Last Train To Clarksville, four aboard, no stops.

We’ve had the good (Lisa) and the bad (Joseph), the sublime (Lavina) and the surreal (Bobby), the magical (Irish) and the meh (Dean and Reigan) the fabulous (Jessica) and the flatout flat (almost everyone else). And, if I may paraphrase Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben - with great second opportunity Wildcard comes great responsibility to be . . . well, great. It’s not just the second chance, it’s the last chance. Unless I’m mistaken, I believe you can come back and re-audition if you bomb out at the Seymour Centre but you can’t come back from a failed semi-final performance (and I believe there is tar and feathering involved plus a naked stroll through the city centre.) Kind of begs the question as to why the hell the Wildcard show last night was so god damned boring, doesn’t it?

Brendan Boney meshes Lonely No More and This Love in his final and – one can only hope – failed attempt to crawl into the Top 12. Yes, he sang it ‘nicely’ and no, I didn’t so much mind the segue from one song to the other, but he had flat bits, he had pitchy bits and on the whole there was nothing great to be seen here. Nothing mindblowingly remarkable or memorable. I would still buy a released version of Gangsta’s Paradise but only if there was no B side. Both Mark and Kyle applaud the risk of a medley (such as it was, it was really only two lines from This Love) but neither thinks he hit it out of the ballpark. Marcia of course thinks it was a ‘damn fine job’. I just don’t even have the energy to hate on her anymore.

Nathanial Willemse’s suit is a pinstriped pimpin’ number that screams Luck Be A Lady Tonight - and not in a good Daniel Belle belting it out suavely at Capers in Melbourne way, but more like . . . okay, like say, a highschool production of Reservoir Dogs where no-one dies and Mr Blonde is played by a sixteen year old girl because not enough boys auditioned. And they’re not allowed to swear. But at least the girl playing Mr Blonde is pretty good. Except the bored ninth grader who doesn’t understand how props work and who doesn’t read the script properly, accidentally lets her take a real razor blade on stage when she’s doing the policeman ‘Stuck In The Middle With You’ scene and consequently that high school’s insurance goes waaaaaaaaaaaay the fuck up and no-one will eat lunch with her anymore. It’s a trainwreck basically, is what I’m trying to say about his suit. And he’s singing My Girl by the Four Tops. Aw, sweet baby jesus. I love motown as much as the next person but what a ridiculous song choice for the Wildcard round. It’s cheesy and it’s boring. Like Vertigo, he sings well (the odd higher note notwithstanding) but the performance and his singing style feels really stilted and mannered – he HANDS OUT A FREAKING ROSE TO A GIRL IN THE AUDIENCE WHO IS WEARING A T-SHIRT THAT READS ‘I LOVE NATHANIEL’. I throw up in my mouth a little. Kyle and Marcia must have drifted off to sleep or something because they both enjoyed it but at least Mark picks up on the pitch problems. No-one points out to him that his song choice could only have been worse if he had stood up there and sung Rum Tum Tugger from Cats.

Klancie Keogh’s Dad made it up to the Big Smoke for her Wildcard performance. She’s revisiting her Seymour Centre solo performance and is singing Red Neck Woman. It’s a good song choice for her, this number highlights the Dolly Partonesque country twang and she’s having a HELL of a lot of fun. The vocals aren’t perfect, and she wobbles a bit but she’s a lot more confident. Mark gets into her about whether or not Ostralya is ready for a C&W Idol winner (and really Mark, she may make it to the Top 12 but what the hell are you smoking if you think she has a chance of actually winning?). Marcia babbles about liking her energy and freshness and says we’re all listening to country music these days. I check my CD player and she is correct. My KT Tunstall CD has inexplicably morphed into a Garth Brooks : Live in Baton Rouge, 1998 Tour Edition CD. Kyle ruins one of my all time favourite drinking songs by confessing to singing The Gambler with Mark backstage. You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em. I don’t know if Klancie has pocket Queens or a two and a seven but I’m telling her to go All In!! (This joke zone reserved for Texas Hold ‘Em fans only.)

Chris Graffiti still looks like Bobby Brady, only a more intense wild eyed version, the kind who would shoot Carol Brady and hold Sam hostage until Alice made more pork chops with apple sauce. He’s taken Stevie Wonder’s “I Wish” and turned it from a funky bopping hizzit into an Illustrated Guide on How Not To Arrange Classic Songs. He leaves the funk alone for about two thirds of the song and then sloooowwwwss it right down, leaving the band behind and singing it almost a cappella, although it comes off more Acapulco . . . (am I saying its like a seaport resort in southern Mexico? Yes, but only if you hate the heat. And the sea. And resorts. Which I kind of do.) This is one of Marcia’s favourite songs and she loves what he did with it although she damns him with faint praise by saying that he sang it in tune, which is all she can ask. Doesn’t ask for much then, does she? Mark thinks he’s too intense and asks him to back up and put down the knife. Or maybe he just says that Chris is making it look too much like hard work. Kyle halfheartedly mocks his Thunderbird style moves but says he has superb vocals and that he hopes people are voting on that. And that’s Today's Sensible Comment From Kyle of the night out of the way.

Guy ‘Mutto’ Mutton is singing one of the most overrated Australian songs currently glutting the market. Seriously, I liked Black Fingernails, Red Wine about a month ago when I heard it maybe once every couple of days, but when I was recently in Perth I heard it at least three times a day for five straight weeks and am officially Over It. Guy ‘acts’ out his lyrics, getting all touchy feely with his face and ‘emoting’ all over the place – dude, someone has to clean the stage after you perform, you know. This arrangement is a lot less frantic and dark than the Eskimo Joe version and the lyrics lose a lot of their impact when it is stodged down so much. It is plodding and dull for all that he sings it well. Mark also doesn’t know what to make of the arrangement and says it didn’t hit Mark. Hell, if he had hit Mark I’d have voted for him . . . oh . . . hit THE mark. Yeah, that makes more sense, actually. Marcia thought it was a little awe inspiring but I think she means insipid – they’re very similar words – and Kyle thinks it was an average job of an excellent tune and then offends the drummer from Guy’s band by calling it a bit Michael Hutchence-y and in a bad way. (So his performance is hanging from a belt in a hotel room, asphyxiating? Annnnnd you can officially mark that joke as the one that made God throw his hands up in the air and let Satan reserve me a place in hell. Yep. Okay okay, yes that was an awful awful joke to make, I'm sorry, Michael was a rock god and I admire his musicality greatly, I do. May he rest in peace.)

Amanda Rock Chick (or is she??!!) Streete is singing the same Powderfinger song that got Taaaaarni ousted last year, On My Mind. She does a much better job, the vocals are much clearer than Tarni’s were and I also find her voice more pleasing. She works the microphone stand like a pro, but it looks odd and a bit show-offy on a bare stage where she doesn’t have a killer house band (like the boys on Rockstar Supernova – the HB is FUCKING AWESOME on that show) behind her. She brings pub rock to the stage, grungy and a tad feral, but it falls oddly flat because of her surroundings. All three judges query her authenticity as a rock chick. I question their authenticity as human beings. Schmucks. This sucks because odds are that the public will vote through two boys and the judges will pick two others, one of which should be a girl and right now its looking an awful lot like they’ll go Klancie’s way. Bah.

Ricky Muscat sings Usher’s Caught Up and the judges can officially go to hell, because the odd shouty bit of this aside, I really enjoyed this performance. It was probably the most energetic and one of the best vocally and for fucks sake he shouldn’t even have to be a Wildcard, he should have gotten in ahead of Joseph. *breathe breathe I don't even know why I'm upset because I'll never vote for him and I'm not an RnB fan but there you have it breathe breathe* Ricky busts some dance moves and stares fairly bluntly down the camera, his eyes saying vote for me or fuck right off. He is pissed he didn’t get through last week. Marcia and Mark pick on him for picking a song without much melody, with Mark especially pointing out that you can’t just sing the whole thing loudly – why not Mark, it worked aaaaaall season for Emily, hell it garnered her more touchdowns than anyone else who has ever been on the show. Kyle begs Ricky not to get bogged down with RnB. Kyle has himself a little man crush on Ricky. If he doesn’t get the public vote I suspect Kyle will threaten to hold his breath until the others let Ricky through as Judges Choice.

Ohhhhhhhh no. Chris Murphy is singing H&C anthemic Holy Grail, the song that DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee Harding cocked up so magnificently last year and signalled the beginning of the end of TallulahBelle’s Love for Lee (cemented by The Green Day Affair a few weeks later). Do NOT fuck this up, Murphy. I am worried at the beginning when he starts off too easy listening but he grunges it up quickly and his voice is lovely and husky. He has nice shades, its still a little bit dull and he’s not showing the impeccable taste in music his brother did but he can still sing and perform well. His last grunge-y pub note is lovely. Mark says he normally cracks on people who spend years in pubs (pub rockers all over Australia throw their beers at the tv and in unison yell ‘fuck off Holden’ then jump straight back into the second chorus of Khe Sanh) but that Chris’ experience was well worth it, his stage and microphone work is impressive. Marcia tells him he’s a performer who considers every inch of his song choice and every move he makes on stage but that it never comes across as robotic. Kyle leapfrogs back into my haaaaaaaaaaaaate books by bagging the CourtJester to his brother’s face, saying he wasn’t a fan of Courtney at all but that there isn’t anything Chris can do that isn’t good enough in his eyes. I cross my fingers for him. He should get through.

Realistically the four to join the Top 12 should be the final four performers – Amanda, Chris, Ricky and Mutto (purely on the strength of his voice). But if the public put through Ricky and Chris – which I think they will – then the judges won’t put through two rockers, so my money would be on Klancie and Mutto to be pushed through which will frustrate me because as lovely as Klancie is, Amanda has a better and more interesting voice. Either way, it starts for real next week, FINALLY. Euph, Gracie, Fosse and Shaneequa – you know the way to Chez TallulahBelle, see you there for the first actual real show of the year and snarking & snacks . . .

TallulahBelle out.

Would you believe I was abducted by aliens?

Okay, maybe not aliens. Truth is, since the show aired Wednesday night I've been wandering the streets of Perth in a daze. I haven't known which way to turn. Should I join a religious cult, maybe become a Scientologist or get a bicycle and a mens suit and move to Salt Lake City and teach the ways of the Mormon's? Up has been down, black has been white, cats have loved dogs and I liked Lavina Williams performance. No, strike that. I LOVED Lavina Williams' performance.

I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM ANYMORE.

I'm going to retrace my footsteps, maybe see exactly where it all went so horribly, tragically, disfiguringly wrong . . .

We open the final night of semi-finals with the winners from the previous night. G and Mathieson have swapped again and G completely and utterly breaks my fucking heart by NOT announcing that Ricky Muscat is through. No, its Joseph Gatehau. You guys. Thats crap. Idiotic self deluded fucking fifteen year olds should not be allowed mobile phones!! I mean, its no Laura Gissara but still. Thats pretty fucked, right there. Joseph is barely articulate and Kyle gets an 'amen' from me in the peanut gallery, when he advises Joseph to step it the hell up and that he can't coast on cute anymore. G makes me much much happier by then announcing Bobby Flynn is through and I've worked it out - dude is a spaceman from another planet and his hair is actually another sentient being who is filtering out all the pollution and pesticides in our atmosphere and keeping Bobby alive. Bobby thanks god. I'm almost certain he's taking the piss.

Onto the girls!!

First up is Raechel Lee, another 'new' contestant we've never seen before, she's an absolute cutie and she's singing another Australian anthem - Paul Kelly's Dumb Things. Its not a bad choice for her voice, she has a strong Aussie rock pub voice crossed with Kasey Chambers. She's extremely ocker and is a tad breathy. She also gets some pitch problems towards the end, most likely because of the breathiness, and there's a quaver to her voice and I can't tell if its a natural one or if its nerves. Mark loves her Aussie twang and Marcia also compliments the individuality that she brings to the competition. Kyle says he's a fan of her voice but that the performance came off as awkward and boring. G shoots back that Kyle just has a problem with any music released before 1999. To give us some background on Raechel, G talks with her about the fact that she's played the US, Canada and Nashville (which I always thought was in the US . . . its okay G, you're pretty) with her family band. Hmmm. I'm going with natural quaver and not nerves . . . I don't think she'll get in tomorrow night, but they should Wildcard the little spitfire.

Sidebar : I was at dinner with grandparents and so had to ask my father to tape Idol for me - he objected quite strenuously to having to tape 'that crap' but as I'm only in town for another couple of days visiting, he decided to pony up and make me happy - so I'm watching this on tape . . .

Lavina Williams. Lavina, Lavina, Lavina. Sigh. I take my natural Darwinesque aversion to her sister and tuck it into a box under my chair. I WILL try to be neutral, I WILL. She's much easier on the eye than her sister but by god she's singing Aretha Franklin's Natural Woman??!! I have to pause the tape here whilst my poor addled brain recovers from the pain that another Williams is singing Aretha. Midway through her performance I freak myself out completely by taking back EVERYTHING I EVER SAID ABOUT THIS GIRL. She is NOT her sister. Her voice is astounding clear, her tone is incredible, she performs one of the best key changes I have EVER seen attempted on this show and the glory note is perfect. It was everything an Aretha deserves. I would take every touchdown Holden ever gave her screeching sister and give them all to Lavina. I can't believe this, but I love this performance. I love it. I am so fucking confused right now. Marcia babbles about a song steeped in tradition and she tore it up. Mark babbles about how he loves you 'Williams' girls', that she showed impressive range but that she's missing 'fire'. I'm still punchdrunk from loving her and mistakenly think he's talking about Serena and Venus and something to do with their backhand drop shot. Kyle loved it and then takes me back to the glory days of hating Kyle when he comments on her weight - 'you're a bigger girl' who knows how to dress - the fuck? No, she is not a bigger girl, you git. He then kind of makes it better by saying that normally she looks like a hip hop chick who would stab you and I almost fall off my chair laughing. Lavina calls it all a humbling experience and I am once again astounded at how different she actually is to her sister, but to be fair, it took a couple of weeks before Emily got that higher than thou, attitude of enititlement that drove me bug eyed fucking crazy. I hope fervently that Lavina, that way does not go when she hits the Top 12, because even without the fans of her sister who will randomly vote for her anyway, she's in the Top 12, no question.

Next up is Moulin Rouge dancer Rebecca Pearce who is doing Breathless from Days of Thunder. There is some discussion when she starts as to whether this is from Days of Thunder or from Top Gun, but that is quickly forgotten when it becomes blatantly clear that Rebecca is flubbing it. Her singing is flowery and weak, her power notes are insipid, she's pitchy, she's blah. She's history. (At this point I think I've seen the worst performance of the night but oh, how wrong can one person be??). Mark adds insult to injury by telling her (and lets face it, she's painfully aware how bad she was) that it was like the talent section of a Wagga Wagga beauty contest. Marcia says she knows nerves played a big part in it and is sympathetic. Kyle absolutely hated it and tells her it was a dog's breakfast and he's really disappointed. She takes it well, but later when they show the others standing on the balcony she's clearly crying her eyes out. No Wildcard, no nothing darl, sorry.

Spunky Jess Griffin has made a terrible error in judgement. She's singing Christina Aguilera's song Fighter. This is such a balls to the wall song and I firmly believe that Xtina's the only one who can sing it with any conviction. Jess starts out off the beat annnnnnnnnd stays there. She is obviously flustered that she fucked up so quickly that she gets pitchy and breathy and looks like she's going to burst into tears. Its an absolute mess, this is such a shame because every other time we've seen Jess, she has exuded confidence and charisma. I want to look away when she kind of taps herself on the forehead as if to say 'stupid' three quarters of the way through the song. She's right though. Stupid. Marcia and Jess "woahhhh" at each other and agree that "that was a hard one". Jess sighs that she lost control and Marcia actually critiques someone - "you were ahead of the band, behind the band, you didn't trust them and you let yourself down". Thats the Marcia equivalent of beating your adopted daughter whilst screaming 'no wire hangers' . . . (only Joan Crawford fans will get that one . . . ) Mark "oh Jess"s for about thirty seconds while she practically begs for his forgiveness, he notes that she can't let nerves get to her like that because she'll crash and burn (gee, you think??) but he still 'digs' her. Mark, can you 'dig' her out of the grave she just dug herself? Huh? Little help? Kyle says it was a joke and disastrous and he doesn't want to go on about it but he kind of does a little. G asks her that if she still worked in a pizza shop, what kind of pizza would that be? She stumbles on the answer but finally comes out with a gour-mess. I applaud her chutzpah but don't think she's a real contender to get in the Top 12 or even Wildcard.

Little Lisa Mitchell's own personal Idols are Clare Bowditch and KT Tunstall - awesome choices, fuck she's got impeccable musical taste (the fact that they are similar to my own have nothing to do with the price of tea in China. Shut up.) She's singing her Seymour Centre solo perf song, Ben Harper's Diamonds on the Inside. She's sitting down and looks like she should be holding on to a guitar. I do love her singing, she does a very good job, the odd pitch issue but nothing to get upset about, her voice sounds laid back but she can barely stand to look into the camera - she fleetingly glances at it every now and then but that's it. She's remarkably awkward on stage and I don't know how she'll go performing other people's songs week after week. Of course Mark, who has picked on every other performer who has shown any interaction weakness on stage, completely ignores Lisa's ineptness, calling it instead a naive delicateness that he wants to protect. You want to protect her naivity Mark? How about telling her to go home and come back when she's a couple of years older? How about you don't let her put herself into a competition where people like me will bay for her blood at the first sign of vulnerability? I speak the truth, I think she's out of her depth, no matter my regard for her voice, can't this wait a year or two? Finish high school Lisa, I beg you. Poor Poor Casey. Marcia says some people are just born to do this - this? a reality singing show? - and calls her the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard come out of Marcia's mouth - 'baby girlfriend'. Ugh. I get full body shudders. Kyle thinks she's going to win and makes the audience give her a standing ovation because she "could be the best thing ever to come out of this country musically". Whatever dude. Lisa's eyes are huge and a little starstruck looking and G brings her down gently, teasing her that she's "16 years old, you look great, you sing great, you're a tv star AND you've got a pony!! What more could you want??" She laughs appreciatively and looks not a little relieved that not everyone is putting an enormous amount of pressure on her. Kyle. Oh, but she's a shoe in for Top 12. If the audience doesn't put her in, the judges most definitely will.

Last, but not least is Lydia Decker. She's singing Whitney Houston's One Moment In Time and its good if not a little same old same old. She's a proficient singer, but she's hampered by the fact that she's on the same show as Lavina who has done the same thing but did it a thousand times better. She's sincere and her glory note is very very good but no-one is really moved by it. Shame really, she has a good voice. Marcia loved it, the theatrics, the pacing were all great but Mark dismisses her as just another 'good' singer and that she has the same voice as a hundred different singers in this country and there isn't really room for them all. Hell, its along the same lines as what I said but I didn't say it to her face. Kyle says Marks full of it and that she's cooking with gas. Wildcard.

Thats it. Frankly it shouldn't be anyone else but Lisa and Lavina but I hope that Raechel and Lydia Wildcard. The Wildcard round will be made up of eight of the leftover contestants and four of them will go through. I'd like those odds if that was me. I assume that it will be two from each night picked as Wildcard . . .

. . . and I'd be terribly horribly wrong. Of course it isn't anywhere near that fair. The judges stack the competition by making SIX of the Wildcard contestants boys - Chris Murphy, Nathanial Willemse, Guy 'Mutto' Mutton, Chris Graffiti, Ricky Muscat and Brendan Boney, leaving only two boys out, Paul Vercoe and James Steele. Unbelievably they only put through TWO girls - one of my favourites Amanda Streete and country girl Klancie Keough. Although this makes the likelihood of Amanda of getting in that much better and I would hope that of the boys that Chris Murphy will make it through. But I am confused. They deliberately choose twelve boys and girls and made them compete against each other so there would be an even number of both sexes in the competition and now this? The odds of both Amanda and Klancie getting through are incredibly unlikely, so we're most likely to see three boys and one girl. I just don't get it. But I'm kind of past trying to work out what this show is trying to do . . . and obviously Lavina and Lisa got through from the previous night, but you knew that . . . right?? See you at Wildcard.

TallulahBelle out.

Snips and snails and puppy dogs tails.

Alright, everybody out of the pool. The judges have decided - they want a boy to win this year. How else to explain the blatant love in they received last night? Granted, the majority of the performances last night were pretty good, with one or two verging on awesome but (Joseph) there was at least one (Joseph) that was absolute (Jo) shite (seph). But I’m getting ahead of myself . . .

We begin the night with some swapsies – G is upstairs on the balcony doing the presenting and Jimmy is downstairs with last night’s contestants. So G gets the boys and Mathieson the girls. Was this decided via rock off? Thumb wars? Did G sink your Battleship, James? Or was it that they feared whichever young lass who gets through might - in a fit of excitement - hump G on national television, and that James is safe because he’s not as much with the pretty as Andrew? Imbeciles!! I would gladly make a fool of myself on national telly to smooch with Mathieson. I totally heart him and his bug eyed ways. It's just that Fosse called dibs on him and in the interests of housemate-y détente, I focus instead on G (who, lets face it, isn’t exactly a booby prize). Plus Fosse let me have Phil from The Amazing Race, three quarters of the cast of The West Wing and those delightful Jewish boys from Numb3rs. We are currently fighting over who owns George from Grey’s Anatomy though . . . this recap has now taken more time to get to the winners of the girls round than the show did. James lets us know that the two girls going through got 32% of the vote . . . each. So that leaves 36% split between the remaining four. Ouch. That doesn’t bode well for any of them getting a large public vote when they Wildcard. WA girl Reigan Derry is the first of our twosome through and she giggles a little hysterically, then to absolutely no-one’s surprise NT’s Jessica Mauboy is in – she is also giggly and takes the opp to hug Mathieson – see show, a lot of us do like our boys funny and adorably dorky. Proving my point, Mathieson tells her that ‘Australia liked the cut of your jib’. I fucking adore him.

Ricky Muscat is first up – they rehash the Jorge incident and I now think that Jorge may have been the best thing to happen to young Ricky, he’s just another pretty boy with a good RnB voice but he’s the guy who stood up to Jorge, it sticks in the memory – and he’s singing – don’t fall out of your chair – an RnB ballad So Sick. He elongates his vowels a little strangely and the start is slightly weak but he’s kicking it by the chorus. It strikes me that he looks like Anthony Callea and sings like Guy Sebastian – holy crap, he’s a SonyBMG wet dream. The judges just about froth at the mouth to tongue bathe him, they all absolutely love him, his song choice and his package. I accidentally looked at his package and now I feel dirty.

Tasmanian James Steele, saddled with the Single Dad moniker (is James the only single parent we have now?) is singing 3 Door Down’s Kryptonite – can you say ‘perfect song choice’? – he starts off singing quite low and builds up to a nice intensity. His levels are nice and he has some of those infamous ‘shades’ Marcia’s always talking about in his vocals. He lets out one final rebel yell – it’s the only shouty bit of his performance – at the end. It was just restrained enough to be intense but not cheesy or too RAWK or annoying. Mark thinks he’s committed and that he chose a really good song but will the public embrace him? Is he going to to Hollywood or Hobart? Marcia gives more of her patented Not Really Advice advice and comments that he’s no longer flying under the radar. How exactly do you fly under the radar on a show like this? Did he slip the editors a couple of hundred bucks not to show any of his footage? Marcia?? What? Kyle thinks it was all good but that he’s still holding back and Last Word Marcia chimes in that she doesn’t want to see negativity in his eyes again. Sigh. Mathieson then serenades him with a reworked Billy Joel classic and sings “Say goodbye to Hobart”. He can’t sing but god he is good tv. I doubt James will get through, I think he’ll have to reassess for the Wildcard round.

Chris ‘Bobby Brady’ Grafitti is tackling I Don’t Wanna Be, another song I am heartily ooooover. He sings well for two thirds of it but then he fucks up his breathing completely. He starts swallowing the ends of words to get to the next breath and almost loses a line completely as he gulps towards the end. It's called breathing technique dear, look into that before the Wildcard round, mmkay? The judges are arses and don’t so much as mention the fucking up. What? Mark blathers about how Chris was in and out of some mythical pocket. Marcia tells him to ignore Mark because she loved it – and we all know that Marcia’s comments are the ones to listen to, right? Kyle actually gives some sage advice from when he was just another viewer (oh the glory days of Dicko – sigh) and he’d listen to the first fifteen seconds and then everyone would start loudly critiquing and miss the rest of the performance. It's actually a pretty spot on summary of what happens in my house, but Kyle (who gains and loses my respect at least once each show) promptly proves his complete lack of any musicality by telling Chris his best bit was at the end. What? When he couldn’t breathe properly and massacred the last couple of lines? Shut up Kyle.

The show throws in a little sidebar of its own, focusing on a sign in the audience that reads : Mark Holden, You’re A Gankett. Like Mark and Marcia, I have no fucking clue what that means and am too busy admiring the fact that they used the correct contraction of ‘you’re’ instead of ‘your’, which drives me nuts. Mark promises to use the ‘totally goony’ word at some point and gets his moment when Jimmy also advises Chris that Mark’s opinion means nothing . . . because he’s a gankett. I hope that this segment ends soon . . .

Carrot Top’s up next – Bobby Flynn baby!! We didn’t see nearly enough of this guy at the Seymour Centre (or indeed any of him) and I’m chaffing at the bit to hear what he’s doing. When they announce that he’s singing The Church’s Under The Milky Way, I just about jump out of my chair in excitement. UTMW is one of my favourite Australian songs and I have been waiting for three seasons for someone to sing it at Australian Music night. Bobby starts singing and I almost give myself whiplash tilting my head – do I like this? What the hell is he doing? He circumnavigates the melody of the song like he’s competing in the America’s Cup. It's . . . strange. It's dischordant. And I love it. I’m weirdly all about this guy – he took the tune and sang above it and below it and behind it and occasionally in front. His tempo was out of whack with the band and I normally hate that shit but knowing that it was a deliberate choice for the arrangement impresses me greatly and his voice isn’t perfect, it wavered all over the place but FUCK he made me sit up and notice and everyone in the room stopped talking to listen in a kind of askance awe and fear. I want to pause the tv and not have to listen to the judges for a moment so I can take it all in. Marcia smiles that its great to have such an individual on the show and I flashback once again to Chanel receiving the same advice before Marcia psycho’d on her. Mark thinks he’s utterly unique and calls him a trippy crooner and Kyle calls him Sideshow Bobby – yeah, I’m not doing that, we had a Sideshow Bob last year and this guy is completely different, so no – and then says he hates that song. The fuck? Its one of the great Australian songs of all time Kyle, you fucktard, I loathe you, I bet you know all the fucking words to You’re The Fucking Voice, don’t you Kyle? Gah.

Joseph Gatehau is our second RnB performer of the night and his version of Let Me Love You by Mario is weak and doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near this part of the competition. His voice is cracking all over the place and yes, he’s young but fuck it so is Jessica and she stomped all over any nerves she might have been feeling last night. His eyes are pleading with the tv audience to love him, let him in, don’t send him home, but his voice is weak and tinny and he misses a lot more notes than he comes close to hitting and his falsetto cracks horribly. It’s a fairly gruesome trainwreck. Marcia who adores this boy to the point where she actually says ‘I love you Joseph’ puts it all down to nerves. Mark bypasses the ‘obvious pitch problems’ and says he doesn’t think Joseph will have any trouble getting the girls to love him (translation, vote for him) and Kyle tells him everyone’s talking about you man, everywhere I go, its Joseph this and his eyes that and what a cutie blahdey blah. (Tell that to Ngairre, Kyle - I remember everyone talking about her too). Mark takes the last word to tell him not to restrict himself to RnB. If Joseph gets through it will be entirely based on his Seymour Centre solo piece and his audition, not this performance.

Oy. Guy ‘Mutto’ Mutton is up next. Seriously, we’re advocating Mutto as his Idol name? Is that going to be on the CD cover? Do people really want to be texting Mutto to 19 10 10? It's Hotdogs all over again. Ugh. He’s chewing gum sitting next to G in the Contestants Waiting Pit and has ‘hope’ written on his hand. Again, oy. Look, we need a rocker in the comp (unless Amanda Street can Wildcard) so I’m willing to cut him a little slack. What is he singing? It's Swiftfoot’s Meant To Live. He crouches down at the foot of the stage and stares intensely into the camera – its very Pub Rock 101 – and there is some microphone feedback during the first chorus and he won’t freaking stand still for a minute. Dude, plant your feet!! He sings a little to Kyle and plays up to the front row of the audience who ‘whoohoo’ appreciatively – the front row always loves that kind of shit. The song requires a little more control than Guy has, the singing is a bit pitchy and flat but its okay. Not great, but okay. Mark loves his obvious experience and then kvetches about Guy’s bumpy bald noggin. Marcia ‘you did just fine’s him and laughs that he frightened the hell out of Kyle, an action I applaud wholeheartedly. Kyle loved the perf but hates his Fresh Prince of Bel Air inspired back of the head bowl cut. I hate to agree with Kyle but I reluctantly agree with Kyle . . .

More technical fuckups as the last look at the performers and their voting numbers leaves Ricky Muscat singing in silence for three quarters of his bit – they tack him on to the end and again, that could work in his favour. I want Bobby and Ricky to go through. Ricky was the better of the RnB singers tonight and the competition needs an RnB at this point. Bobby will compete with Irish in the Top 12 for votes which may do neither of them any good, but there it is. If Joseph doesn’t get through, the judges will Wildcard him before he leaves the building and they’ll toss a coin for James or Guy to represent the male rock.

TallulahBelle out.

PS – in the ever decreasing divide between myself and the Idol contestants, I found out on the weekend that my 21 year old cousin went to school with Reigan Derry and has in fact swapped spittle with the girl. I feel closer to her than ever . . .

Sister's Are Doing It For Themselves

I love the new format. There is little to no faffing about at all tonight. We are a mere scant blissful ten minutes into the programme and both Irish and Prettyboy have scooted through to the Top 12. Irish is pleasantly surprised and his brogue makes my knees weak (although, as I am the worst kind of nazi when it comes to people's teeth, I do have to close my eyes a little when he speaks) and although the perfectly coiffed Andrew G tries to throw to a commercial before announcing the second Idol through, Mathieson mock-calls him on it from the balcony and they schtick back and forth a little before getting to it. Dean thanks his lord and saviour and I sprain a cocked eyebrow in surprise that he's being that open about it in a competition where it may not prove to be that cool to Jesus it up. I'm willing to let the overenthused praise to a higher being go for the time being as long as Dean doesn't get all 'praise be' and 'mercy' on us. He'll just get Marcia started and who needs that? No-one, thats who.

Bring on the girls.

Lyndelle Palmer-Clarke and her rather startlingly Jessica Simpson inspired tan is up first, singing the Eurythmics song Would I Lie To You. Orange skin aside, this chick is rather hot. She's extremely confident. She struts around the stage like she owns it and as if there isn't anyone else coming out to sing. Just her. There's a bit too much of the Idol Trademark Finger Pointing going on and her voice isn't the best I've ever heard in the world, but she infuses her performance with more enthusiasm and energy than all of the boys from last night combined. Mark thinks she needs to step it up, Marcia admires her moxie (I take a step back to admire Marcia using the word moxie) and Kyle - who apparently refuses to acknowledge that anything good was released prior to 1995 - hates her song choice. I think she has a good choice to be this years rock chick. (This opinion will change an hour later at the end of the show when I realise I have to check my notes to remember her name and what she sang . . . )

Klancie Keogh is a jillaroo, a country music fan and a rather proud owner of breasts, which she comes very close to letting us know a tad more intimately than I'm entirely comfortable with. She's rather fond of the JLo cut to the navel look and although she can pull it off, I kinda wish she wouldn't. KK is singing a Dixie Chicks song (which got a surprised 'good girl!' from me on the couch) called Not Ready To Make Nice. Anyone who has heard Natalie Maines (lead singer of the DC) sing, knows that she made some serious deal with the devil for her pipes. They are earthy, her range is astounding and she has stage presence in spades. (Also her extremely public, infamous bitch against George Bush cemented her place in my heart . . . ) Klancie sings well but her vocals aren't as powerful. She's nervous as shit and when they pull to a wide shot of her body its obvious she doesn't know what to do with her hands and they're fluttering all over the place. Mark thinks she's blah and that she totally missed the emotion of the song but the other two think she pulled it off admirably. Kyle goes so far as to say he liked it, which sends Klancie into a paroxysm of glee. She also takes the opportunity to rest her head on G's shoulder. Well, who wouldn't, really? Wildcard.

Jessica Maubury is singing her second Whitney Houston song, this time its that old pop classic I Wanna Dance With Somebody. I'm just going to say it. I really like this girl. She's so freaking cute and her vocals are absolutely impeccable, she doesn't hit a bad note, her pitch is fabulous and she is having a ridiculous amount of fun. She commands your attention with an authority far belying her 17 years. She's through, they should just put her in the Top 12 now. Her final note soars and is fantastic. Knowing there was nothing to fault with that performance, Mark and Kyle pick on her song choice. Yes, we're all a little sick of Whitney Houston. Yes, it would have been nice for her to pick something a little more current, say The Veronica's or even (don't hate me) Avril Lavigne/Ashlee Simpson but who fucking cares? Jessica obviously loves Whitney, so let her sing Whitney. This is one of the few times they get to sing what they want without being pigeonholed by this show's ludicrous themes. Whitney was pop music in the 80's, okay? You can't be angry that your contestants don't know the Beatles and then expect them to ignore great music from other decades to concentrate on the current one. And another thing. Don't diss the Whitney. She will cut you. She's mean these days.

James drops the E-bomb. That's right, the next contestant will basically throw the Top 12 baby out with the dull as ditch water by performing an Evanescence song. Lets watch as Atlanta Coogan - the first of our mystery contestants, they show more of her singing in her pre-song package than we've seen in the last three weeks - commits Idol suicide. To be fair, she's not singing this badly, she hits most of the notes and there's nary a nasal tone in sight (which is how the Evanescence chick sings). She has a good voice and her high register is sweet but this isn't the performance to get her through. Mark wanted more emotion from a 30 year old - its a good call but he apparently wants her to kill her firstborn child or something - seriously? Don't ask her if she's ever lost someone ON NATIONAL TV. Fuck off Holden. Kyle thinks she needs to step it up because "this group is the best I've seen". Of course, thats because the best he's seen included DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee and Screechy Williams. Its not a very high bar, frankly.

Amanda Streete is my new Idol girlfriend. She has a beautiful rasp to her voice, husky and growly (check out my favourite Rockstar Supernova contestant Dilana who has the same thing going on - its totally sex.) And she's freaking singing Pink's Trouble! She gets into a little trouble in the lower register and has to growl her way out of it but it works. You know, so far the girls have blown the boys away - they've picked high energy songs and they've performed them well, they know how to move and they've engaged the audience with nary a cheesy moment - Dean. Amanda struts around the stage and the audience is loving it, as am I. Mark bitches at Amanda for not engaging the television audience. I call total bullshit on that. I can't call bullshit though on his concerns for her voice, because the raspy singer will have problems if they keep singing that way without the proper vocal warm ups and care, you can damage your voice if you're not careful - right Cosima? Kyle also jumps on that but Marcia loved her and calls her sassy. I love that word. Sassy. A-fucking-men. If I had my way she'd be through, but I'll take a Wildcard if I have to.

Final performer of the night is moptop Reigan Derry who is singing I wish I Were A Punk Rocker (a song I have heard ad nauseaum on the radio recently and am already over). Reigan has been dissed by the judges recently and is the girl Marcia slapped as being 'not as good as you think you are' during the solo performances. She walks out onto the stage with Stepping It Up written all over her forehead. I think its a smart move to choose a current song, especially this one which suits her voice extremely well. Her onstage presence needs a little work but her higher register is pure and lovely and I don't even mind the trilling at the end because it works. Mark outs himself as a Trekkie when he notes that she's dressed like an extra from Deep Space Nine, Marcia compliments her on her left of centre choice, apparently unaware that this song is currently number two on the Aria charts and will resonate with the Idol audience. Come one Marcia, its hardly Portishead (and for those keeping count at home, this is my first official Chanel reference for the season). Kyle tells the other two judges that they're insane, old and basically know shit about music anymore and tells Reigan it was a great song choice and that he loved her arrangement. She is incredibly charismatic with both the judges and the co-hosts, very articulate and friendly. She's a big possibility to make it through.

Quite frankly, I think the girls were a thousand times better. I know others disagree (PGiddy, you're on crack, admit it - right?). Now Jessica has the tween vote wrapped all the hell up and like Dean before her, is a dead cert to make it through tonight. I think the other spot is going to split between Reigan or Amanda because they were the two most memorable after Jessica. Slight advantage to Amanda purely based on the fact that I liked her more. So there.

TallulahBelle out.

Its like a marathon. Feel the burn?

Idol night.
The first night.
I am pumped. I've trained for this all season and I know I can do this. Its been a damn hard slog but I'm sure I'm ready. I've been practicing snide remarks and nasty putdowns. I've primed a list of welldeserved praise and high accolades. I've had exploratory surgery done on my anterior cingulate cortex and my ability to feel and maintain empathy and emotion is in tip top condition. I have both pejorative and complimentary descriptive terms at hand. I am ready, willing and able to go go GO. I nervously finger the remote control as 7.30 approaches, crack my knuckles in anticipation and switch the tv on . . .

Our first semi-final. They've added the live audience element to the show - I like that - it means that even if you bail out at this point you've still experienced that frisson, that thrill of performing for real people, you get an immediate visceral reaction that a cold semi vacant television studio full only of the crew and the onscreen talent won't necessarily give you. We'll be getting two singers from each gender divided show (giving us eight) and then a Wildcard show next Sunday (where four more will go through - though they don't tell us yet how many of those four the judges will handpick). They bring out our six performers of the night and Dean Geyer audibly gets the loudest cheers. We get it girls, he's cute.

Chris Murphy is up first and he's tackling Crazy Little Thing Called Love. I hate it. I hate the arrangement, I hate the cheesy guitar and I hate that it sounds so easy listening FM radio station. His singing in this song is so 'safe' that he's lost all the power we've seen previously. Don't get me wrong, he sings it well, his voice is still extremely good but by god I'm bored. He gets rousing applause and the judges all love him (well, Marcia didn't actually say she loved him, she just said it was obvious he had 'gigged' but you almost always have to read between the lines with her) but Kyle does note that he wants to see more of the grubby rocker. Amen Sandilands, well played. I really thought Chris would go through with the first group this week, but I feel he will have to play the Wildcard. And he should call the CourtJester and get some tips on song choice.

Nathaniel Willemse has decided to completely ruin U2's Vertigo. Seriously, I didn't even recognise this until he got to the chorus. Nathaniel has taken a frenetic, wild song about being thrown off balance and being dizzy with life . . . into an RnB ballad??!! What the fuck? Guys?? Where is the rock tonight? Where is the fun? Why have you sucked the life out of this song, Nathaniel? Just like Chris before him, he sings well, he hits all the notes and he is very sincere about what he's doing but I can barely stand to listen to this version. The judges love it, again. I . . . huh? Really? Y'all liked that? There is discussion of the 'interpretation' of the song - Mark didn't like it, Marcia did - but everyone seems fine with the arrangement. I feel like Bono would disagree and request that all groups concerned meet in a prearranged 'safe' place for talks about the lyric and the content . . . man. And everyone would get to wear big bug eyed sunglasses and Irishman Damian would have to go along and interpret the accent and the beer drinking etiquette. And the Edge would just sit there and raise his eyebrow at everyone and halfway through the proceedings, around about the fifteenth pint of Guiness, everyone would realise they hadn't invited Adam Clayton and that Larry Mullen Jr went to the bathroom an hour ago and didn't come back . . .

Spunky Paul Vercoe comes out and massacres himself a Lifehouse song, Hanging By A Moment. There are so many problems with this performance, starting with the key he begins in and ending with the fact that, if this were your local pub karaoke competition he'd probably be a shoe in to win unless that tone deaf drunk chick got up and sang the theme from Titanic and then forgot halfway through and thought she was in a wet tshirt competition instead. He is flat, there is a decided lack of any melody and its painfully shouty. Sorry Paul, but I'm calling it. Time of death, 8.05pm.

Sidebar : Pink is on 60 Minutes right now and if it weren't for the fact that luvverly Irishman Damien Leith is up next and I have high hopes for him, I would watch the rest of the interview - god I love that Stupid Girls video clip.

Damien is singing You Are So Beautiful by Joe Cocker, which I remember fondly from the days when I was in love with Michael J Fox (before I realised what a dirty Republican his character Alex P Keaton was on Family Ties) - I'm not sure why. Did he dance to this song with one of his girlfriends? Was Courtney Cox on that show? You know, whatever happened to the cast of Perfect Strangers, god I loved that show, I loved the theme song "sometimes the world looks perfect, nothing can be arranged" . . . sigh . . . excuse me whilst I visit You Tube for a moment. Wow, they just don't write theme tunes like that anymore do they? You know, that would make a KICKASS theme night, old tv theme tunes. Gold. I don't get paid enough to come up with this stuff. Anyway . . . I stop thinking about old 80's sitcoms as Damien starts singing because I am transfixed. Yes, he is noticeably nervous for the first couple of bars, his voice wavers a little and his eyelashes are on Flutter Alert : Code Amber, but he regains footing very very quickly. He builds the song up gradually and the bridge is just soaring. I sit on the edge of my seat waiting for the falsetto at the end of that song and . . . here it it and it is great. I get that prickling feeling just behind my eyes that I get watching ER which means I'm about to tear up . . . The judges understandably love him - but Mark hates the thought that they might get stuck with another unhip, uncool, unmarketable winner, right Mark? Thats not how he words it, but its what he means. Not another Poor Poor Casey, not another Kate, right Holden? You want another Callea, a Ricki-Lee, a Guy. You forget - again - that people over the age of 19 buy CD's. In fact, we buy MORE. We may not have bought Poor Poor Casey's or Kate's but maybe you need to start thinking that its not the singer we're avoiding, its the cookie cutter by the numbers bollocks you try to foist off on us via your winner. Kyle however, thinks Damien can sell CD's. I am coloured a surprised shade of I'll Remember That Later . . .

(I catch the end of Pink's interview on 60 Minutes and my girl crush is solidified.)

I had such high expectations from Gangsta's Paradise singing Brendan Boney and to hear that he'll be kicking Stevie Wonder's Higher Ground is an awesome start. Except he's not singing Stevie Wonder's Higher Ground. He's singing the Red Hot Chilli Pepper's Higher Ground. But he is kicking it. To the KERB. (sorry, sorry, bad joke, BAD joke, my profound apologies.) Its faster, its louder and it drowns him out. I can't hear him at all, even when the band cuts out he is still struggling to be heard above the backup singers. His breathing is all over the place and when I can hear him, he sounds flat. The judges basically tell him everything I've written down on my notepad. He'll have to wait and see if he gets a Wildcard and if he does he'll still be riding the wave of his original audition piece . . .

Final singer and obvious Judges Favourite Dean Geyer sings If You Could Only See which is the second song in a row to have previously been performed by a contestant on RockStar Supernova. But unlike Brendan, Dean does almost as good a job as Chris did on that show. But Chris also got ousted the week he did that song. I suspect Dean will have better luck with it. He is cute and sings well, he is rather charismatic, if a teensy on the cheesy side and he doesn't look 100% comfortable performing in front of a live audience but a couple of weeks performing (and lets face it, he's a lock in for Top 12) and I think he'll be kind of unstoppable. He is definitely the 'package' Mark is looking for, Marcia pretty much wants to adopt him and Kyle could pimp the crap out of this boy on his radio show so its kudo's all round for young Dean.

I have to say, Damien aside, I was kind of underwhelmed by tonights performances. Four of them sang well, two of them were kind of crap, but almost all of them were a little boring. I imagine the older viewers will vote fairly en masse for Damien and the younger for Dean Geyer. Chris and Brendan will most likely Wildcard at which point I hope for greater things from them both.

Go Irish.

TallulahBelle out.

Seymour Centre. Part, the second.

In what has quickly become known as one of the darkest times of modern medical history, the terrible epidemic of laryngitis, tonsillitis, nodules, strep throat, hysterical muteness and dysphonia has continued into its third week. Young contestants on an Australian reality television show, Australian Idol, were the most recent victims struck down by these insidious conditions. The show bravely battled on, with the contestants and judges alike smiling in the face of certain demise. When will the politicians accept that we are in the midst of an international health crisis, the likes of which has not been seen since SARS? Funds must be IMMEDIATELY released to medical testing facilities. When a show like Australian Idol, a show built on the foundation of singing and music, is unable to actually show any of the contestants singing for any length of time, it is time for action. My friends, I urge you to immediately contact your local member, to write to your state newspaper, to rally in the streets and to help us break the vicious cycle. Let our Idols SING!

Okay, maybe I’m being overly dramatic, but COME ON. There was a decided lack of any actual performing in Monday nights show. We were privy to mere snippets of the solo performances – I can understand if they’re trying not to saturate the public with any one particular individual - its nice that Tom Cruise has been an example to someone - but still. A little more wouldn’t have hurt them, right? A bit more singing equals a lot less Mark faking someone out about whether or not they got through. A few more verses equals fewer sob stories about how their mothers didn’t hug them when they scraped their knees. The odd vocal warmup with Eryana equals no nervous breakdown for my poor mother who visibly flinches everytime I raise my voice in anger and ire whilst watching the show.

We begin with 49 left in the comp. 49 people who’ve been herded into a room and made to wait for hours to find out if they’re in or not. 49 people who probably know that if they go into the room with the judges immediately after someone who got in, that the odds are against them getting in as well. Its brass tacks time. Balls to the walls, kids.

I refuse to recap the contestants who don’t get in. I’m sure they understand.

James Steele from Tassie sings Love Me When I’m Gone and is our first Idol through the gate. Not the best singer in the competition and certainly not the best of the guys who didn’t make it through, but he is proof positive that confidence pays. He makes you believe he can sing because he exudes belief in himself. They pimp the poor bastard by making him ring his Dad on the phone’s loudspeaker, hoping for Dad to burst into the tears of a proud parent. He is instead stoic and Aussie, and chalks it all up to his son’s talent. Awwwww, good Daddy!

Jessica Mauboy’s solo was some song about spreading her wings that I didn’t recognise but her voice reminds me a little bit of Christina Aguilera’s. She is, of course, our Northern Territory Idol. NT represent!!

Sidebar : my first sidebar of the year is in quick defense of my love of the Xtina. Yes, she is Mistress Melisima, Queen of the Quaver, Temptress of the Trill. But her new song Ain’t No Other Man is the SHIT and is currently my mobile phone truetone. Yes, she unnecessarily trills – BUT – she can really really sing. Really sing. Dude. Girlfriend can hit a high E above middle C first thing in the morning before she’s had a drink of water and without breaking a sweat. Shaneequa, back me up – that’s some good singing, right there . . .

Which is what Lavina She’s Gone Too Far Already Williams tries to do in her solo perf. She sings a Xtina song and trills all the fuck over the place (but and this is the key NOT as well as Xtina), eventually finding the actual note and blessed be!! She actually gets called out by Kyle for relying too much on vocal tricks and not portraying any emotion. She bursts into tears and tells us a sob story whilst I feel every muscle in my back tense with dislike. You’re already in, they’re fucking with you, STOP CRYING ALREADY.

My not so random or surprising hate-on for Lavina is swept aside for my not so random or surprisingly love-in for Chris Murphy whose solo was Cry In Shame. I hunger for him to bust out a falsetto as I suspect his may even be better than his brother’s was. The judges do not dick around with him because I suspect they sense his emotions won’t necessarily be as easily messed with as some of the younger contestants and he is in. Well, duh.

Jessica Griffin wanders all over the stage and I want to nail her feet to the floor but she sounds good, if a teensy bit shouty.

Ricky Muscat sings I’ll Be Loving You Forever – his voice is cracking slightly under the pressure and I hope desperately that he isn’t this years James Kannis. Because I kind of hated James Kannis. A lot.

They montage a few random In’s and I am pleased, if not a little perplexed, to see Carrot Top Bobby Flynn made it through.

Auctioneer Paul Vercoe sings If Only I Can Get Through This and not only does he look like Shannon Noll, but just like The Noll, he is apparently risking his farm and livelihood to be in the competition. Thanks goodness he gets in! He also has the teary family phone conversation but is allowed a little privacy as he breaks down in the hallway. I didn’t get a little teary at this point. I didn’t. Shut up.

Edie/Missy singalike Lisa Mitchell funks the hell out of Diamonds on the Inside and is looking a LOT less nervous. She still lacks stage presence and confidence but she’s the only one I feel safe about predicating will be Top 12. Lock it in, Ed(d)ie.

They don’t show Brendan Boney’s solo perf so it must not have been as truly inspiring as his audition piece which was an acoustic version of Gangsta’s Paradise which they do show again. Seriously. If you didn’t see it, I can’t even tell you how great it was.

Dean Geyer – who FYI, is freaking adorable and my current show crush – is another Idol who sings a song I don’t recognise. His singing is a little flat in the lower register. Work on that, Dean, don’t make me say goodbye too soon!!

Amanda Streete sang Early Warning as her solo. Mark fakes her out but we all know that every season must a rock chick have, and Amanda baby, you’re it. She’s also a single mother, but her singing is actually good enough that they don’t need to dwell on that. Marcia must be so disappointed . . .

Moptop Reigan Derry’s solo isn’t great, its not even as good as the group song that she got totally bagged out for and the judges are a little harsh. Marcia’s call of ‘you’re not as good as you think you are’ is just pure and utter bitchery, wrapped up in a sarong and a decent wig. I don’t know why they put her in if they hate her so much but they do.

Lyndall Palmer-Clarke sings I’m With You and is this the first time we’ve seen this girl? I don’t remember her at all. She does remind me of Tarni the Rock Chick from last season – to look at, not to listen to. I don’t even remember her now. That does not bode well for her.

Guy Mutton sings Yellow, which is just about my least favourite Coldplay song – it’s a urine thing, don’t ask – but he does have a lovely voice . . . welcome to the Top 24!

Joseph Gatehau brought his entire family, maybe he’s doing his ancestral history while he’s waiting, he needn’t bother as Kyle already convinced him to drop out of his final year at school. Whilst I think this is an assy thing to do, if the kid is serious about the show he wants to get all the leg ups he can, we all remember that other high schooler who had trouble remembering the lyrics to songs - which I put down to trying to do both Idol and school at the same time. He dedicates his solo song to his mum and moves the entire room to tears. It is pretty damn good.

Annnnd its torture the remaining contestants time by bringing them in together knowing that one is in and the other is out . . . the last two guys are Cowboy Korey and Irishman Damien Leith. Korey’s song was good but uninspiring whereas Damien, who has the FALSETTO OF AN ANGEL, wisely performed the Jeff Buckley version of Hallelujah. It is Damien, right? Don’t fuck with me show. It . . . is . . .Damien, yes? Yes.

The last two chicks are Melanie (good god, please no) and Klancie Keogh. I don’t think a whole hell of a lot of either of their voices, but Klancie’s solo of Redneck Woman is significantly better than whatever that was that Melanie sang. Klancie gets through and is distraught, seriously, she’s sobbing. She does know she’s in, right? I start disliking her a lot until Voiceover Mathieson tells us its three in the morning. So they kept these people awake for what? Probably damn close to 24 hours? No wonder they have no emotional control. I want to cry just thinking of the lost sleep. This method of telling them one on one is just needlessly cruel. Horrid show. Horrid mean show.

The others rounding out the top 12 guys are Nathaniel Willemse and Chris Graffitti and the gals are Atlanta Coogan, Raechel Lee, Rebecca Pearce and Lydia Denker. Who? Yeah.

Semi’s start Sunday, continuing all the way through to Thursday. Yes, every night. Yes. EVERY night. Y’all? That’s going to kill me . . .

Seymour Centre. Part, the first.

See the Idol Wannabe’s arrive in Sydney from all over the country and behave like completely normal people. Witness the complete lack of pratfalls, mugging for the camera and screaming. Marvel, as the judges actually critique them on their talent. Gasp, as everyone works together and gets plenty of rest. Be amazed when everyone learns their song overnight and have no trouble whatsoever learning the lyrics. Be completely taken aback as no-one shiny and suspiciously orange has a hissy fit ostensibly about his ‘professional reputation as a seasoned performer’ but that would appear to actually be more about his inability to cope with stress and no sleep and storm off in the most metrosexual huff I’ve ever seen. Watch the Idol Wannabe’s treated with respect, dignity and the slight sense of awe they deserve for putting themselves out there on national television for the chance to record an extremely well thought out, produced and not in any way rushed to the stores in time for Christmas CD, chock block of superbly written ballads and pop tune classics that will stay on the radio, get stuck in your head and be on permanent rotation on your Ipod for millennia to come. See pigs develop opposable thumbs, a sense of self, the ability to converse and learn complicated math, be accepted into flight school, pay off massive university fees and become pilots for Virgin, the first airline to break the porcine ceiling and adopt a Pigs Are People Too affirmative action policy.

We start the show with Voice Over Mathieson advising us the Top 100 is actually 127 and they need to cull 30 to get a Top 100. Hmmm, even I know that there’s something sketchy with that math . . . (I have a calculator in my phone). The first few groups are seriously underwhelming and pretty much all get sent home – one of the few who undeservedly makes it through is mother of four Melanie who to absolutely no-one who has seen this show’s surprise, is singled out by Marcia. I would roll my eyes but I don’t want to jump the gun. I suspect I’ll be getting a lot of eye rolling done this season. I need to stretch before I watch tomorrow nights show, warm them up.

Carrot Top Bobby sounds like he didn’t get enough sleep the previous night and isn’t quite as good as he’s previously been but James from Tassie belts out his song and although he sounds a little pitchy and breathless he is so damn enthusiastic and putting so much energy into it that his confidence overrides the underlying not greatness. Both get through to the next round but little funky fashionista from the Alice, Dylan goes home. Lavina Williams is working my last nerve when at the end of what sounds like a pretty damn good version (but not as good as this little girl) of And I’m Telling You (I’m Not Going), she mimics her sister by unhinging her jaw and caterwauling the last note for about an hour. Nadia is woefully unprepared to sing the song she only just chose and I’m sorry, but is deservedly smacked down by Holden and basically told to stop wasting everyone’s time. She joins the 58 other people who are told their Idol Journey is over. Whittling!! Whittling them down!! Whittling rocks!! More whittling!!

Group songs . . . ahh, separating the strong from the weak, the wheat from the chaff, the . . . the . . .yoghurt from the muesli . . . The boys get – U2’s Beautiful Day, Jackson 5’s I Want You Back and Elton John’s Tiny Dancer. The girls get – Blondie’s Call Me, Earth Wind and Fire’s September and The Bangles’ Eternal Flame. Oh and before I go any further, I love Chris Murphy. Just getting that out there now.

And then, the drama! The drama!! We spend about fifteen minutes on the Trials and Tribulations of shiny Anthony Callea lookalike Jorge, who has hit serious Killer Fatigue (TM Miss Alli from TWOP) mode already. J, who tells us he’s coming from a professional standpoint, has trouble learning the lines of the Jackson 5 number his group has chosen. So he’s a professional musician, but he doesn’t know one of the most famous Jackson 5 tracks enough that he can learn the lyrics properly in a couple of hours? Riiiiiiight. He then chooses to rant at his fellow contestants and behave like a six year old by declaring it to be all too hard for him. He then talks about himself in the third person before taking his bat and ball and leaving. Leaving! Because Jorge needs to stay true to Jorge! And apparently that involves completely screwing his group over by not telling them he’s leaving until the next morning. Teammates Ricky and Paul are understandably pissed and a little defiant and aggressive when they front before the judges. It throws them to the point where they sing like they didn’t practice at all and barely scrape through on what may be a trademark Marcia pity vote.

Girl group Jessica (of the Alice), Estelle and moptop Reigan are singing Eternal Flame about a key lower then they should be and their harmonies? Leave a lot to be desired. Luckily they’re not being judged on this particular performance and get through. This aspect of the show has never been more obvious (that is, the don’t worry if you’re shite today, you were awesome yesterday and besides the group singing doesn’t really count aspect) than with the next group of boys – our two older urban cowboys and a young genteleman whose name’s all escaped my trusty pen and notebook. Young guy remembers all the lyrics to Tiny Dancer and he sounds good. Older urban cowboys BOTH forget their lyrics and kind of shuffle along like they misplaced their zimmer frames. The cowboys get in because THIS PART DOESN’T COUNT. If it counted? We’d see more of the actual group singing. Little Miss Eddie/Missy 16 year old Lisa is shown smiling happily at the cameraman because she got through and did we hear her sing? No. We didn’t see so much as half of the contestants actually sing.

But we do see the final group of the day, the only official duo of the groups. It’s the aforementioned silver lining in the cloud of Idol that is Chris – brother of the CourtJester – Murphy. Chris and Dean Geyer sing U2’s Beautiful Day and hallelujah, it is. The two completely and totally ROCK their harmonies. They are flat out awesome and get the only standing ovation of the day (that we see). My only bugaboo is Chris needs a haircut. Like . . . now. Other than that? Love him. LOVE.

Tonight tune in for solo performances and the emotionally suspect, time wasting, blatant show filler face to face smackdowns between the judges and the contestants as they find out if they made it into the top 24.

Not a good day

Two pieces of truly upsetting news out of Hollywood today, one extremely sad and the other devastating (I’ll let you decide which is which).

Firstly, my Bruno is no more. Recently diagnosed with leukemia – so recently that I hadn’t even heard about it – he died Monday in LA from complications. Read this to fully comprehend my loss.

Secondly, Gywneth Paltrow has decided to come out of acting ‘retirement’. Sigh. What did I ever do to her??


(And does my blog look funny to anyone else? The typeset seems to be randomly changing font size without my say so. Weird.)

Jesus is still alright with me

I . . . . well, I barely know what to say. I wasted another two and a half hours of my life watching the audition shows and . . . . really, that was it? Interspersed between a multitude of truly wretched singers were a mere handful of talented individuals. A skerrit. A thimbleful. A tiny. And we somehow still have a top 100? Prepare yourselves kids, there's going to be a LOT more crap to wade through before we get to the top 24, its all I'm saying.

But this week our painful search begins in Sydney, where, I'm sorry, but is there some sort of council ordinance that demands that one out of every three Sydney-siders MUST own their own barnyard animal suit? Chickens, cows and dog costumes as far as the eye can see - witness the famewhore in its natural environment, wacky enough that they'll make it on to the show and yet still covered up enough so that the average passerby won't recognise them on the street the next day after the show airs and beat them into a bloody pulp for taking up so much MOTHERFUCKING screen time.

As usual, we're subjected to a cavalcade of crappy crooners until we're presented with Jorge, a shinier (who'd have thought that was possible) and stretched version of Anthony Callea who oversings When Doves Cry more than the kid from Romeo and Juliet. Honestly people, can we stick to the tune? Just once? Too much to ask? The answer is yes because HOLY MOTHER OF GOD ITS EMILY WILLIAMS' SISTER. She starts off not too painfully but THEN oh god then of course, she kicks in with the vocal gymnastics and a key change and her voice goes all the fuck over the place which gives the three judges erections to the point that their table lifts off the floor. Gentle readers, may I present to you the contestant who (if she makes it through to the top 12) will receive the most touchdowns, you go girls and you're a star from Mark, Marcia and Kyle respectively, whose backstory will bug the most because it will feature her sister, otherwise known as my least favourite Idol ever and who has just been voted Idol Most Likely To Harsh TallulahBelle's Gig. But. Is it wrong to hate Lavina just because of Emily? Am I tarring her with the same brush as her screeching harpy of a sister? Thats not fair, is it? FINE. Williams sister? You get one Get Out Of Jail Free card. Use it wisely.

Next up is what I like to call The Final Straw. Eliza has auditioned SEVEN times in the last two years. She can't really sing, but her higher register suggests that given a couple of years with a really really good vocal coach, she might be okay at karaoke nights at the local pub. Of course, this being the show that it is, no-one suggests anything of the sort to her. Instead, Kyle is revoltingly snide, Mark berates her for wasting their time and Marcia takes the condescending moral high ground of "I don't need to say anything, do I?" Karma is going to get these three good and I really hope its during a live show but I'm done. I loudly vocalise my intentions next year to not start recapping this show until we're at the Seymour Centre.

Then we finally get some of the good NSW singers, like Irishman Damian who sings that song from Closer when Jude Law is scamming on Natalie Portman from across the street and it always gives me goosebumps because the song is great and this guy? Sings it really well. Damn fine falsetto. Damn. Fine. Then Moulin Rouge dancer Rebecca busts out an okay version of Heaven (she's trilling a bit, but its not that bad), the Nipple Guy presents us with a fantastic R&B voice and JJ plays and sings to us beautifully and busts Kyle's hump in a manner that endears him to me instantly because he doesn't lose his temper or raise his voice, he is calm, he is straightforward and he doesn't take any shit. And don't freak out, but the Last Person To Audition Gets Through Because They Are Completely Unexpectedly Awesome (trademark pending).

And we're in QLD, where everyone hates Kyle and I love everyone. Usual bullshit, Kermit impersonaters, Emily Williams pimpage (more of the same), a chick who sings the entirety of The Rose . . . TWICE . . . and enough Jesusfreaks for everyone to take one home. This show only goes for an hour and it takes us until 7.54 to get to Bobby. Bobby sounds like Jack Johnson and looks like a brunette version of Carrot Top. Honestly, go to the link and look. I'll wait here. See? Uncanny. Bobby is pretty much radio ready, you could stick him in a studio right now and he'd deliver. He's extremely talented, is what I'm saying. As is hard rock seasoned performer Guy, who they show playing with his band. Guy would love to make it to the Opera House and I want to leap through the teev and remind him what show he's on. Has he even heard the tripe they make their winners release? Its not Metallica, its not Def Leppard, hell its not even Bon Jovi. Its Angels Brought Me Here, its Maybe Tonight and its the godawful saccharine piece of shit they gave to Poor Poor Casey.

Albury/Wondonga is our final stop. Thank. God. And you can tell at this point that they're padding the competition to try and make up a hundred finalists, because they let through some really average singers. The first real gem out of AW is auctioneer Mark who is hot in a Shannon Noll kind of way (yep, I can't believe I wrote that either) and does two things that rock my cotton bobby sox. He sings Pearl Jam whilst wearing a Vote for Pedro shirt. Gold.

And then they seriously piss me off. Once again the Last Person To Audition Gets Through Because They Are Completely Unexpectedly Awesome and not only are they unexpectedly awesome, but they just might be one of the best talents I've ever seen on this show and it makes me forget the pain I've suffered through over the five and a half hours of this bullshit audition process. Lisa is too young. She's too too too young, she's just sixteen and she is nervous as fuck, you can hear a tremulous wavering lilt as she sings. But. Her voice is the love child of Edie Brickell and Missy Higgins and she sounds amazing. I don't want another sixteen year old to win this competition but she could do it. She made the sitting through the hours of crap worth it, just to hear her sing. I look forward to hearing more from her at the Seymour Centre.

Which is where we're headed next and it couldn't have come any sooner. I need to go and have a lie down and regroup. Get myself one of those fizzy energy drinks or something because its been an exhausting process and it didn't even last a month like the audition process did last year. Small mercies, right? Praise be to someone.

We were on a BREAK

Dear Australian Idol,

I have something to confess. Now before I do, you need to know that I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. I never thought I was that kind of girl, and I don't know what else to tell you but that I got caught up in the excitement of something fresh, something new and I'm sorry but I think that you need to take on some of the blame. You've let things get old and stale, you never surprise me anymore, we barely talked after last season ended and I need more than that. I've accepted that you are going to foist screaming banshee's like Emily Williams on me, I've accepted that you somehow allowed DeadtomeOnetrickponyLee Harding to record a CD, I've accepted that the trained monkey you hired to replace Dicko is still Kyle Sandilands and I've even accepted that I was wrong about Ricki-Lee, the Young Diva's have forever proven to me that she represents the best of the (currently signed) Idol alumnus. But just because I've accepted this, doesn't mean I'm happy about it.

So.

So . . . I started watching another singing reality tv show. I started watching Rockstar Supernova. The contestants are talented singers, seasoned performers and the judges actually critique them sensibly - well, maybe not Tommy Lee, but come on, he's Tommy Lee, the fact that he can walk and talk at the same time is cause for celebration. And you need to know that whilst Rockstar Supernova is on, I will be watching it and you at the same time and I will be comparing the two and at this point, you're coming off second best, trailing waaaay behind the competition. Now, I watched the audition shows on Sunday and Monday and I have a few problems with the people who made up the first three hours of Australian Idol Season Four. Maybe if we work on these together, we can begin to heal the rift in our relationship.

Okay, so you keep telling me that this season will be different, new age limits, instruments allowed in the audition process, the judges have repeatedly said that they think the competition this year will be the Best One Yet. And I appreciate greatly that you've made it through the first two shows without subjecting me to some deluded twenty year old with pitch problems who sings through their nasal cavity doing their rendition of James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful'. But don't tell me the talent this year is fierce and then take FORTY MINUTES of a two hour premiere to get to someone who can actually freaking sing.

But okay, yes - in Melbourne, do please put a sixteen year old boy who honestly thinks he can sing The Prayer onto my tv and then unleash Kyle fucking Sandilands to CRUSH the childs spirit because it is AWESOME to make sixteen year old kids cry! Its the new black! And then lets perpetuate the myth that if you're from the country you're a) a redneck, b) a country music fan, c) you talk like you've never even fucking heard of the Queen's fucking english or d) you're Shannon Noll. And lets not forget the single mum who gets down on her knees and begs the judges (but really she's talking to Marcia) to let her through, she won't disappoint them, she'll try really hard, really and truly she will!!

And I'm assuming that getting the auditionees at the Alice to do it in the outdoorseyness of the Aussie Outback was just so G and Mathieson could get their schtick on, not that I'm complaining, those two are still the best thing about your show at this point and watching people react to swallowing flies is like the Greatest Hits of Mental Flashbacks of my Pilbara raised childhood. And you did find two sterling singers (although I maintain my long held bitch that sixteen is too young to be on this show) - young Jordan whose sartorial sassyness in the Land of Denim was a welcome detour and Jessica. Wow. This beautiful little girl sang I Have Nothing by Whitney Housten and she nailed it, she sang it better than Ricki-Lee did and RL didn't have to contend with the hot Australian sun, an army of flies and sweat dripping down between her shoulder blades. Kudo's kid.

And in Perth you let Mark tell the CourtJester's supremely talented brother Chris that he wasn't great and you don't know that he's right for the competition? You gave the Bored Musical Guy ten minutes of airtime? You let Stalker Scott sing Fever at Marcia to the point where I wanted to give him a restraining order?

And Adelaide? Oh Adelaide. City of churches, wineries and whackjobs. Whackjob #1 Emma sings Faded by last seasons winner Kate However The Hell You Spell Her Last Name I'm Not Looking It Up to three people who didn't give a damn about Kate, two of whom barely applauded when she won. Whackjob #2 hears voices in her head and they sound like Natalie Bassingthwaite and the Rogue Traders. Whackjob #3 is chess champion Kevin. Now, the brilliant Bobby Fischer, chess champion genius openly claimed that the US deserved the events of 9/11. Bobby Fischer? Still not as crazy as Kevin. WJ#4 Martin isn't wearing underwear or a shirt and is drunk. Right? WJ#5 is 80's lovin' nut Jonathon who firstly disappoints me greatly by not singing a NKOTB song but who cheers me up by getting into a stoush with Kyle. And the coup de grace is Jess who screams at the top of her lungs and is of course warmly welcomed into the top seven hundred by all three judges. See Coulter, Ricki-Lee and Williams, Emily.

And thats the first week of Idol, the good, the bad, the ugly, the Kyle, the oversinging, the trilling, the mimicking other artists, the be true to yourself, the slaughtering, the shimizzle, the refusal to so much as mention that SONYBMG has already dropped their Season Two winner Poor Poor Casey. So you see, Idol dearest, we have a LOT of work to do to make this the Best One Yet. A LOT of work.

Roll up your sleeves. Make it work. Or I'll gladly make Tommy Lee my bitch.

Yours hopefully,
TallulahBelle
xx

Well, duh.

It was reported in the Herald Sun today that Casey Donovan, winner of Australian Idol Season Two, has been dropped by Sony BMG. Poor Poor Casey, who suffered the indignity of releasing the Worst Winners Single Ever and who was mis-managed by her agent and publicist to the point where people forgot she was ever in the competition to start with, will be shopping around her own songs to get a record deal with someone else.

Continuing with the Well That Was Always Going To Happen theme, Michael "Honk If You Hate Republicans" Moore has advised in his latest updated letter (yes, I'm on his mailing list) that George W Bush has very quietly closed down the special section of the CIA that was devoted to catching Osama Bin Laden.

In other startling news, the sky is blue, the earth is round and I think George Clooney is rather handsome. Carry on.

Seven Things

Because I’m lazy and couldn’t be bothered writing something of actual substance**

7 Things I Cannot Do:
1. Watch Dead Poets Society without crying
2. Laugh quietly and unobtrusively
3. Keep my opinions to myself
4. Sit in a cinema whilst people talk behind me without shushing them
5. Algebra
6. Smoke pot. I get intensely paranoid and I greatly dislike that sensation.
7. Save money. Gah.

7 Movies I Watch Over and Over:
1. Jaws (Yeah. Shocker.)
2. Kill Bill volumes one and two
3. Oceans Eleven for what should be plainly obvious reasons.
4. Pride and Prejudice – the BBC miniseries, mmmmmm Colin Firth playing Mr Darcy. Sigh.
5. A Bug’s Life. Favourite quotes are "Francis! Francis! Francis!" and "Just because I'm a lady bug, don't make me a lady" David Hyde Pierce and Dennis Leary are hilarious.
6. Scream One and Two but not Three for some reason, even if Parker Posey is awesome in it as the actress playing Courtney Cox-Arquette's character Gail Weathers. Its not that I hate the third film, its just that I haven't watched it nearly as many times as the first. Maybe its because Randy isn't in the third one except for that video he made that his sister brings to Sydney in LA . . . but Heather Matarazzo plays his sister and she was still uber cool then (this was before The Princess Diaries) . . . you know what, I'm just going to go watch Scream Three now so lets just add it to the list.
7. True Lies – don’t blame me, channel ten keep putting it on.

7 Songs I (currently) Play Over and Over:
1. One Crowded Hour - Augie March
2. Not The Girl You Think You Are – Crowded House
3. Touch The Sky – Kanye West
4. Emaline – Ben Folds Live
5. Army – Ben Folds Live
6. Glorious - Spook
7. Suddenly I See – KT Tunstall

7 Books I Read Over and Over:
1. HitchHikers Guide To The Galaxy Series – Douglas Adams. Not my signed copy, the other copy I have of this book. Yes, I have two copies at the one time. I used to have three . . .
2. The Stephanie Plum books – Janet Evanovich. Although she's starting to lose her way, the last couple have reeked of a desperate money grubbing editor who doesn't care if the storyline is sparse, the book is only 200 pages and the characterisation is getting completely lost. I envision Janet's editor standing over her with a whip screaming 'More books, more books, MORE!!' and laughing hysterically. She's dressed like Cruella De Ville too. The editor, not Janet, Janet is poor stupid dressed in rags scuttlebutt Hugh Laurie from the live action version of 101 Dalmations trying to keep Glenn Close from biting off his nose in a sartorial fit.
3. Anything by Terry Pratchett.
4. Jaws – Peter Benchley. Oh shut up.
5. The Stand – Stephen King. My all time favourite of his books.
6. Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen. Seriously - Fitzwilliam Darcy has RUINED real men for me.
7. The Harry Potter series - JK Rowling. They're getting very exciting, aren't they?! I won't say anything in case you haven't read the most recent book but I freaking love Snape. LOVE.

7 Things That Attracted Me To Blogging:
1. No-one HAS to read my crap, they choose to. You do. Suckers.
2. I can talk ad nauseam about The Clooney and not care if you’re not paying attention.
3. It occasionally gives me something to do during my lunch break when I can’t be bothered moving from my desk.
4. Clooney Clooney Clooney Clooney Clooney Clooney. See?
5. Fosse made me start doing this after it appeared people rather enjoyed my Australian Idol Season Three email recaps.
6. **When I can’t be bothered writing something of actual substance I can steal meme’s from other peoples sites (this particular one was stolen from Purps’ livejournal. *waves* )
7. The union is top notch.
8. I can make up my own rules about things and change direction at whim . . .

Amendment

An amendment to The List.

8.25 Ryan Reynolds (caveat, this applies only to Blade Trinity Ryan Reynolds due to the aforementioned incredible hotness of the beard, the body and the wiseacre)

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz

Hello last day of the financial year, hello clients who don't know their arses from their elbows, hello lack of sleep catching up with me, hello loss of functionality, hello fourth coffee of the day, goodbye proudly held record of sticking to one weak latte a day since The Detox and hellllllllllllllllllllllllooooo coffee buzz.

God I missed you . . .

Whither thou, pirate?

So. Sat down the other night to watch Pirates of the Caribbean, in giddy girlish anticipation of the Yo Ho Ho Fest about to hit our screens with PotC:Dead Man’s Chest and came upon a horrible realisation. My DVD of Curse of the Black Pearl was nowhere to be found. I searched my DVD collection twice. I looked under the tv, behind it, hell, I felt like pulling the screen off and checking inside the telly because when you want to watch Johnny Depp, you freaking want to WATCH JOHNNY DEPP. Right? I have come up with three potential What Happeneds.

One, stealth ninjas broke into my house, rifled through my stuff and took only this DVD (and that Norah Jones CD I haven’t been able to find for a while) deeming it the only DVD worth stealing, because Johnny Depp = hot. They also either broke in while it was nighttime and their torches had low batteries or they didn’t see my copies of Out of Sight and Ocean’s Eleven or they don’t have the normal reaction to Clooney, freaks.

Two, I have lent it to a friend and completely forgotten about it. If you are that friend and are reading this now, I don’t blame you for keeping the DVD and never giving it back because Johnny Depp = hot.

Three, the serious Ai Ya Chi Wumba-ness (say it out loud, go on, you know you want to) of Johnny Depp in PotC smouldering from within what is realistically merely a plastic DVD cover, is so hot that it must be watched at least once a month, lest it spontaneously combust leaving nought but ashes. As it has been a while since I last watched it, this is obviously the most likely explanation and one of my housemates has accidentally vacuumed up what was left without realising it. I will buy a new copy of PotC:Curse of the Black Pearl, have it wrapped in a fire and waterproof blanket and submerse it in a bucket of continuously replaced ice in between viewings.

This all led me to query with myself where I would place Depp on The Clooney Scale of Hotness. He’s obviously higher than ER Clooney, but not as high as Oceans Eleven Clooney, whose DVD is segregated for reasons of professional jealousy on behalf of all other Clooney DVDs.

Without further ado, I present The Clooney Scale of Hotness (ten being the best, one being the worst, although lets face it, Clooney's worst is still better than most people's best.)

10 - Oceans Eleven Clooney - the only thing higher than the Oceans Eleven Clooney is The Tux Clooney and ain't nothing higher than The Tux Clooney. The Tux Clooney is Clooney turned up to eleven.
9 - From Dusk Til Dawn Clooney – yes, he’s a bank robbing, vampire fighting, brother of a sexual deviant scumbag but the tattoo, people. That tattoo is SEX. He also isn’t scared to kill Salma Hayek, one of the sexiest women alive, even after she dances with a snake and pours whiskey down her leg into Quentin Tarantino’s mouth. I mean, I usually have to go have a lie down after I watch that scene and I’m not in the same room as her when she does it.
8.5 - Johnny Depp. Well, that answers that question.
8 - Independent film/risktaking/bit part Clooney – this is almost as perfect as Clooney gets, O Brother, Where Art Thou/Three Kings/Syriana/Perfect Storm/Thin Red Line/Fail Safe/Out of Sight. From an acting/professional point of view, this is his ten but on the hotness scale, he only gets an eight because although talent is very attractive lets face it the only film on this list that is in really seriously dangerously good looking territory is Out of Sight and although I add points for the Soderbergh I deduct them for the JLo.
7 - Directing Clooney - this Clooney? The Confessions of a Dangerous Mind/Good Night and Good Luck Clooney? Makes me a little dizzy, especially when you consider where he came from. This is the Clooney who will one day run for office, causing me to move to America just so I can vote for him.
6 - ER Clooney – the live episode, the punching abusive fathers, the sexiest man alive, getting his aunt Rosemary Clooney, one of the greatest singers ever to appear in an episode, reintroducing the Caesar cut to great foreheads of the world etc - myriad reasons, myriad.
5 - Sense of humour Clooney - c’mon, as the voice of Sparky the gay dog in a Season One ep of South Park? All he does is woof. That shit is GOLD. And Funny Clooney would be higher on the list if I wasn’t still smarting from RomCom Clooney and One Fine Day.
4 - Roseanne Clooney – as Booker on Roseanne, I remember thinking ‘hey, that guy is cute’. Then he disappeared until ER. Still, I’d buy those first few seasons of Roseanne for Booker (and also because Darlene ROCKED).
3 - Batman and Robin Clooney – really, this is higher on the list than it should be, but hey, how can you not love how much shit he gives himself about this now? Seriously?
2 – D Grade sequels that are still better than Peacemaker Clooney - at least you can get a giggle from watching down on his luck, young buck Clooney in Return to Horror High and Return of the Killer Tomatoes! and be rest assured that things – specifically his hair- will get better and so will his acting. It will, young cute darkhaired boy with only a few lines, it will.
1 - Peacemaker Clooney – its been a looooong road to forgiveness. Kidman, get your filthy hands off him.

Where did May go? Specifically May 6th . . .

Dear George,

I am SO sorry I missed your birthday, I can't think what was going on that was so important that I would completely forget to wish you a happy birthday last month. I mean, I have been rehearsing an awful lot recently, as you know I've done three plays since Feb and thats a lot, but still. What kind of besotted fangirl am I?

So as an act of penance I sat through Batman and Robin last night. Yes, the whole thing. Yes, the whole thing.

(Just quietly, and you KNOW I love you beyond reason, but you weren't very good in it. Still a little too Doug Ross-y, I don't think you really shook Dr Ross until Three Kings. But you were still better than Uma, Arnold, Alicia and the Uberking of Boring 'Acting', Chris O'Donnell. And for god's sake Elle Macpherson is in that shitfest. ELLE MACPHERSON. Joel Schumaker - the fucking hack - should have his fingernails removed, surgically reattached and then removed again for the mess he made of Tim Burton's wonderfully Gothic first two films. I refuse to discuss anything involving Val Kilmer.)

Am I forgiven?

If you still require some show of regretful devotion, I will force myself to watch that awful Peacemaker film (and you know how freaking much I hate Kidman, so I personally think that's the equivalent of doing time for murdering your parents.)

Love
TallulahBelle
xx

Vehicularly challenged

Not everyone is good at everything, right? Maybe you can’t cook, maybe you can’t dance. (My cooking is average and dancing? Let me tell you, I used to be able to bust out a fairly awesome Running Man back in the day, now my knees start to ache just at the mere thought of it.)

Me . . . lets see . . . where to start? Well, to my chagrin I STILL can’t read music - two years of guitar, years of choir and singing lessons and nuttin, I consider it a personal failing. I also can’t for the life of me hold a conversation on a phone and I am physically unable to take a compliment. Seriously, try and tell me I look good and I’ll regale you with stories of how much I hate my hair this long/short/colour and I don’t really like my butt in these jeans and do you think I’ve put on weight?

And if you don’t think I look good? Speak now or forever hold your peace, because I’m from The Chandler Bing school of You Can’t Insult Me If I Get There First (Defence Mechanism Masked As Witty Rejoinder). I was their star pupil. I had perfect attendance, I was the class swot, head girl, valedictorian, I graduated summa cum laude with honours, I excelled in The Miranda Hobbes Method of Sarcasm As Cover Fire to the point where they asked me to come back and lecture. Hell, they named a building after me. I’m quick with the self-deprecating put downs and the mocking, is what I’m saying.

But I digress.

My worst ‘Can’t Do That’? She is automobile shaped.

I?! Have done it all, baby. I’ve locked my keys in my car, I’ve left my headlights on all night and I once sat in my (at the time) brand new car (Mazda, nickname GiGi – she’s French) for almost half an hour just trying to work out how to open the hood. (Turns out there's this little latch down by my right knee that I have to pull. The damn thing is HIDDEN, okay? I had to look in the freaking manual and you KNOW how much I hate that.)

Once? I drove my first car (Holden Barina, nickname Sly) for twenty minutes on a stone flat tyre. On the Monash freeway. At 100 clicks an hour. Wondering to myself . . . wha?? . . .whhhhhy is my steering wheel pulling to the left like that? It wasn’t until I stopped at a traffic light and the wheel rim soared over the bonnet that I realised it wasn’t my steering that was the problem. To be fair, I had never experienced a flat tyre before. The awesomeness of it was that as I pulled into work the VERY NEXT DAY, the spare tyre that the RACV guy had changed my flat for? Also expired. Flump. Right down to the rim.

When I lived in Perth and hadn’t had my licence for very long, I must have locked my keys in Sly at least five times in the first six months. PapaBelle became quite adept at breaking into my car. And I am legendary at work for the time I locked my keys in the car whilst it was still running.

Case for the defense : the defendant was driving to work when she indicated to change lanes and heard an electrical ‘bzzzzzt’ noise, which the defendant can only describe as "like a dozen angry college age fratboy bees had taken up residence behind my steering wheel for a kegger and the beer had run out". Thinking that possibly said indicators were no longer working and cognisant of how dangerous that is (I was new to Melbourne so was still used to the Perth method of actually using your indicators when you change lanes, its crazy, I know) the defendant left her car running, flicked the indicator to the right and jumped out of her automobile to confirm. Automatically locking it behind her. The defense rests.
(Luckily, because of the above mentioned past experience, I carry a spare key with me at all times. Unluckily, it was in my handbag, which was still on my passenger side seat. It was YEARS before I was allowed to forget that).

On the plus side, I (like to think) I’m a pretty good driver, just a little vague with the specifics - blown tyre incident notwithstanding. The accidents I’ve been involved in thus far have been at the fault and insurance concerns of the other drivers involved and I’ve only ever gotten one speeding infraction in my 11 or so years behind the wheel, so my record is pretty blemish free and (knock on wood) will hopefully remain that way.

The brilliance of new car GiGi is that she's fairly idiot proof, as not only does she beep at me if I leave my lights on after I’ve removed my key from the ignition, she also beeps at me if I open my car door without removing my key from the ignition. However, she has no such warning beep for when I neglect to correctly utilise the parking brake. So I waltzed merrily out of the house Tuesday morning to find that she was not in her usual spot, but was instead nosed up against our backyard gate. By the grace of the parking gods, she had less than half a metre to roll and didn’t pick up much speed, therefore she only bears a tiny paint scrape as witness to my complete and utter stupidity, my total lack of car sense and the fact that when it comes to automobiles I am a wee bit ‘challenged’.

Oh, and math. Yeah, I don’t get that shit at all.