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Last night's episode of America's great glitter infomercial was that perennial "sing a song from the day you were born" theme, which always makes us feel the creep and dread of mortal angst. Though, to be fair, every episode of this show usually does that.

Man are people young! Thia Megia sang "Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas. Meaning she was born the year that Pocahontas came out. Pocahontas! I'm ready to accept a world where people who were born the year Beauty and the Beast came out are walking and talking and breathing and operating pants with the rest of us. I'd even go so far as Aladdin. But Pocahontas??? No, absolutely not. Shut it down. Not allowed. Go thia your megia elsewhere. There's no room at society's inn, I'm sorry. I just can't let that happen.

So, yes, there are always moments on "Day You Were Born" day that make me, us, feel like tearing our hair out and running out onto the street and going straight to the airport and buying a ticket to Paris, where no one ever gets old, and staying there forever. Some of us may have even done that! No judgment if you did. But really the truly depressing thing about last night's particular episode was how not good everyone was. Just so much not goodery. This season continues to boot it hard.

The Good

OK, hm. Let's... Hm. Uh. Ohh. Hahah. Scotty McReary. Baby Lockthemdoors. He was good! Right? I mean, guys. Let's be honest here. Let's belly up to the bar of truth and reason for a moment. This chipmunk-cheeked youngster is going to win this fucking thing, isn't he? I mean, he's a novelty act that the judges like. Well, Steven doesn't seem to like him, does he? Steven is just not into this old square record scratch zither twang country bullshit, is he? But that's OK. Randiah and J. Lopes really seem to enjoy his close-together-eyed crooning, so two out of three ain't bad. And the goils! The goils in the audience just turn into shivering sacks of shriek-bones when he walks out onto that stage and washes the auditorium with that shoe polish voice of his. I mean, even his baseball buddies from back in Americaville, NC who were in the thunderdome last night were totally gooing their Lees over his performance. Did you see them? They were clapping and cheering as baseball boys are wont to do, but then they kind of clasped their hands to their chests and had tears coming out of their eyes and were basically the Sanjaya crying girl. (The Sanjaya crying girl being, of course, the single greatest thing that has ever happened or will ever happen on this show. I mean.) Those dudes were totally going to go back home and be like "Oh yeah, sure, it was cool. It was cool..." hoping they aren't betraying the chorus of spirits and fairies doing a happy dance in their chests, so fully alive and emotionally plugged in are they now that they've seen their old buddy McReary doing his thing live under the glimmer-lights. He's just good! I mean, he's not like good, but he's entertaining and he actually did Sing last night, so I think he's got the stuff. My prediction is that, barring any terrible series of hiccups, which of course could happen, we'll be staring at his acorn-stuffed cheeks well into May. Maybe he'll come to my birthday party!

Who else! Hah... Uh. Karen Rodriguez! Yeah, the judges weren't too hot for her — all Steven Tyler could muster was something about her "ethnic what-is-it-ness" that was really uncomfortable and then J. Lo was like "as a performer, never expose your weaknesses," which was a bit rich coming from her — but I thought she did nicely. She did that "Love Will Lead You Back" song by Dane Cook and I thought she sounded good, and she did that Spanish thing with one of the verses, which is kind of fun. Sure she looked like she was a nightclub backup singer who gets shot in a crossfire in the opening scene of an '80s action movie about the Miami drug trade, but that's OK. Sometimes it's OK to be dressed like that. ("Carmen!!" the lead actress in the movie, maybe Rachel Ticotin, would yell as she saw her friend go down, but it would be too late. Carmen is dead.) There's something about Karen Rodriguez that I find appealing. She seems friendly. She sings sweetly. If she'd like to come to my house and sing me lullabies in Spanish while I try to fall asleep, I'd be willing to pay her in sparkly outfits that I dug out of the dumpster behind Gloria Estefan's old house. I think that's a fair trade, right?

Lauren Alaina was... whatever? She sang Melissa Etheridge, which is just weird material for someone who is 16. M. Eth (ha!) has always seemed so adult and serious in her songs. I bet Melissa Etheridge was born that grown-up, just a tiny baby drinking a beer and talking about her friend Jill in New Mexico who's having a hard time these days. So what is a 16-year-old doing singing about "the demons that you're hiding from"? C'mon. (I just went on a little wander and looked up clips of Meliss in American Idiot on Broadway, and I just gotta say, I love that lady. I really do.) Lauren Alaina can sing, this is true, but she's certainly not the dynamism machine everyone seemed to be hoping she would be. Ah well.

Stefano sang "If You Don't Know Me By Now" and it was pretty good! He was dramatic when he needed to be and had a nice, clear tone, and I'll bet that poor Ryan's heart was doing sad gymnastics in that plastic rib cage the toy makers built for him. Stefano who, to Ryan, seems a little dangerous, like maybe they might get in a sleek black car and drive off into the night together, like later on it might hurt in the good kind of way.

The Bad

Say it with me: Everyone else! I mean, really. Jacob Lusk tried something different, but he is a one trick pony and this was not his trick. People seem to like the trick, Jacob! Stick with the trick! Stick with the trick! Moving on, I like what Naima is trying to do, I just wish she was doing it well. I thought J.Lo was fair when she said that last week she gave Naima a pass on the pitchiness, because she was the only one to actually perform, but that, well, this week a pass was not going to be granted again. I appreciate that Naima wants to do her thing, and she should be encouraged to do her thing, but she should make sure that her thing is, y'know, a good thing. We don't need bad things. We have enough of them.

Why didn't anyone call security when that girl Haley went up and sang last night? I mean, she's not in the competition, I've never seen her before, I have no idea where the heck she came from, and yet she was allowed to keep singing and the judges even critiqued her. Were they mistaking her for someone else or something? I mean, for a weird hobo who broke into the Idoltorium and sang a strange hobo song, she didn't sound terrible, but when the show is already two hours long, I just don't think we should be taking up time to indulge some weird interloper. Anyway, I'm sure it was just a fluke and they'll bulk up their security next week.

Pia Tostada is a good singer but she is also very boring. Just a total snooze button. You hit her when you want five more minutes of sleep. (Note: do not go hit Pia Toscana. This is not a call to violence.) The same could be said for Thia Megia, as the judges pointed out. Girl is just toe-up tired. Also, "Colors of the Wind"? Incorrect. Ain't nobody who likes to sing with all the voices of the mountain more than me, but out of all the songs that came out in 1995, that's the one you're gonna pick? When she could have done "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey or "In the House of Stone and Light" by Martin Page? I mean, just look at these songs! When the judges asked Thia why she chose that particular song, she said because it felt pretty timely, what with all the tragedy in the world right now. And ... hm? What does the blue corn moon have to do with Japan? I do not understand. Does not compute! (Does anyone actually understand what the blue corn moon is? Has anyone ever thought of anything but tortilla chips when they hear that lyric?) I get that Thia's a baby and babies make baby choices, but c'mon. C'mon. You're on Ryan Seacrest's Big Happy Family. You gotta step it up.

Willy Whispers! More like Skeeter Scratches last night. He was all hoarse from the virulent strain of throat pox that's going around the Idol house, what with everyone fucking and sucking all the time in that creepy, ejaculate-stained mansion. (Sorry. Ew.) I guess when Willy Whispers was gnawing on Naima's skin while she slept he ended up contracting the disease and he suffered the consequences last night. His flop was diminished, his whisper was weary, even his shining white teeth seemed tired and dull. But that's OK. Everyone has off nights. Sometimes your voice just doesn't come to meet you at the concert. Sometimes digging around in someone's eye sockets with your rusty dagger and then eating their ears like dried apricots just feels totally rote and auto-pilot. One's heart isn't always in what one loves to do, as strange as it might sound. But fear not, Willy Whispers! I'm sure you'll be back to wailing away Rod Stewartly and eerily grinning while you sever things in no time.

Poop!

Ohh James Durbin. Our resident Adam Lambert impersonator was up to his usual tricks last night, bleating out a Jon Bovi tune half-decently but then ruining it all with pained yowls. But the best part of his whole segment last night was when Jimmy Iodine was like "Don't get sick! No kissing!" and James Durbin was like "Nooo! I ain't kissing!! I ain't kissing! No kissing for me!" as he showed Jimmy his wedding ring. Hmmmm. The screech-lady doth protest too much perhaps? Has Poopcloth been dipping his starch-hard cloth into something he shouldn't be? It all seemed a bit too much, his avid insistence that no no no, he was in no way dry humping and sucking mug all Tuesday night with that hobo girl who broke into the soundstage. No sireee. No way, no how. None of that whatsoever. Ew.

We're Old

Sigh. Fozzie Bear sang Nirvana on American Idol tonight. Yeah. He screamed "Smells Like Teen Spirit" at us and it was way too much screaming. Plus he looked so angry! So very angry. I know what he was going for, I mean I get it, but it just didn't work. It looked like someone who was born the year that song came out acting like what he thought that song was about. Y'know? Like Kurt and the gang would never be that aggressively mad. They were so sad and apathetic in their anger. It was called grunge, man. Not CRUNGE. (Whatever "crunge" is.) Grunge. Just fuckin' hang with it, dude. You can get all raspy and yelly, but you gotta do it like you're too tired to care because no one has a job and it's rainy all the time and Clinton hasn't been elected yet so the good-time Hootie years seem far away. (Let alone the Crazy Time boyband years.)

Hm. On this dazzling not-quite-spring day, thinking about Nirvana and Pocahontas and Melissa Etheridge and all them things what went down while I was coming up makes me feel a little sad in a sunshiny way. Like birthday sad or last day of school sad. Oh how things keep marching on, don't they! They just keep going and going and going and they never do stop.

Well, sometimes they stop. Sometimes a narrative just freezes, time lets you do that once in a while while you figure things out. Like if you're Ryan, sitting in your car, hand on the key in the ignition but not starting the car just yet. Head back on the headrest. Trying to figure out just what the hell to do. What the hell to do. What is he going to do? And then a knock on the window. A shock of black hair. A rollercoaster swoon of Ryan's heart. And then the groan of time resuming again, the track shifted, heading down a new tunnel like a subway car, sparks flying, metal screaming, racing on deeper into the dark.