would you honestly buy his album at Wal-Mart? I suppose his dad will beat him if he doesn’t win AI, though, so I guess you better vote to save the Fetus. The entire state of Utah does, every week.

He’s better than Lunesta.

Randy is relieved to see Fetus back in action, and proclaims it the best performance of the night. Well. That was easy. Why does David’s dad never take off his goddamn baseball cap? What is he hiding under it? A remote control for his famous Fetus bot? Paula lurves him and his aura. He, too, is glorious, she declares. Simon admits he had issues with Fetus’ song choice last week but this week is absolutely on the money. I’m a little shocked he didn’t find anything to nitpick, but hey, it’s the briefest episode of this show yet! Fetus does his usual “Aw gee, you guys like me! You really like me!” grin and guffaw as Seabreath pats him on the back. The kid really makes me want to take up a bad habit, like chain-smoking or running a drug mule franchise, just to balance out the universe. I’ll settle for smashing some Precious Moments figurines while eating a giant Slim-Jim. Mmm, preservatives.

Kristy Lee is the obvious beneficiary of Dollywood week. Dolly calls her pretty and she calls Dolly pretty back. Kristy Lee is one smart cookie, since she knows she’ll survive another week thanks to the country emphasis of this theme. She’s also wearing a sweater with a giant cross embroidered on it. And her song pick is “Coat of Many Colors,” a song about Dolly’s mother. Well played, hick tomboy, well played. Although Dolly hugs Kristy at the end and tells her her momma will be so proud of her. It’s not quite, “You totally killed this song and will win the competition.” Yeah, there’s just no sugar-coating Kristy’s lack of star power.

She’s sitting down in a long boho fug print dress. Ah, a dress of many colors to match the song. Kristy has also chosen to go barefoot to demonstrate that the song is about poor people who cannot afford shoes. Poverty! A coat made from Goodwill t-shirts! Kristy’s also able to conceal her trademark lunging since the dress is floor-length. She’s working every asset she’s got, with the shoulder-baring halter dress and the makeup. It’s not going to top her previous week’s performance, but will it be enough to keep her outta the bottom 3? Wouldn’t it be ironic and surprising if Kristy Lee finally got the boot on the theme week that’s supposed to be her forte, country? (Yes. Yes it would.) She does everything short of say the Pledge of Allegiance.

No, it’s right hand over your heart, Kristy…

Randy says country is definitely her wheelhouse, so this is her week. He doesn’t really actually comment on her performance though. Paula says she looks stunning and declares it her best performance. Simon of course totally disagrees, calling it pleasant but forgettable compared to last week’s patriotic plea for help. Kristy blows…a kiss to Simon and seems to sarcastically thank him. It’s odd and seriously off-putting, like she’s going to go poison his Coke stein during the commercial break. With a huge smile on her face.

We’re back! Vanna White is not here to promote Wheel of Fortune. I wonder if she ever wishes she’d never landed that gig in the first place? Imagine the repetitive stress injuries of the earlier years, where she actually had to flip the letters around. Also, check out Simon yanking out Paula’s chair as she hastily scrambles to get back in it. Heh.

I’ve decided that it’s not a good sign when Dolly claps her hands and acrylic nails together after you sing for her. Syesha, is making a huge mistake in trying to sing Dolly’s “I Will Always Love You,” which she says will be a hybrid of the simple, straightforward Dolly version as well as the powerhouse diva big note fiesta that is Whitney’s version. Remember Asia’h? America doesn’t. I predict that Syesha’s performance will be good and solid but not heartwrenching or innovative. Nor will it be as memorable as Lorelei Gilmore’s karaoke version.

“I’m not clapping for you, I’m drying my nails.”

Syesha’s sitting on top of the piano and there’s a very lounge-like vibe to this. With her straightened up-do, she looks like one of the Mowry twins from Sister, Sister but I can’t figure if she’s more of a Tia or Tamera. Remember when they wore berets all the time, in the earlier seasons before they got boyfriends? It was awesome. The song starts out very simply and I think it has a lot of potential to succeed – if she steers clear of Whitney territory. Most people haven’t heard Dolly’s version, so Syesha had a chance to make it memorable, but can’t resist the big pipe notes. So much for that. Blerg. She holds out a note for so many measures that the band drops out while she hits it, which is cool and gets some props from the audience, but still not as good as Dolly or Whitney. She really shouldn’t have chosen this song, but it wasn’t atrocious the way Asia’h fell short on her diva song. I think she’ll be surprisingly safe. People like big notes!

“Sister, sister / How about that two way twister / Shakin’ up our family tree / With sibling synchronicity!”

Randy deems it aight and sort of commends her on taking on the biggest tiger of the night. Paula says yellow is a fantastic color for Syesha…oh, and she loves her voice and believes she’s growing. Um, no, not really. Simon explains that people forget what a brilliant song Dolly wrote after Whitney immortalized it in pop history, but that the second part of Syesha’s performance paled in comparison to Whitney’s. I agree that Syesha should not have done this song. It doesn’t show us anything new about her as an artist and who she would be as a performer.

Never fear, Michael Johns is here. He gushes about being a true fan of her and marvels that she enjoyed his singing to her. Dolly says that he could write some good songs for him and hopes he becomes a star. Hmm, well he’s dressed as a stupid Eurotrash playboy/raconteur in a suit and is ready to sing “It’s All Wrong but It’s Alright.”

I can’t say the same for your ascot, you asshat.

Yes, Michael John’s smug points are getting right up there with David Cook’s, at least outfit wise. But as he croons “Just tell me sexy loving lines” in a bluesy, slightly gritty voice, nearly everybody creams their pants. It works. Way more memorable than Syesha’s song, and way more in originality. I’m still distracted by the backup singer wearing the funny tartan plaid corset.

It’s like the band decided that their week’s theme was Scottish Valentine’s Day.

I am reluctant to get on the MJ choo-choo train, but I will admit that he held onto the microphone stand this week and didn’t flail around like he usually does. I prefer his performance to Brooke’s, and he was a strong closer. Ol’ Reliable never really fails us, and the blues/gospel-inflected version works in his favor. It has soul, and I actually liked it better than the “Bohemian Rhapsody” performance everyone loves.

All the judges are beaming and full of praise. Randy says it was blazing hot. Paula can’t get up from her chair, and says she has to talk really fast, and rambles that he’s a star, a rock star, a blue star – WTF?! And that he also looks gorgeous! Simon sets us up for some sort of criticism, but declares it Michael’s best performance yet. Wow. So Michael Johns will be in the Top 3 with Fetus and David Cook, I’m guessing.

Sensing that we’re running out of time, Seacrest starts wrapping up the show faster than the speed-talkers at the end of commercials, the voices that tell you all the restrictions/side-effects of the ad.

Super Safe: Fetus
Michael Johns
David Cook

Middling:
Carly
Jason

Bottom:
Syesha or Brooke
Kristy Lee
Ramiele

In the end, it comes down to how much confidence you have in yourself. Seacrest out!

I’m torn. Jason Castro will probably be safe after landing in the Bottom 3 last week. Maybe his friends will stop smoking pot and vote to keep him around, but maybe they’re just too apathetic to care. Brooke just didn’t understand her song, Carly was kind of blah, Kristy Lee is predictable and really should get kicked off soon, but had a decent country week. Syesha picked a ridiculously difficult song, but I bet it’ll tear at the heartstrings of some people to keep her around. Ramiele…is Ramiele. She hasn’t had a good week in ages, and her cutesy bouncing really isn’t going to change anything. She’s just too timid on this stage, and has virtually become a non-contestant. At least with Kristy there’s the possibility of something crazy happening. If you want to make my night, take Brooke! But that won’t happen, she’s got guitar girl immunity. Damnit. It’s pretty obvious who’s going home, ’cause the judges even liked Kristy better.

P.S. Ramiele, let’s go shopping after you get kicked off, okay? We’ll get some sushi at the mall. Call me!