Numbnut?

I love the national spelling bee. I was fortunate to see this moment live (on ABC).



In a later interview, the contestant-- who was the eventual winner-- said he was relieved the word wasn't "numbnuts" because there are so many ways to spell numbnuts. Either this kid is a brilliant comedian or he has zero sense of humor and isn't aware of any word that doesn't appear in the dictionary.

"Numbnuts. What is the etymology? Numbnuts. Could you use it in a sentence? Numbnuts. Is there any other pronunciations? Numbnuts. K-N-U-M-N-U-T-S... Knumnuts."

Ding!

Rejecting The Sullen Irishman

My husband is scheduled to give blood next Wednesday. I would love to join him in this life-saving gesture but the last time I donated, I was asked never to return by the cranky Red Cross lady with the pointy object. Bitch! I don't think she even gave me a cookie.

It wasn't my fault. I warned her that I might faint. I also told her well in advance that my veins are hard to find. OK, so I forgot to mention that my low blood pressure causes my blood to come out in excruciatingly slow drips but it's not like she had anything better to do than watch a bag fill up with the red stuff.

She was probably more patient with the men who had traveled to sub-Saharan Africa to have sex with monkeys. "Oh, I'm sorry hon, we can't take your blood this time but perhaps when you settle down with a nice girl you can try again. Our door is always open."

In the meantime, I got kicked to the curb.

You would think an exception would have been made for me since my blood type is O-Negative which, for many years, made me a universal donor. According to the Mayo Clinic, that may no longer be the case.

One important note: in the past, type O Blood was given to virtually anyone except those with what was termed 'rare' Blood. Donors of Blood group O were always referred to as 'universal donors.' Today, because of new research and a better understanding of the complex issues regarding immune reaction related to incompatible donor Blood cells, type O Blood is no longer automatically seen as being suitable in most every case.

Ha! I think they cooked up that little theory just to keep me out of the building. (Why aren't there more deli's called The Mayo Clinic?)

My husband and I always remember our blood types through a mnemonic device. I am the Sullen Irishman (O-Negative) and he is the Happy Butcher (AB Positive or "Abe, Be Positive.")

As an AB Positive human he can only give to and receive from his fellow Happy Butchers. Which means I can donate to him but he can't donate to me proving, once again, that I am the more giving half of this coupling.

The Red Cross website claims that every two seconds, a person in America needs blood. I feel bad that I can't be one of the people who helps my fellow citizens in their time of need.

Perhaps next time, I'll wear a helmet so if I hit the floor at least I won't be injured. And maybe I could run up and down the halls beforehand to get my blood pressure up. But, I'll definitely wear earplugs so I won't have to listen to another condescending lecture.

Or I'll just tell her, "In the time it took for you to make me feel bad, 30 Americans needed blood."

For Sale: Iron Lung. Used.

I have three big fears: snakes, iron lungs and finding a snake in my iron lung.

My husband has tried on many occasions to allay my iron-lung-a-phobia by assuring me that iron lungs are no longer in use. Then I read this story.

MEMPHIS, Tenn. - A woman who spent nearly 60 years of her life in an iron lung after being diagnosed with polio as a child died Wednesday after a power failure shut down the machine that kept her breathing, her family said.

Dianne Odell, 61, had been confined to the 7-foot-long machine since she was stricken by polio at 3 years old.

Family members were unable to get an emergency generator working for the iron lung after a power failure knocked out electricity to the Odell family's residence near Jackson, about 80 miles northeast of Memphis, brother-in-law Will Beyer said.

The horror!

This woman was living my nightmare! Somehow it makes it worse to know that she completed high school and wrote a children's book. In my scenario, I don't have time for studying or work. I just spend my days and nights screaming, "Let me out of here!"

The story goes on to say that a spinal deformity made it impossible for her to use a more modern machine. Well, at least I know there are more modern machines.

I'm going to have bad dreams for a week. And I'll never again believe a word my husband says.

Behold The Human Bunny Rabbit!

As a rule, I am not a big fan of caricatures. Mostly because, by their very nature, they deal in exaggeration. I always felt these artists had the ability to turn small insecurities into near-debilitating anxieties by pointing out the grotesque features on one's face.


So, I was a bit nervous when Ryan Landry from Famous Johnny's Comedy Club in Kansas City asked us if he could put marker to paper for what will be his Caricature Wall of Fame.

I have to admit, I'm not as hideous as I had feared and I do like the fact that he put my boobs way up high under my chin. At my age, I have to stand on my head to get them that close to my face.

We shall put this drawing in a frame and hang it above our toilet right next to our marriage certificate. I think it'll make a lovely addition to our "e. coli-brary."

The Great Escape

Just as "It's A Wonderful Life" is perfect Christmas viewing and "The Quiet Man" should only be watched around St. Patrick's Day, "The Great Escape" is the quintessential Memorial Day movie.

This 1963 classic film based on a true story about an escape from a German POW camp has enough humor, tension and humanity to keep even an anti-war zealot entertained.

Plus, it stars Steve McQueen at his absolute hunkiest.

Here is one of my favorite scenes. Each time I watch, I hope that this time... just this time... he gets away.

Last Comic Standing

From now until the finale, my husband and I will be blogging about NBC's Last Comic Standing over at SHECKYmagazine.

If you are a fan of the show, I suggest you don't read our analysis. Sadly, it's rarely positive.

If you are not a fan of the show then I can almost guarantee you'll become a fan of ours.

Along with our in-depth, snarky breakdown of each episode, we provide our readers with inside information not found anywhere else on the web. (We have already printed the names of the 12 finalists, thanks to the best spies in the business!)

We posted our first LCS blog of the season last night. To quote Al Pacino, "We're just getting warmed up!"

Greetings From Kansas City

I missed Idol last night because I was working at a comedy club in David Cook's hometown. I was worried that a local boy in the finals of America's most popular television show would hurt attendance, but 100 people came to our show at Famous Johnny's. I'm not sure if we were the draw or if folks were more interested in the two-dollar all-you-can-eat taco bar, but we, of course, are taking full credit for the packed house.

I clicked on My Yahoo! as soon as we got back to the hotel room and was completely shocked to learn that David C had defeated David A. I wasn't a big fan of Cook. Mostly because these rocker dudes--Cook, Chris Daughtry, Bo Bice-- just seem to be out of place in this corny, Americana singing contest. Once they start singing Andrew Lloyd Webber or big band standards they lose their youthful street cred. Those are the type of songs a real rocker only starts singing when he's obviously too old to rock anymore.

Songwriting champ Regie Hamm received a nice write-up in yesterday's USA Today. I was thrilled that his daughter, who has Angelman's Syndrome, was mentioned. (In earlier posts, I have written about my great-nephew Jake who has the same rare genetic disorder.)

Congratulations to David Cook.

Would You Like To Go Out On A Date?

Twenty-four years ago today, as I was drinking at J.C. Dobb's on South Street in Philly, having my very first date with the man who would eventually be my husband, I never thought it would turn out to be a significant date in my life. In fact, I didn't even think there would be a second date.

As first dates go, it was not a very good one. My date was hungover from a wedding he had been to the night before. As an underage drinker, I was terrified of being "found out" and tossed from the bar. We were there to see his friend's band, The Ambush Bugs and, although I eventually grew to like the lead singer, he is still one of the strangest humans I have ever met. (A mutual friend of ours once saw him comb his hair with a fork.)

For some reason, I agreed to a second date. And here we are 24 years later.

It makes you wonder how many first dates could have turned into long-lasting relationships had the participants given each other a second chance. But, when a first date seems like it's lasting 24 years, that's not always an easy thing to do.

American Idol Finals

It's being billed as the Battle of the Double D's! Can you imagine the disappointment of breast men all around the globe who tune in to see babes with big knockers but instead get a baby-faced crooner and a pseudo rocker in a singing contest.

Michael Buffer-- aka the "Let's Get Ready To Rumble Guy"-- started the show with his trademark call. In his boxing robe, poor David Archuleta looked like he had been playing in daddy's closet.

Ryan Seacrest called them Big David and Little David. Can you imagine the disappointment of pedophiles across the globe who tune in to see... oh wait, they won't be disappointed.

The boxing metaphor was a bit annoying. Jim Lampley, as always, was annoying as well. I just wish they had used the boxing theme when Clay Aiken and Ruben Studdard were in the finals. That would have been hilarious.

Clive Davis picked the first round of songs. I certainly wouldn't trust him with this task, especially after what Davis did to Kelly Clarkson. The man is a menace.

David Cook opened with "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For." What was the orange thing on his hand? It looked like a hospital bracelet.

David Archuleta followed with "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me" which we always call "Don't Let Your Son Go Down On Me." I would have loved to have heard the Mormon kid belt out our version with a straight face. Paula said she had chills. I'm guessing part of it is due to alcohol withdraw.

The finalists got to pick which song writing they wanted to perform.

David Cook chose "Dream Big" by Emily Shackleton. It sounded like the kind of rock song they use for a TV movie of the week or as theme music for a film about a basketball-playing dog.

Archuleta-- or as Seacrest calls him, "Archie"-- picked "In This Moment" by Ryan Gillmore. I think we're going to hear this song over and over and over again at the Summer Olympics. Archuleta was weepy for the second time of the night. I guess he was concerned about where everybody parked. (Yes, that was a callback to last week.)

My husband suggested Archuleta paint eyeballs on his eyelids so he at least appears to be singing with his eyes open. Maybe he keeps his eyes closed because he's sick of looking at Andrew Lloyd Webber in the audience.

Round three is Contestant's Choice.

Cook picked "The World I Know" by Collective Soul. It's a great song. We own the CD. But I think he ripped the balls off the tune. It was a little too sensitive. I prefer a more powerful version. Cook wept at the end. I think he knows he's the runner-up.

(I hope in the off-season, Paula takes clapping lessons.)

Archuleta performed "Imagine" for the second time this season. I wonder if the Mormon church likes him singing the lyrics "Imagine no religion." Perhaps they'd like "Imagine no other religion than the Church of Latter Day Saints" but not this. I can't wait to see him riding around my neighborhood wearing his blue pants and white shirt with his little backpack and helmet spreading the word of his church. Or, will they let him out of his two-year missionary obligation just like they did the Osmonds?

Why did they show both Davids going off-key in the wrap-up clips? That wasn't fair.

Hey, look, it's Reverend Ruben!

I predict David Archuleta is your next American Idol.

Greetings From Arizona 3

My father was a bit worried when we announced we were going to try to hike in 100 plus degree temps. He was quite amused-- yet still concerned-- when we returned a short time later. We didn't last long. I suppose it didn't help that we had consumed most of our water in the car on our way to the trail. If it's too hot to drive around in an air conditioned Cadillac then it's way too hot to walk among the Saguaros.

We did, however, stay long enough to take a picture. I think it looks like a cactus in drag. We really love the asymmetrical boobs and slightly erect genitalia.

It's 109 today. The heat is even driving the local wildlife mad. This morning my husband fished a dead Gecko out of the pool. Minutes later the corpse was approached by a live Gecko who promptly jumped on the deceased and proceeded to wrestle. We couldn't tell if the live Gecko was picking a fight with the dead Gecko or if this was some type of Fraternity-like "rape." "Dude, the Gecko is passed out. It won't remember a thing."

Apparently, the live Gecko was planning on having the dead Gecko for lunch. And you want to trust these creatures for car insurance?

The Reverend Cool

Back in December, on our 19th anniversary, I posted our infamous wedding photo which, to my embarrassment, reveals my left nipple. The picture, oddly enough, has become something of an internet sensation, with perverts all around the globe clicking on the link after googling the words "Nipple Pictures" or "Pictures of Nipples." (It's still a mystery to me, why my image intrigues them when there are so many other truly erotic nipple pictures on the web.)

The photo was taken by the man who joined us in holy matrimony. I feel bad that we didn't give him proper photo credit...or in this case photo blame. Here's what I did write about him five months ago.

Today, my husband and I are celebrating our 19th wedding anniversary. We were joined in holy matrimony on December 2, 1988 on the beach in Hawaii. (A day which will live in infamy.) Officiating was the Reverend Richard B. Elsner who was once a bass player for Dean Martin and the Golddiggers. We're not even sure if our marriage is legal.

The other day, quite to our surprise, my husband received an email from Richard B. Elsner himself! (I'm assuming he found me by googling his own name and not "Nipple Pictures.") Turns out he's now officiating weddings in Las Vegas after moving back to the mainland several years ago. He's going to come to our show when we play the Comedy Club at the Riviera, July 7-13. We're very excited.

He doesn't play the bass professionally anymore, but he was gracious enough to send along some photos from when he was still a performer. In the above photo, he is backing-up the late Don Ho along with two of his sisters and his brother-in-law. (Elsner is on the right.) Don't you just love the groovy outfits?

We couldn't have been married by a cooler guy. We can't wait to see him. It'll be a nice way to celebrate our 20th year. I'm just sorry we never became big stars. If we had, he could have used us in his advertising.

Greetings From Arizona 2

A cold front has moved into the Southwest causing the temperature to plummet to a brisk 90 degrees. At least that's what the forecasters say-- and they somehow manage to say it with a straight face. If the temp reaches 90 in New Jersey, broadcasters give us tips on how to keep cool (Drink water? Who would have thought?) and advise the viewing public to look in on elderly neighbors.

My dad lives on a golf course complex at the foot of the White Tank mountains. It's quite a beautiful setting.

Mornings are spent hiking/running the various mountain trails. (I'm concerned about the No Hunting signs posted at the trail head. Just what kind of creature might I encounter that's worth hunting?)

Afternoons are spent lounging by the pool. (I miss Mexican beer! Damn GERD!)

Evenings are spent in side by side overstuffed lounge chairs watching HIGH DEF TV on a 42 inch screen. (I still can't work the remote without assistance.)

Not a bad way to spend a week.

My favorite thing to do when I visit is sit in the shade and read. On this trip, I'm reading "Blood and Thunder: An Epic of the American West" but Hampton Sides. It's the story of Kit Carson and Manifest Destiny and the settling (some say stealing) of the western half of our country. It's a great book and it seemed like an appropriate choice for a week in Arizona.

Occasionally, my peaceful reading will be interrupted by fighter jets coming out of Luke Air Force Base. Every 30 minutes or so, folks in my dad's development get their own private air show as planes streak by in two's, three's and four's. Some of the neighbors are probably annoyed by the practice runs but I think it's exciting.

This weekend we're going to hit 100. I guess it's time to put away the parkas.

American Idol 4/14/08

Andrew Lloyd Webber is still hanging around? Doesn't he have a day job?

Ryan Seacrest, prude that he is, pointed out to Paula that her cleavage wasn't exactly family friendly. I thought it was interesting that she chose a tear-drop necklace as an accessory. Usually the only thing in her cleavage is drool... or actual tear-drops.

David Cook is a good sport. Making the rocker sing and dance to "Ain't No Stopping Us Now" could have been devastating to his bad boy image, but he swayed his hips and belted out the tune like a man who is willing to sell his soul to be the next American Idol.

I think the Ford Focus "How Far Is Heaven" commercial would have been much more realistic if, in David Archuleta's success fantasy, his father had been nearby counting his money.

I missed last night's episode because I was on a plane so I have no idea who deserves to go home. But I pray it's Syesha.

Speaking of annoying, when did Fantasia go from passionate to strident? The look on Simon's face while she was performing was priceless. The slack-jaw, the rolling eyes... I think he summed up our feelings exactly. But her hair really made me want to eat a candy apple.

When a weepy, overwhelmed Archuleta looked at all the people at the mall and said, "Where did they park?" I thought that was one of the funniest and most honest lines I have ever heard. Where did they park? He's not 17, he's 71.

Syesha reminded me why I dislike her so much when she said, "I just really want to share my gift with the world." Her ego and arrogance astound me. Trust me, she couldn't care less where people parked.

Out of all the contestants, David Cook carries himself most like a celebrity. He's seems comfortable in the situation he's found himself in but even he became teary. I think all three of the finalists are completely exhausted. (Self-promotion moment: My husband and I are going to be performing in Cook's hometown, Kansas City, next week at Famous Johnnys.)

Gosh, Paula is profound. Simon makes more sense with the word "humdinger" than she does with an entire sentence.

Syesah is gone! The world will no longer be able to share in her gift. Oh well, I'm sure she'll become a household name just like last year's third place contestant Melinda Doolittle. (Yes, the sarcasm light is flashing.)

Next week, it's a battle of the Davids!

Greetings From Arizona!

No, that's not a picture of me. It's the infamous Jennifer Love Hewitt bathing suit photo that caused quite the stir awhile back. Since I am about to put on a bathing suit for the first time since August, I plan to use this picture as inspiration. If a young starlet can look all jiggly and wiggly in public then, by golly, so can I!

Men have no idea how traumatic bathing suit season can be for many women. Sadly, most of us are like the cartoon character Cathy who emerges from the fitting room each spring and thinks, "Argh!" or "Egads" or whatever animated people are yelling in thought balloons these days.

This year, however, I actually tried to prepare for this day. Thanks to Glucosamine and Chondroitin, I've been running and lifting weights. I've been doing squat thrusts and thrust squats and kumquats and all those horrible exercises that all the weepy chubtastic folks on Biggest Loser are forced to do.

Yet, after months of training, nothing's changed. In fact, I may look slightly worse than this time last year. It's quite demoralizing.

But, I am determined not to let my failure ruin our good time. We're out here in Arizona visiting my dad. He has a great pool and I plan to splash around while scantily clad no matter how jiggly and wiggly I look.

If anybody says I look fat, I'll just use Jennifer Love Hewitt's comeback, "A size two is not fat!" Of course, I'm not a size two, but, then again, neither is she. But she's right, a size two is not fat.

I'm just happy to be back in 95 degree temps. The weather in New Jersey has been more depressing than a Paula Cole CD.

Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 11

I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)

Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.

Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.



Michelle Monaghan

Rejected: Her movie isn't Oscar ready, but she is.

Rejected: Once you go black, you never go back.

Janet Jackson

Rejected: She's starring in "Oil Change: The Musical."

Rejected: Add feet and she'd look taller.

Lindsay Lohan

Rejected: It's showgirl meets paratrooper.

Rejected: Fredrick's of Rehab.

Kelly Osbourne

Accepted: Her dog has a coat that says ARF, ARF, ARF.

Rejected: How can a sarong be so wrong?

The Music Of Our Lives

People whose job it is to treat the elderly have determined that music therapy can help greatly reduce stress in many Alzheimer's patients. Some researchers argue that familiar songs from their past-- especially from the time in their late teens/early 20's-- are particularly helpful.

I have to wonder, what are the implications for the middle-aged folks of my generation? In 40 years, will some burly, under-paid, nurse's aid try to force feed me pudding while I to listen to Frankie Goes To Hollywood?

What if the well-meaning nursing home staff doesn't pick songs from the era I actually like? What if they try to calm me by playing "Walk Like An Egyptian," "Rock Me Amadeus" or "Safety Dance?" What if they insist on tying me to the bed and playing Kajagoogoo's Greatest Hits over and over again? Kajagoogoo only had one hit! How do they expect me to relax?!

So, I have decided that while I am still of sound mind and body, I will prepare for my not-so-golden years by making an Alzheimer's mix tape.

I will create my own compilation of tunes from the '80's that I am certain will bring me comfort when I'm in my 80's.. I'll concentrate-- as the experts suggest-- on the mid-1980's, from ages 18-23... voting to marriage.

Some of the songs I'll include are "The Glamorous Life" Sheila E, "In My House" Mary Jane Girls, "I Didn't Mean To Turn You On" Robert Palmer, "Word Up" Cameo, "Something So Strong" Crowded House, "Wishing Well" Terence Trent D'Arby and "Overkill" by Men At Work.

I'll add any song by XTC and Squeeze... Prince and the Revolution but not Prince without the Revolution... The Talking Heads and Elvis Costello... The B-52's but not "Rock Lobster."

No John Cougar Mellencamp, no Guns 'N Roses and no Wham/George Michael. No Kenny Loggins, no Brian Adams and definitely no Madonna.

Gosh, I'm feeling more serene already. And I have a hankering for some pudding.

Maybe if I'm lucky, Men At Work's Colin Hay will be a resident at the same retirement home and he'll have just enough memory to crank out a kick-ass acoustic version of one of his many hits.

Unhappy Mother's Day

My husband received a very sweet email from a comic friend of ours concerning his mother's recent passing. She said, as she was writing a Mother's Day card to her own mother, she thought about how difficult this holiday must be for him. It was quite touching.

Mother's Day is indeed a difficult time for many of us. My own mother spent her last Mother's Day on life support and died shortly after. Consequently, I have spent the last 22 Mays in a melancholy haze.

Yet, I am annoyed by those nitwit publicity seeking do-gooders who every few years manage to convince a reporter that America needs to outlaw Mother's Day. All those Hallmark, Kodak and Zales' commercials are hurtful, they say, to women who are infertile or to folks, like us, who have lost their mothers.

Get over it, I say. We all have pain but we shouldn't let our personal trauma interfere with the joy of others.

To those of you who are mothers or who are lucky enough to have your own mothers still with you, I wish you a happy Mother's Day. For those of you who spend a few minutes worrying about how people like us feel, I thank you. Your compassion proves that your mothers raised you correctly.

"Flip Her Over, I Want A Pony"

Michelle Duggar, 41, is pregnant with her 18th child.

Do you hear that noise? That's this woman's uterus hitting the floor.

The eldest child is 20 and the youngest is still an infant. In between, there are 15 kids, including two sets of twins.

Seventeen children, all living under one roof, yet somehow Mr. and Mrs. Duggar still find time to do the nasty.

The Duggars should serve as an inspiration to all parents who claim to be too tired or too stressed or too busy to get...well, you know...busy.

If they can do it...and do it...and do it...then you can do it.

I think all of us ladies want to ask Mrs. Duggar the same questions. Do you even feel anything down there anymore? Is your husband blessed in the girth department? When you're making love--or in your case, making babies--do you fantasize about famous sterile men like Tom Cruise?

Since God-fearing folks aren't big into the public sex talk, I guess we'll never know.

But you do have to admire this woman's vagina. It bounces back more often than Robert Downey Jr.'s career.

Clean Music

I accidentally washed my MP3 player the other day. Normally, I'm good about checking our pockets, but the prospect of doing seven loads of laundry in one afternoon seem to overwhelm me, leading to this inexcusable mistake.

I was already having one of those days so this was just the type of incident that could have sent me over the edge.

My husband, sensing my emotional teetering, immediately jumped into action becoming an MP3 EMT of sorts.

He shook it, blew on it a few times and then...tossed it into the oven.

It worked.

I'm not sure if any of these methods were ever employed during product testing, but now, because of my stupidity and my husband's MacGyver-like instincts, the world now knows it is possible to run an MP3 player through a wash cycle and then bake it at a low-temp until crispy on the outside and moist on the inside.

It rained during my walk today, but I wasn't worried about my little MP3 friend. After what it had been through, this was a walk in the park-- actually, it was quite literally a walk in the park.

I workout to a pretty eclectic mix of music. Today I listened to Steely Dan, Elvis Costello, James Brown, Dwight Yoakam (singing Buck Owens), Henry Mancini, Thelonious Monk, Junior Brown, G Love & Special Sauce and OMC (not to be confused with OMD.)

I had to start listening to music while I walk because every time I'd pass the spot at the lake where the family of muskrats live, I would get the song "Muskrat Love" stuck in my head-- The Captain and Tennille version, not the America version.

Here's New Zealand one-hit wonders OMC's "How Bizarre." Hearing this song makes me want to become a backup singer.

American Idol 5/7/08

Do the producers of American Idol write Ryan Seacrest's opening line weeks in advance? Why else would Finhead say, "It was one of our most dramatic shows so far. They sang from the heart." Seriously?

Was Castro singing from the heart when he booted Bob Dylan lyrics? Dylan is only known as one of the great poets of the early rock era! It's like forgetting the words to Martin Luther King's "I Have A Dream" speech. "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and yada yada yada...something, something, something...all men are created equal."

Interesting that Seacrest gave Randy Jackson grief for his critique of Mercado's version of "A Change Is Gonna Come." Jackson was right, her performance was weak. I think the non-African-American judges felt guilty criticizing an African-American who was singing a civil right's song. Jackson, on the other hand, was able to view the performance objectively without the pressure of political correctness.

The group song was Steely Dan's "Reeling In The Years." I saw Steely Dan perform a year ago in Atlantic City and they were amazing. The woman sitting behind me, however, was a little too enthusiastic. At one point, she actually yelled to Donald Fagen, "I named my cat after you!" I'm sure that was the most exciting moment in Fagen's career.

David Archuleta is the first to be declared safe. I, of course, was kidding yesterday when I said he would be eliminated. But I sort of hoped it would happen just to make this year even stranger than it's already been.

The Idols got to fly to Vegas on a private plane. Can hookers and bottles of Cristal be far behind?

David Cook was the second to be named safe. I still think the two Davids will be in the finals... the pseudo rocker and the baby face crooner.

I've seen Maroon 5's lead singer give some pretty bad live performances in the past. His duet with Stevie Wonder a few years ago was Nelly Furtado bad. (They both have good recording voices but should limit themselves to the studio.) Tonight, at least, he reached the level of mediocre. But he should give some of the Idols hope. Levine is proof that with the right look and the right marketing, it's possible to be a mega-star.

Next up was Season 4 runner-up Bo Bice. Bice is proof that even massive exposure on America's most popular television show doesn't guarantee you'll be a mega-star. While Season 4 winner Carrie Underwood is counting her millions, Bice counts how many of his phone calls haven't been returned. He's one of those guys who always looks stoned...or he's one of those guys who is always stoned. Hard to say.

Jason Castro and Syesha Mercado found themselves quite understandably in the bottom two.

Jason Castro is out! I thought he was very gracious and funny in the face of elimination. I'm also amazed that he made it as far as he did. American Idol is all about versatility. Jason Castro is not versatile. But he just may have a career...as long as he doesn't cut his hair.

Here's Steely Dan singing "Reeling In The Years" in 1978 on, my favorite show at the time, The Midnight Special. It's worth it just to see a much younger Bill Cosby doing the intro.

American Idol 5/6/08

It's really embarrassing on Idol when the cameraman cuts to a former contestant sitting in the audience but, for the life of me, I can't remember the person's name. "Hey," I think to myself, "there's that guy who sucked from a long time ago."

Tonight's theme is the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. Methinks the producers are running out of ideas.

David Cook chose Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf." I can only assume people all over America were thinking, "Duran Duran is in the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame?" Why does Paula continue to make mildly sexual comments to the male contestants after she barely survived the alleged affair with Corey Clark years ago? If it wasn't sexual then her "Your Hungry Like the Wolf gave me an appetite" or whatever the heck she said, was really lame.

For his second song, Cook picked The Who's "Baba O'Riley" which most people call Teenage Wasteland. I thought he was going to end the song by saying, "Let's hear it for the bride." Inexplicably, the judges liked his performance. Paula was "humbled to sit here and watch your soul." Perhaps next year the producers can hire a smart person to dub in her lines.

Syesha Mercado talks about herself in the third person just a little too much for my liking. For her first song, she-- or as she would say Syesha-- chose Tina Turner's "Proud Mary." In the pre-performance interview, Mercado said she was worried about the choreography. Her dancing proved she had reason to be. Never let yourself be compared to Tina Turner. There's a reason Ms. Turner is in the Rock 'N' Roll Hall of Fame.

"A Change Is Gonna Come" by Sam Cooke was her second choice. Only Syesha Mercado could take a song from the Civil Rights movement and somehow twist it to be an anthem for her journey as a singer. Plus only an egotistical nitwit could be brought to tears by a Paula Abdul compliment. Most people can't even understand what she says.

Jason Castro said that he recognized a few of the songs from the Hall of Fame list. A few? I'm really annoyed that none of these kids seem to know their pop history. He picked Bob Marley's "I Shot The Sheriff." He should have picked something else. Simon was right when he said the only similarity is the hair. Perhaps they also have ganja in common. What else could explain his decision.

From the beginning, it was obvious that Jason Castro bears a striking physical resemblance to Bob Dylan so it sort of made sense that he picked "Mr. Tambourine Man" for his second song. But, I doubt Dylan would ever forget the words and fill it in with a La-La-La-La. I don't think I've ever seen a contestant flame out on two songs in one night.

David Archuleta actually did Ben E. King proud with his rendition of "Stand By Me." That little munchkin kicked some Idol ass.

How could Archuleta not be familiar with Elvis Presley's "Love Me Tender"? I don't care if he is twelve. But, I have to give him credit for managing to do an Elvis song without sounding anything like The King. That is not easy to do.

Usually American Idol becomes more and more exciting as the finals approach but, this year, it's getting more and more boring. Besides David Archuleta, the only good thing on tonight's show was Paula's hair and those are probably extensions.

Predictions: David Archuleta will be voted off, making this year even more ridiculous than the Taylor Hick's season.


More Idol chatter at humor-blogs.

Please Keep Your Table Conversation To A Minimum

I am always amazed by people who go to a comedy club or a movie or a play or a concert and talk throughout the entire proceedings. I've been annoyed by these boorish humanoids as both a performer and an audience member.

They just sit there, seemingly oblivious to the entertainment that's happening right in front of them and drone on and on about their kids, or their significant others or their recent trip to Aruba. They talk about groceries, soccer games and automobile repairs. They gossip about their neighbors, analyze sport's teams and plan their next get-together. The laughter of the crowd doesn't stop them. Shooshing by other audience members doesn't stop them. Being asked politely by management doesn't stop them. They just continue to talk as if they are in their own living rooms and not in a public place filled with attentive people.

My husband usually sums it up nicely by saying, "May I help you shut the f**k up?"

What's even more mystifying is how indignant they become when they are finally asked to leave. Most times they want their money back. Most times they claim they talked because the "show sucked." Most times they are adamant that somehow they are the ones who have been victimized even though they just ruined the night for everybody else.

If you're going to spend nine bucks for a movie, 15 bucks for a comedy club, 30 bucks for a play or, in some cases, 100 bucks for concert tickets, you think you would at least pay attention long enough to see if you've spent your entertainment dollar wisely. These people just want to talk. It makes you wonder: Why they don't go to a restaurant? People don't mind if you talk at a restaurant.

As a performer, I always feel bad for the audience members who have spent their hard-earned money hoping to have a good time only to have their experience greatly diminished by uncouth strangers who can't focus on anything more than six inches from their rude little faces.

As a paying customer, I always feel bad for the performer who is, no doubt, frustrated by the constant chatter and unable to give the best performance possible.

My only hope is that someday their kid's recital will be ruined by some loudmouth on a cell phone and they'll finally understand how the rest of us feel.

Moses Supposes His Toeses Are Roses

As I sat in the Pittsburgh airport this morning, waiting to board a flight home to Philly, I amused myself by counting the number of flip-flops I saw. Flip-flops, it seems, have become the shoe of choice for American travelers.

It used to be that flip-flops were reserved for the beach or, at least, for places that are located very near the beach, but mandatory shoe removal at security has turned our nation's airports into one giant Club Med.

Only the elderly seem to be immune to this trend. Sometimes you'll see an entire flip-flop family. Young and old, rich and poor, male and female...folks of every nationality are shuffling around the terminals looking more like people in search of a public shower than the correct gate for their departing flight. It's disturbing.

Why can't they wear easily removed loafers or sandals or sneakers with velcro? Why must they subject the rest of us to bad pedicures, roughed-up heels and hairy big toes?

I think the terrorists have won!

Besides being aesthetically unappealing, it's not safe. Have you ever tried to run in flip-flops? It's not easy. Your footwear decisions should be based on fleeing the aircraft in the event of a crash, not on whether you can get through airport security 20 seconds faster.

Now that we've entered the summer travel season, this craze will no doubt grow in popularity. Be prepared for flip-flops with shorts, flip-flops with skirts, flip-flops with matching velour pants and jacket. Can flip-flops with bathing suits be far behind?

I'll stick with my sneakers, thank you very much. And I will use those very sneakers to kick the flip-flop wearing brigade out of my way as I flee the fireball and head for the exit. While they're busy blowing out their toe hair, I will have run a safe distance from the burning wreckage. Well, first I'll stop to help the old ladies. At least they all had the sense to wear Cobbie Cuddlers.

Do Not Enter

Ladies, there's a big, fat, stinky difference between a handicapped parking space and a handicapped bathroom stall. An able-bodied person who parks in a handicapped parking space will receive a fine. An able-bodied woman who parks her butt on a handicapped public toilet will only receive the relief that comes with going number one or number two.

But, for some reason, there are a frightening number of woman who believe that handicapped bathroom stalls are not merely accessible to the disabled, but exclusive.

At a Philadelphia Airport women's room yesterday morning, I once again encountered this strange breed of uninformed yet overly-caring females.

As I entered the crowded ladies room and dutifully stood in line, I quickly realized that two handicapped stalls were unoccupied. In the past, I had tried to assess why.

The first time I found myself in this situation, I asked the women in front of me if they had planned on using these stalls. "Oh no," one woman said with a straight face, "they're handicapped." The second time, instead of inquiring, I suggested that the next woman in line head for the handicapped stall. My idea was met with icy stares.

Since then I've learned to keep my trap shut, bypass the line and just head for the stall with the big doors and the parallel bars. I figure if I'm going to be viewed as evil anyway, I might as well at least have an empty bladder. (The next time, I plan on giving a speech. From inside the stall. They have great acoustics, which will really enhance my oratory skills.)

I'm happy that public bathrooms are now wheelchair accessible. I can't imagine how hard life must have been for a wheelchair bound person back in the days of tiny doors. But, if they were meant solely for use by disabled people there would be a sign that says, "Handicapped Use Only. Violators Will Be Subject To A Fine."

Of course, I would never push a disabled person out of the way to use the stall but I think that goes without saying. I would also never use a handicapped toilet if a non-handicapped toilet were available. But, if I'm standing in line and there are no disabled women in sight, you'll know where to find me.