bilgistic

I thought she was lovely in her first audition and the deep red lipstick was great on her. The black was NOT. There was a 15-year-old who looked 20 years older. Too much tanner, bleached hair and makeup. It wasn't Jax, though she needs a makeover, too.

Yes, but at the "concert" in "Chapel Hill", R.E.M. was playing "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" which was on "Monster" (released in 1994), the following album. I saw them when they came to Charlotte about the same time as the show has it, so I'm doubly fanwanking that someone did their homework and looked up when their NC tour dates were.

I swear I thought Sal-whoever (Frank Sinatra lounge singer) got the boot already. I went to an Italian restaurant over the holidays, and there was a man probably in his 60s (hired by the restaurant) singing Sinatra songs (very well). I think of that guy now every time Sallie Walnuts sings.

::clearing throat to yell at kids on my lawn as I sit in my front-porch rocking chair::I worked from age 15 to buy a car ('77 Beetle for $750), pay for the insurance and put gas in the car, and pay for parts when my dad inevitably had to repair the car on our carport. I paid for repairs if they had to be "outsourced", too.

It struck me why the Double Stuff group probably called themselves that, and I hope I'm wrong, but...there were two white guys and two black guys--two layers of filling in an Oreo "Double Stuf" cookie. Please tell me I'm wrong, because that makes me sad. Shouldn't kids that young not be hung up on race?

And! How about showing me the talented people that got through and barely warranted a mention instead of panic attacks and subpar auditions. Do not care for manufactured drahmz.

I HATE the groups, too, and I don't really understand making the contestants do the group work at the end of a long day, into the night. Let's not pretend this is anything like real life in which they might have to practice like that before a gig, but even then, does that ever happen? What does this really prove? Grace under pressure? They can function on little to no sleep? That said, I really cannot with the "exhaustion" and panic attacks. I'm right there with you in that I have pretty rough anxiety (meds help only some), but I also DON'T GO OUT FOR A NATIONAL SINGING COMPETITION. Know your limits. The people who think this is their ticket out of [insert rough situation here] stick in my craw. This has actually only REALLY worked out for a handful of people out of millions. Perspective.

My Civic is red. It's what the dealership had when I bought it. ::shrugs::

What I thought when I saw the red truck vs. gray sedan commercial is that they showed only the positive reactions to the red truck guy. I would much rather have the sedan guy. He would in my opinion be less pretentious and more environmentally conscious, which appeals to me. Also, you can fold the back seats down in most sedans and take home your IKEA purchases in the city. I did in my 2004 Honda Civic. No truck needed.

You should NEVER share mascara!!

I, too, have an electric mattress pad that my mother bought me several years ago. It is magical. I keep my thermostat at about 62 in the winter, but it's toasty under the covers. I don't usually keep it on all night. My two cats LOVE it; they get under the covers with me and we get all snuggly warm. I adjust my bedding to the seasons--heavier in winter and lighter in summer, down to just a sheet (I try not to run too much A/C in the summer, but I live in NC, so I'm not trying to suffer, either). I'm not busy trying to impress anyone with my bedding--it gets all furred up anyway.

Second to last picture: future Quaker Oats man.

That was HORRIFYING. It's even be worse than toilet babies, a.k.a., "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant".

My boss and a couple of coworkers and I were casually discussing the GoDaddy puppy ad while waiting for our lunch orders today, and my boss says, "Some people are so sensitive today; you can't say anything!" This from a private-schooled privileged white male of 32(!) (who grosses seven figures) and his like colleages. Me, the lone woman in the group (age 40, $45K), raised by a poor single mother of three, could not roll my eyes hard enough. I suspected he was clueless about his privilege; I have confirmation now.

I was thinking that same thing, and isn't that dress, like, very 2011? Says me, Queen Old Navy Clearance Rack.I'm so proud of Glenn for having used deep conditioner once or twice between seasons. I saw pictures of his cats on Twitter or Instagram. Love! I miss George from last season. The workroom seemed much less fun without his dancing and modeling of costumes.

As a NC non-suburban non-mom, I apologize on behalf of our state.

What bothers me is I don't see what's so bad about the coffee table. I guess it's not laquered enamel to go with the black leather couch? That black leather couch just makes me think that I'd wake up sweating from any nap I took on it.

My cat loves to rub her face on every corner and edge. Once when she was standing on the toilet lid as I was getting out of the shower, she flushed the toilet by rubbing her face on the handle. Bathroom time is a family event when you have kitties!

The ages as I've figured it are Ali was 13 in 1994, Josh was 15 and Sarah was in college, so she was at least 18. That makes Ali 33-34 now, which boggles the mind, seeing as how she acts at least ten years younger. I was born in 1974 and my mother breastfed me. I have two younger sisters born in '77 and '78, and same thing. (We also wore cloth diapers.) I think that was just a dumb throwaway line about not breastfeeding back then.

In re: Isaac, he had a talk show several years ago, and it was entertaining. I only caught it on sick days and vacations, though.

Back from looking up "WGWG" and shaking my cane at the kids on my lawn, I have found that I have mixed feelings about the auditioners being able to play instruments (some poorly) or be accompanied. Having watched the show early on, then leaving for a while, then watching the first Steven Tyler season (then leaving again until this season), I haven't seen a lot of the auditions-with-instruments until now. For more than a few auditioners, I think being able to play the guitar, however half-assedly, kind of fools people into believing you're a better singer/performer than you really are. I mean, I know I get weak over musicians. Many we are seeing, however, are just very basic on the guitar and have passable voices--certainly nothing worth being on TV over. The truly talented are usually already working in some capacity as musicians, even if they aren't making any money at it. The ones with stories, with hustle and heart are who I want to see, not the ones who can best be packaged as the next pop princess or breathy-voiced boy bander. When I have watched in years past, I usually give up several weeks in, after TPTB have started "molding" the contestants. Any edges they may have had get chiseled off. That's when I get bored and have to bow out. I want to see messy, imperfect, passionate, all-out, soulful music that has to be sung, not a package that's shrink-wrapped and stamped "safe for consumption".

What's with all of the headbands?

How do you just get to call someone in the Armed Forces any old time? Don't tell me I've been misled my whole life by movies and television programming that suggest that soldiers can't be reached by phone except for emergencies and special occasions, like holidays. Is it really like working at Arby's in Peoria, and when Jim's wife passes the first round of auditions to be on America's Next Top Model, Jim can step away from the curly fry deep fryer to take her call? I need the truth; my world needs an anchor.

I immediately fixated on the fact that the baby Pop-Tart is wearing a diaper. Why am I having to think about Pop-Tarts pooping?

I'm glad next week is the season (*coughseriescough*) finale. I can't take much more of this. Just wrap it up, show, and let's all go to sleep next Sunday night with clean palates. I was waiting for Pastor James to whip himself in that weird scene with him having visions while praying or whatever, shirtless and kneeling.