SURPRISE!!!

What? You didn’t think I’d let the entire season slip by sans commentary, didya?

Those calls and emails keep coming in – let’s discuss idol. And I do. A lot. But I’ve had some issues.

First off, I’ve been reading some seriously funny commentary. If you haven’t already, you must check out dlisted.com and Entertainment Weekly. Their idol chatter is awesome. Hi-larious. Because it’s all true. Yes, Homer, the old adage “it’s funny ‘cuz it’s true” kicks in every time. So all the pet peeves (and pet names) are already out there. I can’t even claim to be scooped. It is what it is: Matt G’s mole… Adam as kd lang… Lil’s wigs… Anoop’s sweaty upper lip….And of course all the freaky families…. I mean, gosh – who hasn’t noticed and discussed all that, and more?

Aside from those hold outs who still refuse to tune in. You know who you are.

Anyhoo, another issue was Blind Scott. There. I said it. The whole affirmative action element of his being there stressed me out. ‘Cuz he sucked. He was Bruce Hornsby week after week after week. And for those BH fans out there, if there are any, let me add: not in a good way. Sure he was funny but hello? This…..is American Idol. Personality takes a back seat. And sometimes doesn’t even get to come for the ride. I felt I couldn’t discuss openly and honestly until poor old Scotty was given the boot. He was holding me back. Until he finally got the boot….

And still I held back.

Maybe because of Adam. The guy is so above and beyond the rest of the kids. Fat tongue aside, he kills it every time. Not only are the others not in his league – they’re not even playing the same game. The boy’s a pro. The rest, wanna-be’s. He’s Annie Lennox in drag… but not… mixed with kd lang and Elvis, add a sprinkle of Scissor Sisters. A pinch of Mr Bowie. And run the gamut of references that don’t make any sense and let you know I’m zonked. But you get my drift. I think.

As for Frat Boy Anoop Dog and Wiggy Lil – as in “Lily” (why is that so hard to get? Silly Yanks.)… now that they’re out of the picture – at last – we can focus on the rest. And for the first time evah, none of ’em really really bug me!

Which also makes it hard to care too much. Because at this point it’s all good.

Tho’ not perfect.

I still think Alexis Grace’s early boot was a crime. Remember her? The little blonde sexy sprite? She should’ve stuck around – more so than the rubbernecker and flitty chick. And I must admit – I’m bored of Hokey Gokey. One friend called him “the high school friend who you can’t get rid of” and I fear she might be right. His Robert Downey Jr looks and widower status had me at hello. But now? I’m ready to say goodbye.

Unlike Not Hot Kris. Over the past few weeks I find myself looking forward to his performances. And not just to watch those thin lips of his dance across his face – because they do y’know – but because he’s really, really good!

Like Alison Iraheta. At first I found her to be….how shall I say this….somewhat unappealing. That’s putting it mildly. She’s got a real face for radio, that one. Repeated fashion crimes, that terrible lid. Don’t get me started. I know she’s only 16 but what’s wrong with using a stylist like everybody else??? Yet that voice… Heart-esque tho it may be, it is wicked. She’s completely won me over. Which is why I can’t for the life of me understand how week after week she ends up in the trash heap. At least she climbs out.

Like my man Matt G. I don’t know why, but he’s been my main guy from the start. Yes, even from the audition shows. I think it’s because he’s a duelling pianist in real life. Love that! And the whole Vince Vaughan Timberlake thing? Can’t beat it. Sure he’s somewhat misguided when it comes to genre and song choice. And yeah, he can be a bit of a sour puss – personally I think he should get over it and let the tears flow. America loves a cryer! The judges are very hot and cold with him. But I think its’s their strategy. ‘Cuz everytime they bash him, he gets votes. And when they sing his praises, he’s a goner. Almost. The judge’s save would’ve saved whoever was out last week (timing and all – they had to use it, right? And too obvious to do it on the final day, right? ). Still, I’m glad the ass they saved was his. I’m a sucker for a pianist. All those lessons….

That said, I do think my boy Matt will be the next to bite the dust. Followed by Rouge Iraheta. And Flappy Hands Gokey. Leaving us Kris and Adam duking it out in the final. Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Unlike Archie Archuleta’s performance ce soir. Same earnest spit smile. Same insipid song choice. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve had no pvr….

Mouth breather out. Rocker in. 80’s icons on. Now that’s good tv. Just when you thought it was safe….It wasn’t!

I actually loved the big finale. Despite the fect that, at the exact moment Ryan uttered the magic words, “the winner is…”. Poof! (No, not Ryan…) (well, OK that too). But at that exact second -Poof! – the show ended. My PVR failed me. Again. Luckily I’ve learned from seasons of yore to record whatever’s on next. So we switched over in time to see Fartchuleta’s stage dad clapping insincerely. And that’s when I knew, it was Cook time. Thank god, on so many levels. Can you imagine the stage dad’s reactions had his dullard child won? Waaaaay OTT. And the press? Gee. Duh. Erm…

Instead we got tears. Lots of ’em. Betcha the word nerd wished he didn’t choose this night to start wearing eyeliner, huh? Obviously he went for water-proof. I knew he was a smarty! And the brotherly love. And the mom trying to get in on the spotlight. A family affair…..How lovely.

But back to the show…..Graham Nash? Lucky Brookey. Donna Summer? Lucky ladies. Syesha – way to work third sister! Her skirts get shorter and her confidence grows. It just goes to show you, she really was the best of the girlies – mainly because of the meat, but still – can you imagine the nurse? She seemed embarrassed to be there. Unlike Chickezie – love, love, love.

It was 80’s night (aside from the slew of youths that I fast forwarded). Showing my age, perhaps, but I’m about to turn 40, I can do what I like. ZZ Top, the Groover from Vancouver, Seal….yada yada yada. At the end of the day, the faux pips aside, for me it was all about George.

LOVE HIM.

All season long I’ve been wondering why they didn’t do the George Michael/Wham songbook. He’s on tour (at over 2 hun a ticket, sadly), has a new greatest hits album to promote, has been whoring himself out nicely across the small screen. The timing couldn’t be any better. And he would’ve been perfect for Cookie and the Aussie. Still, waiting ’til the end was OK. Sure he sang a slow song. With a cold (and acknowledged it, bless him and his ego). Despite his fromagerie, his lady Loren shades, and his possible plugs, he’s still awesome. And somehow reminding me of Christian Troy – anyone else getting that?

Simon apologizes. Archie loses. DC wins. And another season of Idol come to a close.

Happy endings to all, and to all a good night.

Now who’s got tickets to the Top Ten tour?

That and the skewering of poor David Cook. Is it just me (and my Tuesday night AI viewing cronies), or did the whole thing feel like it was, erm….fixed?

First came Carly: stack her up and shoot her down. Week after week after week. Too shrill, too loud, too fat. She didn’t stand a chance.

Then the diefication of Brooke. Somehow, that nanny could do no wrong. Oh wait, until she did. Over and over and over. Stumbling lyrics, false starts, lame dance moves. Was her longevity part of the overall plan? Part of the fix? Probably. But some things you just can’t fix, and she was a goner.

The rest of ’em kind of made their own beds. Poor Chickezie – we know his name’s Chickezie, baby! And hot Michael Johns. He was robbed. Then again, who’s gonna remember his name, fame?

Syesha came and went somehow and is probably broadway bound already. But Archuleta… Somehow that boy with the flaring ‘strils and mouth breathing grin could do no wrong…

Despite butchering Stevie. Despite the fact that his performances felt longer than singing the bloody phonebook. Despite the closed eyes and incessant trills…Despite it all the judges couldn’t hold back from swooning.

Personally, I could barely hold back from snoring.

Sure he’s only 17 but he’s been on star search, junior idol and probably more talent contests than he’d care to admit. The guy’s a seasoned pro, complete with stage dad. And yet…where on earth is his personality? Erm….aaahh….gee…shucks….thank you….

Wake me when his career fizzles, will ya?

But back to tonight….Mr Cook’s swan song. Tonight, poor David Cook was well and truly, to use the judges’ own cheesy boxing metaphor: KO’d. And to me it sounded plain old mean. How could they be so blatant? So obvious? That’s not good tv!!! Tho’ the tearing up post song 3 certainly was (and should be good for a couple million votes at least). Perhaps he’s too much of an independent type for 19 Productions. Maybe the band he should be fronting is waiting in the wings to show up his predecessor and also-loser, Daughtry. Hmmmm….Chris Daughtry / Taylor Hicks. Who’s the real loser? Sorry Silver Fox, but who are you again?

I was pissed at my man Simon tonight. I know AI is about as far from the edge as you can get, but still….To soooooooo wholeheartedly embrace the Middle of the Road, the morning office FM station, the Diva Ballad Covers as Sung By set that is Earny Archuleta was agonizing. Is it any wonder that the Idol numbers are down? Higher than the other shows, to be sure, but down over all. It’s the Archuletas. The balladeers gone wrong.

So when Archie wins tomorrow, get ready for a confetti filled, heart (and stomach) wrenching version of That Cheesey Song. (which didn’t sound unlike some gone-wrong, butchered version of an Indigo Girls tune; or a folksy harmonizer gone savage). The youngest youngsters and oldest oldies’ll be screaming their tits off. While the rest of us will sadly cheer for the Word Nerd as we wait to hear about – and complain about – his first single.

Goodbye Combover Cook. Hello rock star.

And Fartchuleta? Wake me when he’s over….

But whatever. This is not an I-can’t-believe-it Idol post. I couldn’t take in Carly’s untimely departure because I was still reeling from the news that my house was infested with sewer flies and I’d need to rip up my basement floors.

S-E-W-E-R flies. Uh-huh. Exactly what you think they are. Flies. That breed in sewers. IN MY HOUSE.

Did I mention we’ve lived here all of 8 months?

Way back in the halcyon days of new housedom, there were these flies that would flit around and then pop-off after 24 hours of hurling themselves against our screens. We figured they were fruit flies. Except they had no interest in fruit. Hmmmm…..Strange. A quick call to an exterminator and we decided to heed their advice and wait until after the winter to investigate further. Maybe they’d just die off and never return.

Or maybe not.

After an insanely long and drawn out winter from hell, we welcomed April’s (global warming) warmth….And The Return of The Flies. Pest control was called. And 45 seconds and $65 dollars later told me we had sewer flies. Also called drain moths, I learned that these non-biting, bacteria carriers are flies that breed in standing sewage. And then I learned that said sewage was, in all likelihood, standing under my dreamhouse.

Next stop: plumber.

I have to say, of all the housing trades, I do like a plumber. Contractors are cocky and I hate being at their mercy. Electricians are a bit odd. Some of them even more than a bit. And gardners, well, it’s all such a cliche. Between the gardner, the poolboy, and any other scantilly clad maintenance man, you’d think every one of your neighbours is the next Lady Chatterly. But not plumbers.

So far, I haven’t met a plumber I haven’t liked. They all seem to be nice, funny, smart. And plumber butt? A total myth. Only plumber butts I see come with low-cut designer jeans attached to ’em. Anyhoo, I’ve recently learned that plumbers are also the highest paid of the trades. I guess they deserve to be, dealing with other peoples’ shit for a living. And with these prices, they’d better be charming.

Anyhoo, Mike the plumber shows up to save my house. And hopefully, my sanity. SEWER FLIES. Hello? What could be grosser?

First came the residential colonscopy. Exatcly what it sounds like: the camera snake. Drain cam – down the drains and through the house. If your lucky. If you’re me, it’s drain cam down the drains, through the house, under oceans of sludge, and, finally, The Wall. No, not stones or bricks or mortar. A wall of “material”. “Debris”. Somethin’ sticky. And vile.

Next stop: The Drainworks A Team.

They emerged from their trucks like Smith from the Matrix – only instead of black-suited, slick and trim, they were blue-t-shirted, bald and enormous. And they proceeded to rip up my floors, digging trenches in hopes of finding The Blockage. And then they struck gold. Black gold. A geyser. And not in a good way.

I wasn’t home when it happened. Thank god. My delicate constitution would’ve failed me for sure. It had these burly he-men running for cover. And frsh air. ‘Cuz 7000 uninsured dollars and thousands of flies later, when they finally found the culprit, my house was a no go zone. You could smell it down the street. My castle had become the pit of hell, with more than a hint of Dead Sea stink. Only difference being there were no anti-aging benefits to the sulphuric soil they removed by the bagfull.

Before you rush into the shower, let me reassure you (and myself): There is a silver lining. Ish. We get new basement floors. And apparently that part of this unwanted reno is covered by insurance. And I found an awesome plumber – Mike and Drainworks if anyone’s interested. And next week is Neil Diamond week on Idol, so all is not lost…

You’ll forgive me if I didn’t give Carly her due. I was up to my eyes in flies.

Last night I was still on the edge. Mariah Carey? Could it get any worse? Uh, yeah, the Idols actually having to sing Mariah Carey songs. And us having to watch. As one sage put it: “this is the side of pop I cannot stand”. Brutal. Hideous. And yet, like some sort of train wreck….I had to watch. Did I cringe? Yes. Did it make me a little uncomfortable? Uh – a lot. Loved the luau that was JayJay Castro. And David Cook rocked my world, as he always does (despite what some folks call his Hootie Voice).

Overall, however, it was a snore. I don’t get Mimi. I really don’t. All’s I knew was the hotness had left the building. And it showed.

And then, tonight: redemption. Not just because, at long last, Kristy Lee was (ahem) cooked. Thank heavens for small mercies, as her fan base might say. And not just because the bottom three were the right bottom three. And definitely not because Carly said what we all think – Simon really is hardest on her. She’s bringing the A and he wants the A+. I feel badly for her.

But whatev. Tonight, it was all about Elliot Yamin.

LOVE. HIM.

Always have, always will. New teeth, new look, new song. That voice! Awesome. And god bless him and his long silk scarf. I’ll bet there were piano keys on the other side. Tonight, he wore his velvet blazer with panache, pulling off what it would take a much taller man to do. And then, the piece de resistance – the palm sign. This is obviously the latest and greatest of shout-outs. “We miss you mom”!?!?!?! Who’s we? And when did his mother die? Mere days ago? And here he is, performing and acknowledging and looking to the ceiling….I mean, heavenward… Now THAT’s good tv.

Sure, I wondered what a nice Jewish boy like Yaminsky was doing performing so soon. Doesn’t he sit shiva? Was it really just days ago? Maybe he’s a three-day mourner… I was a little surprised. And yet….he made me cry. As always. And I waited for him to well up too – as always – but it didn’t happen. Maybe his tears mirrored his beloved mama, kvelling from the front row. Maybe, now that she’s history, he’s getting tougher. He’s money, baby. No more tears.

Nah…No chance….No matter how much dental work, how shaggy his hair gets, and how cool for school he becomes, he’s still the Elliot the Underdog. And he gets my vote everytime.

Not that it counts….

It was a bloodbath. A travesty. A real shocker. The booting of Michael Johns. Hot Idol, R.I.P.

Dev-ah-station.

And didja see when Ryan mentioned how they let the loser live last year – in the spirit of charity and Idol giving back and all? And he had that hopeful look for a second? And then…And then he whipped the rug out from under him? N-a-s-t-y.

Now that’s good tv.

But really…was it?

Coulda been. Shoulda been. But wasn’t. Not for me. ‘Cuz I suddenly find myself not giving a rat’s ass. Even about the contestants I thought I liked. Am I emotionally invested in any of these cats? Not a one; nay nay nay.

At this point I’m sick of Earnest Archuleta and his lip-licking ways. And Brooke with her knowing nods and sad smiles. I’ve grown to like Carly, furrowed brow and all. And of course the Crossword Combover is my new fave. But at the end of the day, do I care? Syesha the weak, Kristy Lee Snore, Stoner Boy Dread….

As a wise young virgin once said: “that’s it?”

Seems to be. The publicity machine is spinning its wheels (see: return of idols of yesteryear). They’ve raised a fortune for charity (good for them). And for themselves (that’s showbiz). All the power to all the people. But between the butchering of the Beatles and this evening’s hideous Ode to Jesus, it’s all become a little insufferable. I even found myself stalling for time before turning on and tuning in.

Where are the Elton John days? Stevie Wonder weeks? I thought Barry Manilow would be an annual thing. Wha happened? Sing, sing, sing: doesn’t anybody promote themselves anymore?

Is it just me? Has anybody else lost that lovin’ feeling for this no-longer-must-see tv? I really believed I was in it for the long haul. But I’m not so sure. Don’t get me wrong – I’ll still PVR. I’ll still watch. I’ll still have the post mortem chats – for all of 2 minutes. It’ll be fun while it lasts.

I never thought I’d say this, but….American Idol, I’m just not that into you.

And he tried, he really tried, but, at the end of the day, you just can’t be something you’re not. First it was the bulging eyes – remember in the auditions? It was funny – not haha, but strange. But he worked on it. He battled his bulge too. And when he went all southern and fun he had us on our figurative feet. But he couldn’t resist the lure of Luther. The crooner. The balladeer. The snore and a half….

And off he went. A shock? Maybe. But Country Bumpkin Cook is working the ditz. And working it well. The minute she opened her mouth to sing that patriotic crap, you knew she was a shoo-in. For at least another week. It was one of those moments where you wished Idol was truly international. God Bless the USA??? Gag gag gag me. Not that I have anything against the USA – I actually don’t. Not a lot, anyway. Except for those flag-waving, 4th of July-ish ditties. I can’t deal with ’em from any place. I wanted Simon to rip her a new one – or sing Rule Britannia at the very least – but even he liked it.

FIX!!!

But my boys did well. Not Stoner Dreads – is it me, or was he really high last night? Did you see him dancing during the opening number? Worth a rewind – hilarious. But I think the goofiness is starting to grate. Just a bit. My faves are the opnes that are almost interchangeable. And yet….not. The Hot One and The Comb Over. Love ’em both. In fact, I don’t even care who goes, as long as it’s not one of those grown-ups. I’ve grown to love the Word Nerd. I hated him at first, but look at him now? Backlash has begun, but not at my house! And yeah, I know the Aussie’s looks are better than his voice…So what?! Unfortunately, I think Earnest Archeletto’s got the gig sewn up. I shudder to think of the song choices in his (and our) future, but it ain’t over ’til it’s over.

And the ladies? Erm, whatever.

So, so long Chickezie. And get yer ear plugs ready – Dolly Parton’s coming to town…

So The Nurse is gone. And, in all likelihood, forgotten. Maybe she’ll live the dream and sell out that bar in Lafayette. Doubtful, but maybe. My bet is she’s back on her Hog, hopefully ditching the Morticia Adams’ extensions and waiting for Rockstar’s return.

Meanwhile, we were treated to the new ‘n improved Kelly Pickler. God bless her. She knew how to work her 15 episodes of fame. New hair, new face, new boobs. New life. Being stupid was brilliant. Best. Career. Move. Ever. More than having a parent in prison (Pickler’s Pops). Better than a newborn baby (last year’s Baldy. With the hat.) Even a dying/dead father couldn’t sompete (Asiah…Who? Exactly!) Now the Pickled One’s giving it her all, channeling La Parton and going on tour. And she didn’t even need to change her name!!!! Somehow I can’t see the Nurse having the same luck. Or making it for herself.

Which is a shame, ‘cuz I kinda liked her. I did!! I was pumped to see the back of Kristy Non-descripty. No, pervs, not in that way. I hate a country gal. Sorry, but it’s true. And yet, she survives another week.

I must say, I’m not all that surprised. You know my theory: we need someone to hate to make Idol all the more watchable. Let’s face it, Beatles Week 2 didn’t slay us in the aisles, did it? But when you’ve got a lame duck around threatening the good ‘uns… Hell – that’s good tv!! That’s why VoteForTheWorst.com is necessary – keeps the voters on their toes and f&cks with all of us. Who doesn’t love a bit of outrage – remember Jennifer Hudson? Voted off before her time and look at her now. Or Daughtry, nee Chris Daughtry: early to leave, early to score. I can see that happening with Rocker Dave. Or Irish Carly.

(Aside: Is my mind playng tricks on me, or she morphing into Boy George?Fat Felon version?)

But back to the blonde. The tomboy/horsey one, Kristy Mc-Whatsit. If she sticks around, we’ll be stuck with more country-lite versions of songs we’ll never love again. Par for the course, of course. And, sure, there’ll be the morning-after-the-night-before watercooler convo. And on-line outrage.

But I shall leave you with one last thought. One last thing to make you giggle and hope she does stick around, sticking it to her talented brothers and sisters.

She’s gonna “blow Simon out of his socks”.

Need I say more?

But I digress….

I want to apologize for those of you sick of this “shizz” (yes that’s a direct quote) and let you know that I will try to hold off further comments ’til the Top 10. T-R-Y. Trouble is, I get so caught up in Idol Fever and my usual sounding board is away… What’s a girl to do but turn to her blog? But this is the last one. For the time being. I hope.

Okay? Can I get on with it now?

So, didya see her? Were you blown away by her? Who, you ask, who?!? Why, the trainwreck that is Paula Abdul of course! No, I’m not talking about her seal claps or lame advice or overall Paula-ness. Not this time. It’s that vid! Her triumphant return to pop! Hideous? Hilarious! I couldn’t get over it. What was she thinking?

Oh, I know – she was thinking about the audience. The millions, held captive and forced into watching a Paula Abdul video. A new one. Bring back the cat. Bring back Arsenio. Bring back the Lakers. But this? Who styled that sucker?? And the wind! What was with the wind? Afterwards Ryan brought out a massive fan! Not a human who loves her-fan, but a thingy with blades going round ‘n round-fan! She laughed like she was in on the joke, but I don’t think she was. And to see Randy playing alongside her…And then Simon and Shortstuff showing up at the end. Crude, rude, I’m not in the mood.

But I did think it was funny…..

Otherwise, show was lame. Garrett Lief Garrett is gone. Who? Exactly. And Chuck ‘n Buck guy too. Should’ve been Luke Perry Luke (Who? Exactly). And the wonky-eyed non-beauty is gone. She looked hotter on her family’s t-shirts, no? What happened? Keep an eye out for her in Playboy. You heard it here first. I was a bit sad to see Joanne the large-and-in-charge beauty queen go. Thought for sure one of the carrie Underwoodettes would’ve left the building…But no such luck.

Anyhoo, the con is on….People with labels, accents, all kinds….Tho’ no convictions yet. And nothing too too trashy. Aside from Paula, that is.

That’s it. ‘Til the top 10. MOAM out.

I know it’s been on for a couple of weeks now. And yes, I watch it and love it with or without writers striking. I cried for that poor girl who lost her dad and auditioned two days later. Come to think of it, it is a bit weird but hey, that’s TV. And that poor boy who lived in his car? The Leo DiCaprio lookalike? He was ever so Christopher McCandless, but striking out for the wilds of Hollywood instead of Alaska. Devastated when he didn’t make it. But there’s always next year. And that guy from the town of 220? The one whose mom wanted a homecoming queen, but just got…the queen? What happened to him? I’ll be looking for both boys in Season 8.

But let’s discuss the boys of Season 7. Mostly forgettable, to be sure. But so many ladyboys! And so many girlymen. I’m not just talking sexual orientation. I’m talking s/he. I’m sorry, but Danny Noriega would make for a stunning woman. And tho’ he channeled Jonathan Rhys Meyers rather than Elvis last night, I loved him. He’s got my vote.

As does the Youngster. David Thingy. Usually they get some young dude who blows (not in a good way). But this time, the 16-year old of the week (or did he say he turned 17?) was unf&ckingbelievable. He has my vote too.

As does Dreads Travolta, the stoner of the group. Did anyone else notice how, despite the crazy locks and the hippy vibe, the guy is a shoo in for our beloved Danny Zuko? Who wouldn’t vote for that? I would.

And finally, my fave, Michael Johns. Or is it John Michaels? Y’know, the last guy. The Man. The only one of the lot who ooooooooozed it. Love love love him. As a tv crush only of course. And maybe because he looks like my favourite hockey card, the almost-has-been, Darcy Tucker. (Long live #16! Long live no trade clauses!)

But my guy Si was right on the money, all night long. The Manly Man from Oz has “it”. It = sex. There were the guys who radiated Christian country and/or 50’s whitey pop groups. Or some wholesome combo. And the indistinguishable boy band graduates, nary a T-lake among ’em. Or that horrible Axel Rose wannabee. Who wears a bandana that screams “botox me?” Seriously, didn’t that strange design look like eyeborws that needed lifting, or at the very least, plucking? Eeeeew, I nealry forgot about that other faux-rocker with the terrible comb-over. And don’t get me started on that theatrical Chuck ‘n Buck fellow. Gross.

Oh Idol….I’m so glad you’re back. Bring on the androg, the youngster, the dreads. And of course, the hottie. They’ve all got my vote. Too bad it doesn’t count.

Oh wait! I almost forgot to mention Chickezie Jacuzzi. He of the orange suit and lovely demeanor. He’s sweet. he can sing. But does he have what it takes to be remembered? I thought so last night, but obviously in the cold light of day he falls a little short….

Last year, the ladies kicked butt – Be Bop Blake notwithstanding. And tonight, it’s Ladies’ night. Show ’em girls. I dare you….