And Now, A Word From Our Fun, Sexy Sponsors

We here at What A Fun, Sexy Time For You would like to take a moment to thank the sponsors of Tuesday night's Idol Offering: "The First Group of Twelve Butchers Songs That Were Recorded ... Sometime".

The scintillating cavalcade of stank was made possible by grants from the following:

• Hoover
• Eureka
• Oreck
• Jenna Jameson
• Sinusitis
  
• Mosquitoes
• Bill O'Reilly
  
• Monica Lewinsky
• Stale Coffee
• Black Holes
• ATM fees
• Rush Limbaugh
• Bullies
• PMS
• Ringworm (Psoriasis! Tetter!)
  
• SPAM
• Migraine Headaches

That show could only have been brought to us by a group of sponsors whose collective SUCK runs a distant second to the great and powerful SUCK brought to us by this group of ne'er-sing-wells and their oh-so-creative interpretations of Songs That Have Ever Been On The Billboard Charts (way to narrow it down, there, Idol producers).

With only a couple of exceptions -- and, yes, I mean you, Danny Gokey and your didn't-blow-me-away-but-it-was-still-OK-for-me-for-you rendition of Hero, and you, Alexis Grace, even though your voice is thin and your hair and alabaster skin and overall perk will likely be working my last nerve within two weeks -- every single performance was just oozing, nay DRIPPING, with mediocrity.

So, I ask you. No, I implore you, Idol Contestants. For the love of all that is right and holy: GET. IT. TOGETHER.

Missouri Loves Fun, Sexy Company

So, yo.

After last night's death march through the scorching streets of Phoenix, I had dug deep, preparing myself for the horrors that awaited me in the second offering of auditions for this, the 8th season of the joy that is American Idol. I had embraced all of the breeding that my Southern-fried mama has instilled in me by setting my expectations VERY low (it almost always assures you of being pleasantly surprised).

You know what? I was.

Kansas City, while certainly serving up its share of hot messes, had quite a number of folks who can say, with confidence, that "it" was brough'en!

I need to get something off my chest, however, before I delve any deeper into tonight's standouts:

If I NEVER hear Somewhere Over The Rainbow again, it will be too soon. There. I've said it. YES. I'll grant you that it's a great song. But it's been far-too-often butchered and used as a weapon against the eardrums of innocent souls like myself. Seriously ... what did I ever do to that song that would make it hate me so very, very much? It should be banned from AI, along with Something to Talk About and Black Velvet, as well as the collective songbooks of Mari-ugh Carey, Whitney 'Crack Is Whack' Houston, and Stevie Wonder (not that I disparage Mr. Wonder in the least).

*steps down off of soapbox*

Where was I? Oh, right. Kansas City.

• Ashley Anderson. While she might not be the BEST singer ever to appear on this show, she's surely one of the craftiest. She opted to sing a Leona Lewis song, which, coincidentally, was penned by one Simon Cowell. Even though she muffed the words a little, she was in like Flynn. A note, however: I don't care if you ARE 6'4", it's not necessary to wear earrings so large that a Shih Tzu could jump through them.
• Casey Carlson. She is the poster child for all-American cuteness. She went to the Carrie Underwood School for Middle-American Wholesomeness (and doubtless graduated summa cum laude). She has a decent voice, though she could give John Moschitta a run for his fast-talking money.

As a side note, I need to mention that this show may have the greatest editors ever to walk the planet. Tonight's Montage of Tears was one of the funniest things I've seen in a while.

• Von Smith. I'm going to overlook the fact that he hurt my feelings by singing The Song That Shall Not Be Named (see above) because he's got real potential. He's either going to go VERY far, or he'll crash and burn right away. Hard to tell. But he's got something.
• Michael Castro. Ahhh ... nepotism. Gotta love it. The 20-year-old brother of last year's 4th runner up, Jason "I Wish I Was Jack Johnson" Castro, just started singing about 3 weeks prior to the audition. And you know what? He wasn't bad. He sang a Gavin DeGraw song, which probably wasn't such a good idea, but at least he didn't sing I Don't Want To Be, which should be retired, along with the rest of the of songs listed above.
• Matt Breitzke. He's sort of a loveable teddy bear type. He's a welder; another real man's man (like last night's oil derrick guy). For me, he was kind of ahead of the game, because he chose to sing Ain't No Sunshine, which is one of my mostest favoritest songs of all-time. He was NOT BAD. Not GREAT, but not bad.
  
• Jessica Furney. She's another one of those sweet n' wholesome farm-raised, milk-fed types. Cute. As. A. Button. And she sang the tar out of some Janis Joplin, so she scored major points right there.
• Danny Gokey. Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny. Even if you didn't look like the second coming of Robert Downey, Jr., you'd have me completely sold. THIS guy is the real deal. He's got everything. If there's one place THIS Danny is NOT going, it's to the lumberyard. He's got Top 10 written all over him, easy. LOVE. HIM.
  
• Anoop Desai. He's the Freshmaker. Refreshingly geeky, curiously talented. He's like a musical Altoid.
  
• Asa Barnes. Junior High School band leader. Even though he sang a Michael Jackson song (something that generally falls under the heading of "Not The Best Idea"), I liked this guy. Totally unpretentious, good role-model type and totally self-effacing. And he can actually sing (which is a bonus in a show that is, ostensibly, about singing talent).
• Lil Rounds. Sounds like something that doctors do on their off-hours, or some newfangled dog treat, but no, it's actually a name. She's another one who is gonna get a big dose of sympathy vote, because she has a Sad Story. She's got a really good, strong, truly soulful voice and I think she'll be right in the thick of things til close to the end.
  

In all, 27 folks got the nod to go on to Hollywood, most of them actually deserved it, I think. Certainly more so than Bikini Girl (who, in the immortal words of Jon Stewart, needs a cunch to the pooter).

Fingers crossed that the next two weeks will be as merciful as tonight's romp through KCMO!

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It's Fun, It's Sexy ... It's Phoenix!

So, it's like, minus eleventy degrees here on the East Coast and watching last night's Season 8 Premiere of American Idol and its crop of auditioners from hot, steamy Phoenix has left me more than a little embittered.

But this isn't about me, now, is it?

This is about the giant, sucking musical void that apparently exists in the state of south-central Arizona. We'll call it the Grand Abyss. Let's examine what went down, shall we?

First and foremost, I've gotta say that I have something of a girl-crush on new, and 4th, judge Kara (pronounced CARE-a, not CAR-a) DioGuardi, simply because (A) she clearly has some chops and (B) she had the brass tacks to call one of the female contestants a word that generally doesn't go over well with women (see #8 below). She's gonna bring a whole new brand of crazy to the judges table. Fine family fun.

Other than that, I had a few observations:

(1) The Coca-Cola Company would like to remind you to recycle.
(2) Emily Hughes was one of two bright spots among the smallish group of auditioners who have made it through to the Hollywood round, but will likely go no further. She sang the CRAP out of Barracuda (which is no small feat). Let's hope her life plan of covering herself with as many tattoos and piercings as possible, in order to keep herself away from a desk job, works out for her.
(3) Having a seismically-low deep bass voice does NOT make you Barry White. Too bad for Elijah Scarlett.
(4) Sometimes, being likeable is enough. Just ask Michael Sarver, manly-man oil rig worker and overall nice guy.
(5) Lea Marie Golde, the nasally DioGuardi stalker, reminded me a heckuva lot of Lara Flynn Boyle's "psycho hosebeast" character from Wayne's World. She had the cute, Ivory Girl face, but her eyes said "helter skelter!"
(6) As far as Simon Cowell is concerned, a healthy knowledge of world geography has direct bearing on your ability to make it as a pop star. Lucky for Alex Wagner-Trugman (aka Mold Boy), he was a brainiac (c'mon ... he pulled Abkhazia!) and, since he had gotten himself, quite literally (figuratively, too, I'm guessing), out of the closet, earned himself a ticket to "The Show".
(7) There were TWO bright spots to be found in the endless parade of suck. The first was tattoo girl. The second was Scott McIntyre, or the person who's gonna end up being known as "the blind guy". His voice was great, and if he gets a chance to play his piano during the competition, it's gonna be game, set and match.
(8) I'm not going to mention her by name, because that would validate her existence, but Bikini Girl needs to be punched in the hoo-hah. Seriously.

So, that's it for me for Phoenix. Tonight, we're on to Kansas City: home of ribs, great chili and David Cook. With luck, SOMEONE will show some promise. Or at least share a good recipe for BBQ.

Sweatin' to the Funness & Sexiness

Is this some sort of new fitness regimen that Richard Simmons has dreamed up? Deal-A-Poonanny?

Fun! Sexy! Truthy!

Ahhhh ... The Holiday Season is over. Officially. I say again, "Ahhhhh!"

Ask anyone who knows me and they'll tell you that there is no one who loves Christmas -- the whole holiday season, actually -- more than I. I love the lights. I love the tradition. I love the 75% OFF, EVERYTHING MUST GO, GO, GO! sales at every turn. But even I have my limits. And I, for one, am delighted to turn the page and see what January will bring.

The Golden Globes!
American Idol!
The Oscars!
Other stuff I don't really care about!

There are two things, however, about which I am most excited in this new year: the returns of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert to the airwaves. I depend on these two stalwarts of journalism to keep me abreast of the latest goings-on on this big blue marble we call home. Their extended holiday vacations left me woefully (or is it blissfully) uninformed and forced me to turn to hacks like John King and David Gregory to get my "facts".

For the remainder of this week, Jon Stewart's guests will be the brilliant, fun, possibly sexy, definitely awesome Rachel Maddow (who looks curiously like Elvis Costello) and White House Press Secretary Dana Perino (which will doubtless be nothing short of glorious). On Colbert, you'll see Benicio "Mushmouth" Del Toro and author Lawrence Lessig.

I'm glad you're back, gentlemen. A sense of peace, harmony and factose intolerance has returned to my life.

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Crisis in the Senate - Deliberative Disorder

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Better Know a District - Utah's 3rd - Jason Chaffetz

Colbert at Christmas
Colbert Christmas DVD

Green Screen
Bill O'Reilly Interview

Talk To The Fun, Sexy Hand!

I've made no secret of the fact that I find The View to be vapid and patently unwatchable (sorry, Augie ... I know how you feel about Joy Behar's smooth n' velvety voice). I actually think its existence is one of the signs of the End of Days, sort of like Jimmy Dean Pancakes & Sausage On A Stick (there just aren't enough meats on sticks) or the presence of Sarah Palin on a Presidential election ticket.

Where was I? Oh, right. Daytime talk show drivel.

Yesterday, the show where seemingly-intelligent women go to fester and rot dealt me a moment of pure, unadulterated, laugh-out-loud glee. It would seem that Sherri Shepherd (the current, and probably just as disposable, Star Jones, who apparently thinks the world is flat) and her son did their best to annoy the crap out of Jeremy "Let's Hug It Out, Bitch" Piven on a recent flight from somewhere to somewhere (I feel for you, Mr. Piven).

While it was no real revelation that this woman is vehemently vexatious, I DID discover one tiny thing: I might actually have a glimmer of respect for Baba Wawa. Her flat-out, audaciously derisive reaction to Ms. Shepherd's little anecdote is glorious. You GO, you bitter ol' thing, you!

Fun, Sexy Gift Idea (SO Much Better Than A Chia Pet)

Christmas is next week (maybe you've heard that). If you're like me, you're still scurrying around trying to find that extra-special something-something for your extra-special someone. You go from store to store thinking,
"Chia head?" No.
"Julianne Hough's Holiday CD?" Uhh ... No. "Life-size LEGO replica?" Though that would quite the conversation-starter, NO. I think, however, I've found just the thing: it's soft, it's compact, and, best of all, 100% of the proceeds from its sale go to charity.

You guessed it. It's snot.

You can own your very own piece of celebrity mucus. Scarlett Johansson, currently infected with a cold she caught from cool cat (and co-star in the craptacular The Spirit), sneezed into a tissue on The Tonight Show and is auctioning it off on eBay.

Will this be the start of a whole new celebrity germ culture (no pun intended)? What will be next on the blocks? Earwax-laden Q-Tips from the bathroom of Nicole Kidman? Belly button lint from TomKat? Used dental floss from Heidi & Spencer?

Is this a great country, or what?

It's BAAACK!

Ahhh ... you can smell it in the air, can't you? The scent of low-to-moderate grade cheese? That's because American Idol returns to your homes and hearts in precisely one month's time! And you thought you had just forgotten to take out the garbage last night.

Come January 13, we'll be treated to re-re-re-re-re-hashings of Simon Cowell's venomous barbs, the blatherings of one Randawg Jackson and, of course, the oft-senseless natterings of Miss Paula Abdul. I do so look forward to hearing her wax philosophical about how the contestants have really made their songs their own, allowed their spirits to soar on the wings of berainbowed fairies, and how they are all not just unique, but also different.

In that spirit, I'd like to add my two cents about the theme nights I'd like to see during this season:

1. 80s Week

2. Satanic Metal Week

3. Irish Drinking Songs Week

4. The Complete Works of Dr. Seuss Put to Music Week

5. Songs That Don't Suck Week

6. College Fight Songs Including the Word "Vim" Week

7. Gregorian Chant Week

8. Motown Week

9. Songs That Suggest Extreme Confidence In Mediocre Talent, and Not Merely Confidence But Almost Even A Suggestion That The Singer Feels That They Deserve Enormous Accolades As a God-Given Right Without Particular Effort Or Struggle And Certainly Without Actually Creating Something Themselves Week

10. Disco Week!

Twilight (aka Emo Vampires Wallow In Their Infinite Hotness): *1/2

It's officially been two weeks since I girded up my loins, sucked in my breath and headed into the multiplex (with requisite giggling 15-year-old in tow) to see the celluloid vision of the phenomenon that is Twilight. I feel like I've had enough time to recover from the excursion to disseminate the gory details.

For the most part, if you're over 25 years old, you're gonna think this movie bites the big one (no pun intended. OK ... maybe I meant it a little.) There is so much brooding angst dripping off of the actors that you practically need hip waders to get through it all. The acting is totally melodramatic, but at least all of the characters have great hair. So, they've got that going for them, which is nice.

Poor Bella Swan, uber-klutz and social misfit (despite being drop-dead gorgeous), moves to super-saturated Forks, WA, which is apparently the rainiest, most depressing spot on the face of the Earth. She is immediately embraced and fawned over by the cool clique (as all mid-semester transfer students are) and then has not one, but two smoldering, supernatural Adonises vying for her affections. Blah, blah, blah. It's the usual story: girl meets vampire, girl falls in love with vampire, girl wants to live life as an immortal in order to be with Him.

It's kind of awful. But it does have its brilliance.

The real enjoyment of this movie will come if you have the opportunity to see it in a theater full of girls (there will be NO dudes there) between the ages of 12 and 18. The collective sighing and shrieking at the appearance of each and every vamp (including EVERY screen shot of Undead Poster Boy: Robert "I Used To Be Cedric Diggory" Pattinson) was enough to turn this emo angstfest into a rollicking comedy adventure. Seriously ... this thing will stand up against the Beatles 1st American Performance at Shea Stadium, so overwhelmed with sweat were the young ladies at my screening.

If you feel you must join in the fray, comb your bangs over one eye, start listening to a lot of Panic At The Disco, and put on your most brooding expression. Then grab a gaggle of gigglers and go.

Otherwise, just stay home, geek out and watch the Harry Potter quintology. You'll be glad you did.