"Sits Like A Man, But He Smiles Like A Reptile"

Monday

We're live again. Why? Ryan really hopes you're "ready for the first of your three fixes this week," because even though last week he understood that even two hours of this crap is glut-market supererogatory whoredom, this week he's a pusher. Like we just need this show so goddamn bad that we're rolling around in front of the screen begging Ryan for the "first of our three fixes this week" like a narcoleptic River Phoenix all, "Ryan, just let me owe you a date, I promise I'm good for it." Whatever will we do, Ryan, when we return to the usual format week? Will you give us more pointless "specials" full of filler and stuff we've already seen and more bad auditions that Jacob will not be recapping or even watching? Say you'll fill our endless AI-less days somehow.

There are more truly unflattering stills of Joe, David, Celena, and Aloha, and Ryan gives us the okay to say, "Awwww." I guess people are holding back because, of those four, only David had any advance publicity on the show whatsoever, and his voice was so good but he was so boring we all fell asleep like little babies whenever he was onscreen, so the audience is just trying to figure out who they're looking at before they commence to mourning. But Ryan tells them it's okay to "Awwww" so they "Awwww" but it means less because it's Ryan telling them to do it. So, Ryan asks, "Will the winner be a guy? Or! Will we have another 'girl' Idol?" Then he calls the judges "guys," too.

Paula looks very aprs-sex with some messed up "rocker" hair; Simon thought last week's results were fair, and then he bitches for awhile all about how Kelly didn't have a whole lot of airtime, so he's gotta take all kinds of umbrage at all these sore losers pointing out the ridiculous amount of time we've spent on people who are still in the competition, versus people who have not, and are being picked off one by one. I guess we're short for time, though, because he doesn't get to tell the other part, which is that Kelly wasn't competing in a season that had over a month of audition shows twice a week highlighting various performers before the semifinals even started, with the express purpose, reported all over the entertainment media, of engendering sympathy and fan bases from the get-go. He didn't have time to say that part.

He does, however, have time to insult your intelligence and mine by superciliously suggesting that perhaps Joe and Melinda were confused and thought the voting was on whether or not the people had appeared on television at any time. That's the joke. The other part of the joke is that he flogs the this is a singing competition horse some more, as if that were true. As if the power-voting teens have ever taken that into consideration. As if Mario would be here if that were the case. As if he weren't about to say himself, for at least the sixteenth time, that it's in fact not a singing competition, it's a packaging and marketability competition, and in fact it started two months ago, before anybody knew whether they were involved or not, and that's what dictated the whole airtime thing to begin with.

Ryan asks Paula how she'll be judging differently this week, and so of course she answers a completely different, unasked question, all, "You know I just think tonight they're going to bring itthere's tough competition in that Red Room there. They -- look at them, they're sweating." That's how Paula's going to be judging this week. "Do you have any favorites?" asks Ryan. "You ask me if I have my favorites? On the spot. I have watched through the weeks I know who's edging by in my vote yeah." Simon and Randy clear their throats, and I think Simon's doing the whole coughAnwarcough bit. Simon sucks tonight, man. He's working like this Stephen King old man kind of humor that is not.

Then Randy flip-flops back again (AGAIN! SOME MORE!) about how song choice doesn't matter, how you should just sing the song, and sing it well. Which yeah, that would be preferable, but you've been very vocal about the fact that you're not really looking for a good singer, you're looking for a pigeonhole-able product puppet, which implies a niche -- which means "dog house," colloquially -- which means an image you've created, which means song choice is central, and you will get bitched out for it if they don't feel that the song you've chosen reflects the incredibly one-dimensional idea they've decided to create and abet for you. And the point where that's going to hurt the worst is when they've got Carrie in her little box, and then they start poking her with a stick about how she has no "versatility," and that'll be ugly. And if they decide Constantine's a better option, they're going to pull that bullshit on Bo Bice, too. Randy makes reference to the last four winners-plus-Clay, saying that whatever the song was, they just sang it. Not that any of the four of them popped onto the scene fully equipped with friendly edgeless soundbite-sized histories, personas, and charming adversities they'd overcome with pluck and spirit, or anything like that.

Then the bullshit goes into overdrive, because this week we're "looking to the sky for inspiration," right, and we're going to find out what the "stars" say about each of the contestants. Carrie's like, "You mean celebrities?" Because she's been burned by that fast one before. This is a bad bit from, like, Austin Powers, and it's weirdly incongruent because the whole rusty cheesy thirty-year-old "what's your sign" deal is all about making your anonymous sex just a little bit less anonymous, by categorizing the person you're about to screw into one of twelve predetermined personality traits. Oh wait, that's exactly what they're doing.

Scott's a Taurus, which he feels means he's got a certain "determination to get through and go to the top without anybody stopping" him, and somehow "the only thing that'll stop me is myself, if I come without my hundred percent." Then he proves his point by singing "Can't Help Myself," a song that is so hoary with overused meaningless sentimentalism it can't help but deduct from that hundred percent, but is at least safe and uninteresting enough that all you have to notice is his wonderful voice. If you ever call me "Sugar Pie" or "Honey Bunch" rest assured I will bring my full hundred percent in response. But I don't know, because the lack of personality of the song will maybe distract you from Scott's own icky personality and affect, or lack thereof. He looks much more professional this week, wearing some kind of suit, and doing some strange Commodores dancing with his hands all in the air. He shaved, I think, so that's good. He loses his breath, a lot, and for the first time seems to be stretching for some notes, like he's nervous about something. When Scott sings intensely about love, I feel that I might be chopped up and left for Mariska Hargitay to find. He gets some rhythm at some point toward the end, and snaps his fingers and gestures at the judges. It'sweird. Simon can't even look. He goes for this one note at the end, and flubs it miserably, then drops the last word too. I get kind of worried he's going to grab his left arm and go down. We're live.

The crowd goes wild, because he's still one of the best singers even with all the issues, and he looks totally crazy, still. Randy tells Scott he loves how he "came out having fun" and "showed his personality for the first time." Nadia and Carrie discuss, and perhaps it is nice but perhaps it is mean. I don't know. Paula tells him he did a "good job" and she "liked the choreography." I think that "choreography" is kind of a stretch for what he was doing, but hey, she's the expert. Simon takes it all as an object lesson for them all to "do something you're good at doing," because the dancing was "horrendous." The judges get into a little fight about it, and he starts yelling at Randy all, "Can I finish?" He likens it to an "amateur performance at a party," and considering that Scott's voice is a gift he never earned, I think, this isn't too far off the mark. Scott defends him weakly to the other judges, saying Simon's "got his opinion." Ryan asks why Scott went back to a song that he originally sang in "Hollywood," and Scott gives the sensible answer that it was intended to "show more power" in his voice, and continues on to say that this is their last chance to show people what they've got, if they're eliminated this week. Ryan asks if he was confident, and Scott replies that he still is. Good answers all, Crazy Horse.

After commercial, there's more Scott looking nuts, and Ryan hanging on the couch with Mario and Nikko and Mario's stupid hair. He's asking them whether or not it's a good thing when the judges are nice. Mario replies that it's both, but for the not very canny or intelligent reasons that it's both what you want to hear, and gives you an added burden of expectation. Which, I understand the concept here, and I guess he's right, but it really just shows how hermetic this little environment of theirs is: to the contestants, the judges' opinions are some of the only feedback they get, so to Mario, the judges represent the real world, and therefore, us. Now, just because the judges say they expect a lot from him because he's set the bar so terribly high, that doesn't mean that those things are true for us -- or in fact true at all. Because none of those things are actually true.

Nikko doesn't want to talk about whether he's nervous; he just shows up and tries to stay focused. He reminds us that it's really up to "America," and I don't really like it when they say that either, because it comes off unctuous and abdicatory. I'd rather hear Scott talking about his hundred percent than anybody trying to charm America by saying how they did their best but hey, it's in our hands. Ryan stares into the camera and says "the pressure" is now on us. Can you feel it, baby? Yeah, I can too.

Bo is a pacifist, but he's also a Scorpio, so lest we mistake his "kindness for weakness," we should remember that if you mess with a scorpion, you will get stung. I like Bo, a lot, and that's why I am embarrassed for him right now, because that is some backwoods stoner survivalist shit right there, and I know they made him say that. They must have. It's very "rocker." Also, the hair: I don't like long hair on guys, but I really don't like uncared-for hair, on anybody. The effect that you are creating is that you've somehow traveled here into the future from the film Singles, which I didn't like in the first place. On the other hand, he sings the ultimate Coldplay-style perfect-guy dickless love song, "I'll Be," which I will always love, and he starts strong, as usual, but is a bit more affected than previously, kind of slinging his rocker hair all around. Remember Aaron (W.) Kelly? Kind of like that. Silly. Self-conscious. He's smiling, which is unfortunate, but besides that and the hair, he generally looks really nice. He drops a line here and there, and gets all screamy on the power notes, but the good kind of screamy. It is beautiful. I like him all soulful, and I totally dig the mullet-free song choice.

The number one issue tonight, besides the apparent fact that they're filming this week at a high altitude, or something else is inhibiting their oxygen intake, is the completely inept camera work. During the more intense "I'm singing just to you" portions of the song, we go to a split screen, and jumping from shot to shot, but for some reason Bo doesn't understand that this is the case, so he keeps singing in a very heartfelt and loving manner to the wrong camera, so we keep getting a profile of him singing this love song to empty space, or like, some other girl. And he's really throwing it in there, giving his all, and it's very romantic, I guess, from what I can tell, but it deeply undercuts the power of what he thinks he's doing because he's doing it to the wrong place. Like the Love Song of Mr. Magoo. I don't know if that's because he doesn't know how to tell into which camera he is supposed to be singing or what, but it's confusing and weird. Later on, Constantine will have the same issue, but I won't have the same problem -- connecting with the performance -- because I don't wish to connect with Constantine, I simply wish him ill.

Randy digs how Bo tried to "switch it up" and "go a little softer" and sing a "little Edwin McCain kind of joint." Which is the kind of thing I like to hear Randy say. If old Edwin were indeed watching tonight -- I picture him with like a big dog at his feet and a big blanket over his legs, on a porch, rolling his own cigarettes -- he'd giggle himself senseless. Bo started shaky -- in terms of just notes and not entire bars, like the rest of the guys -- but Randy likes how in "the middle of your voice, you've got the gruff, that growl." I like that too. I might have put it differently, but whatever. Paula thinks it was another consistent slam dunk, and then talks about how Edwin, a "huge fan," watches the show and would be proud. Simon agrees with Paula and the crowd freaks out three times, once legitimately because they like Bo, once because Simon approves of something, and once because Simon agreed with Paula. Hey, show? The line is fine, w/r/t self-parody.

"You could have a hit record with that," says Simon. "Right now I think it's your competition to lose, I really do." Wow. That's pretty cool. I don't know about the people out there in the world who aren't me, but I take Simon's criticism seriously. Probably because I agree with him the majority of the time, so I assume that he's smart. There's a life lesson in there for me, somewhere. Bo's pants are tighter than Ryan's, for once. He dresses very distinctively. Bo loves Edwin McCain, and there's some story here we don't get the whole of, but he promised his uncle he would sing this song, for his aunt, who is I assume deceased from the tenor of the story, and he and Ryan joke that he has sung this song at many weddings. When he's smiling, it's gross. When he laughs, he's beautiful. It's bizarre and confusing, but you know, he's such a pro. I just really like him.

A-Fed is a Taurus, who came here from the Ukraine at age nine and did not speak English, but a Taurus is persistent, so he learned English (at some point in the last ten years, so score one for Taurus persistence), and now he's "singing in English, speaking in English, and happy to do it." That accent really comes and goes. I love how this follows the classic Fedorov pattern: he couldn't do X thing, but then he could somehow do X thing, so now he does X thing, like, all the time. He's constantly amazed by his ability to do things each of us takes utterly for granted. That's an exciting way to live. I would like to have lunch with him: "I used to really hate eggs, and the doctors said I would never successfully enjoy a Denver omelet, but now here I am eating one, and I am happy to do it."

There's lots of product in that hair tonight, and he's wearing a pretty cool outfit, although still with the hole. He's trying to be sassy, I guess. I don't know what that's about but it's quite wiggly. I don't know this song, it's boring, and he's dancing around like The Littlest Stripper. I heard this story once many years ago about a strip club somewhere above L.A. where all the strippers looked exactly like Keanu Reeves, like they were girls who looked just like Keanu Reeves, and all the L.A. businessmen of complex sexuality would go to this club to get lap dances from lady Keanu Reeves look-alikes, and it was called "Naked Keanu." I think about that constantly, even to this day. It doesn't really have anything to do with Anthony Fedorov, or American Idol, really, like I can't even make it into this overarching pseudo-philosophical human-interest thing like usual because it just makes my brain stop working, but I think about it, like, all the time, Naked Keanu qua Naked Keanu, and anyway I needed to share the information with you.

SoI guess this is a Marc Anthony song. Where was I when Marc Anthony was amassing these hits upon hits? Why is he this household name? A-Fed also has the problem like Scott of not so much breathing enough -- he drops the ends of phrases and seems generally to be ahead of himself, physically. There's one particular power note that is just lovely, but the softer notes are a uniform, sketchy breathless. Maybe they moved the Red Room to very far away and made them sprint. Maybe there's a tunnel like on Voltron or Mortal Kombat. The Girl Pound all sit down when he's done, looking bored.

"You're finally back," marvels Randy. "The power in your voicethis is the best you've done since we saw you." Paula disagrees, and then says the exact same thing. "You are brand new, excellent." This is lies. He's been consistently this good, and this vanilla. I like it and all, but don't call it a silk purse all of a sudden. The lies and deception continue, and then Simon comes in for the slam dunk: "The problem I have is that you're a nice guy. You remind me a bit of Clay [DRINK!], you're sweet. But you singing a Latin -- Marc Anthony -- song is a bit odd. You have as much Latin flair as a polar bear. You're not that. You're nice. I just thought it looked uncomfortable, with the wiggles, like when Clay did that horrible thing from Grease." That's comedy, right there.

Ryan's all, "What was different? Why did you do this?" He wanted to show a "fun side," see, and then Ryan gets all cryptic, about how he's "aware" of Anthony's "habit." And they confab about that and then Ryan reveals that Travis and Anthony play chess backstage. But the thing is that they don't have chess in the Ukraine, so he didn't know how to play, andyou know the drill. Travis "kicks my butt," A-Fed admits, "but I beat him once." Ryan thanks him for not saying the word "ass," thereby, of course, saying the word "ass." Paula and Simon giggle in the corner about something. Probably the word "ass."

Oh, a stool. Great. The revolving AI logo in the back of him makes Ryan look like an angel from a magical realism gay porno. A magical gay angel sitting on a stool, looking for love. Nikko is a Taurus, and he does a quick Nutty Professor-style "black lady" voice all about people getting in his face about song choice, but his Taurus nature forces him to do what his heart demands, and he will not listen to anyone else. My, that looks different in hindsight, eh? So he's going to sing "Georgia On My Mind," which. Um, no. You can't do this effectively. He tries this every week, doing the totally iconic song and "making it his own" or whatever, and he's usually really good, but with something like this, the stakes are pretty much impossibly high, because if you get creative, it sounds wrong, and if you do it right, you sound like you're doing karaoke. Plus, this year? This month you're going to sing a Ray Charles song? Sigh.

He puts his hat on the mic stand, okay? We're heading into full-on Fosse here. It sounds good, but he's no longer evading the Aloha Curse, because it's just a bad call. You can kind of hear him straining for some basic notes, and there's not so much with the jumping of intervals, for our Nikko. If you're going to do this, you've got to go big, and just completely do it, balls-out Mikalah-style, and he's not doing that. You've got to be aiming for a "he did Ray, and he did it better than Ray," and that is not what's happening herethen, all of a sudden, there's this total Stevie Wonder voice happening, and jumping into falsetto, and riffing on it and, like, he's doing that thing I just said he wasn't doing. But before, it was sowhat an uneven performance. It gets super-crazy. It's like the arrangement itself did not know things were going to get so exciting, and we're all trying to catch up. Like the band is all, "Whaaa?" It's nice, but I cannot forget the sucky beginning. Not this time.

Paula gets up and starts wandering around or something, so Simon and Randy have to shove her back in her chair, and she laughs kind of hysterically. The Girl Pound still look bored. Randy calls it "ambitious," noting the "rough spots" and "pitchy" areas, but points out that the ending was, in fact, brilliant. Paula argues with something Randy didn't exactly say, which doesn't help Nikko's case in the slightest, so again you've just got Paula on a wobbler for no reason except to damage the contestant. Basically Randy is marveling at Nikko's range, and he says they didn't know about it but he means it's been a while since they've seen it, so Paula jumps on something shiny and talks about how they did, in fact, know about Nikko's range, because instead of arguing one side or the other, she is more interested in impressing upon us that she remembers things that happened months ago. Good show, Paula.

Randy is forced back to kindergarten with her at this point, and allows her the "point" that yeah, they knew he could sing, but he hasn't been showing his full range. Way to frigging advocate, Abdul. The she takes it further: "I'm glad you're not hiding it anymore. I can't imagine the Top 12 without you in it." Word, but also: mixed signals much? Thanks for just openly calling him a loser, and then hoping for the best. Simon does the same thing more obliquely, and is cooler about it, of course, all, "You needed to do that." Then he mentions the creepy Natalie Cole elephant in the room, how in this of all years that was about the most cynical choice he could've picked in the entire catalog of all songs ever sung. Not to mention the fact that he's from St. Louis, which, I'm not a geographical wunderkind, but, like, I think they're in different regions of the country. So then Ryansays all that, basically. (Well, the geography stuff. Once Simon Cowell congratulates someone on being manipulative and creepy, you kind of don't want to sit there anymore.) Nikko gives some kind of dog/homework thing about how he was in fact singing about St. Louis, so like "Georgia" was a code word, because he identifies with the feeling of the song, because that's how he feels about St. Louis. What a deep and affecting sentiment: St. Louis, do not despair! You are "on" his "mind"! ["Never mind the fact that there are, seriously, at least five standards that are about or at least mention St. Louis itself. Maybe they weren't on the approved list, butshut up, kind of, Nikko." -- Sars]

Fucking Constantine frogging his lips and engaging in some meaningless and completely untrue badinage with Seacrest about how the guys from that band call him every week and criticize his performance. I think this is the first shout-out to his band by name. Altogether, the guys have been amazingly supportive. I love how the narrative to this point, as lately as last week, is that he's screwed those guys over so effectively that they may not even know that he's on the show or if he's still alive, that's how traitorous he's been to them, and that's just how out of his element he is in this atmosphere, because the band, and he, are so frigging cred that it's like they're in totally separate worlds from the AI that we watch and love, but now all of a sudden they're all just these hipsters that have given up drugs and tune in to this stupid show all eighteen times a week that it's on so they can tell Constantine how believable and hardcore his fucked-up pronunciations of simple words and sleazy eye-molestations are, and how they really support him and they hope he can get through to the Top 12 so they can just never, ever tour again.

Ryan points out that if he does make it, he'll have to take part in theme nights. I call such extreme bullshit. There are at least three other singers for whom this is an actual consideration (I love Bo, but come on), but we're going to go ahead and ask effing Constantine, who sang "Kiss From A Rose" last week, if his intense real reality and rock-star cred will possibly be able to survive Barry Manilow Night. You know who gets questions like this? "Rockers." You know who should be expected to fucking display adaptability? Theatre performance majors. What-EVER, Lestat! You are the Lizard King, are you not? You can do anything! There's like five rock operas in the history of Broadway, and all of them are as gay or slightly gayer than Seal. If he can't handle "Big Band" night, then not only is he not suited to American Idol, but he is also not suited to his chosen career, which is musical theatre. And bitch can't sing, so, like, you do the math.

Travis is an Aries -- why doesn't he rule? -- and that gives him confidence. Good deal, since it's all he's got. His voice sucks right out the box, of course, so it's all dancing. I mean, of course, he looks really great, dressed like a Newsie and bouncing all around. Turn off the sound and it might be the best of the night. "Every Little Step I Take," is what he's singing. The Bobby Brown tune. For real. He sings along sometimes with the backup track, kind of under his breath like he can't remember if he's supposed to sing at these parts or not. It's awesome and I don't think he ever really remembers when to sing and not sing, but to be honest he doesn't have much time to really level out there, because soon it is time for some substandard beatboxing. You guys! He's the purest pop idol in this competition, as of right now. He's like J. Lo! He can do everything! With mediocrity! (Except be hot and dance around. He's exceedingly talented in those areas. Whoa, just like J. Lo again! Is he J. Lo?)

The girls freak out, legitimately. On "performance," Randy gives him an "A." On pitch, "I gotta give you like a D. The first half of that song you weren't even in key, and then on the bridge you were still off." So even though it was actually painful to listen to, he still averages a passing grade. I guess I'm being a hypocrite, though, because that's exactly how I feel about Britney Spears: painful to listen to, wonderful to experience. Well, I may have to revise that now -- I haven't really given thought to her report card since before all the things started happening to her. I really liked that last album, is all. I was excited when it did so well. Paula tells Randy that it wasn't as bad as he thinks, which automatically means it's twice as bad as he thinks. She tells Travis she thinks he's "pretty special," and everybody claps -- Nadia very politely indeed -- because it's really the most emphatic thing you can say about Travis (without getting bleeped). He's "pretty special," there is "something about him." Paula repeats over and over that he is "unique to the competition," which, I don't know what that means no matter how many times you say it, Paula, and then she says that that's "important." Not what it means or whether it means anything, really, just that it's important. Travis then makes a cute sad face as Simon tells him the actual truth, which is that it was appalling, and the other judges bitch, and Amanda and Lindsey just look confused.

Simon calls it "as good or as bad as you would get in a theme park," and calls him "a dancer first and a vocalist second." I cross my fingers, praying that Paula will finally confirm just how far up her ass she actually lives by taking issue with this. SHE DOES! It's so awesome. Can you even freaking imagine the internal warpage going on where she would speak up even for a second in this circumstance? If I were her I would have pulled out, like, camouflage and face paint and tried to melt stealthily into the background so nobody would notice me and my shame. But no, she's all, "There is nothing embarrassing about being a choreographer/dancer turned shitty singer and dancing in a junkyard with a cartoon bobcat or a fox or whatever," and Simon gets all my love back with interest when completely off the cuff he goes, "That's not surprising." It's delicious. Then Travis heeds my advice and doesn't act the fool at all, because he knows he just bit it, and asks America to help him out just this one time.

Mario's a Gemini, so maybe the ladies have a chance after all, but he says this means that he's been singing "the fun side," and now will "sing the serious side," and it's pretty great when he tells us that this "represents the duality of the Gemini." He's all thinky tonight. He sings "How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?" and it's totally sharp and he's such a boy-bander, and there's a pretty ugly slip into falsetto, and, like, he totally looks up at the nonexistent rain, and goes all kinds of Guarini on me. His eyelids flutter like another personality is coming to the fore, and this represents the duality of the crazy person. He is TERRIBLY OUT OF TUNE. His voice is so high! So how can he be fucking up the high notes? He looks dreamily at the ceiling. It's ridiculous.

Some audience members hold up "MARIO" letters and he giggles, and then Randy says he "liked" him, "man," and calls the choice "very ambitious," and lies that he "sang it really well," and then I don't know what it means when he congratulates Mario on "taking his time." They bond over how weird it is that Mario has a Dawg Pound of his very own, just for him, and then Paula gets all yackity-yack about how she got goosebumps because it's so tender and nice and she likes ballads and remembers one time when he sang a ballad. Back in Hollywood. Where they are. It's awesome because he has to help her out with remembering where that happened. "Hollywood?"

Simon's just about as bored by this as he can be, all, "It's interesting tosee you with no hat? And singing ballads? It's like when you meet your daughter's boyfriend -- you look smart and nice." Not to mention an entire apocalypse of non-threatening. Simon says he's a bad singer, but charming, and will "sail through" because the only thing Simon has more contempt for than Paula? Is America. Specifically the voting of America. But I feel at this point like you vote in the contestant that you deserve, so I no longer care who wins. Paula disagrees with this, because she was actually born without the gland that governs PR, so she thinks she's protesting that Mario is really talented, but basically ends up actually seeming like she just doesn't find him that charming. Simon gives the backhanded encouragement that he has "other things" going for him. Like his Lilliputian portability and his ability to wear nearly any old hat on his head without feeling dumb.

Mikalah looks normal again; Ryan calls her "the relentless Mikalah Gordon." Heh. "You toned it down last week, but now what?" She guesses that maybe America doesn't hate her personality as much as they ought to, sofuck it. Damn. So not the lesson we're meant to be learning here, babe. I feel protective of her these days. "If this is my last chance, then I'm going to be nice and crazy for everybody." She is very lovely. Then, less lovely, as Ryan asks whether she's nervous about her song tonight, and things deteriorate quite quickly and they both kind of forget themselves and before you or they know precisely what is happening, she's pretending to vomit into his outstretched hands, and then they both realize what they've allowed to happen, in front of people, live, and they are a tad bit chagrined, and then Lindsey sings.

Lindsey is an Aquarius, which is "just wrong," she thinks, because she's not at all unemotional. Girl? We know. She's got a much bigger voice this week, as well as tarantula eyes, and something going on with her shoulders. She's not a big girl, but her top makes her look like a linebacker. She goes to the country place, which is dumb because of Carrie, who is marginally better, technically, although I like Lindsey's voice way more. I hate this animal crackers in the bellybutton song so much, but somehow I hate it less as a country song. It cancels itself out or something. Or maybe I just don't hate anything as much as Aerosmith. "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing." I wonder if they're going to bitch about her singing an Aerosmith song like they did on Carrie with Janis. Only it won't be that offensive, because Aerosmith is no Janis Joplin. She sounds good, a couple of pitch issues but very few. The boys clap, and Anthony screams!

Randy calls it "Wow," and mentions the return of her husky voice. It was "not the bomb, but a good performance," and the tone is back. Lindsey has cankles. Paula is more a fan of Lindsey's voice, and less of the songs she chooses to sing, so she "can't engage." That's exactly how I feel, so I can't make fun of Paula for pretending she knows what the hell is going on around her. "You haven't been able to show your best, but I'm a fan of your voice." Whatever. Simon calls it a "great song," and says it's hard to put into words the exact problem with Lindsey, and then he proves this by making minimal sense and basically T-boning the whole venture.

"You are the musical equivalent of Ryan Seacrest," he explains. "You look the part, you do everything right, and yet [we're] disappointed with the performance." Ryan looks utterly wounded for a second, and then goes back to the professional smile, and then he climbs onto the desk again, but this time it's for real and not for kisses, and he throws a glass of water onto Simon's recently-vacated chair but splashes him a little. Things are now out of hand. Whoa. Simon laughs, because this is just one of the little games they play: He questions Ryan's entire raison d'tre and calls him worthless, and then Ryan responds in an infantile and flirty fashion. Talk about your persistent sucking habits. I wish I'd never seen this happen before. On this show or anywhere.