Idol Eyes: Can I Get a Shamon!?!

**GASP** The songs of Michael Jackson! I'm so happy I could tinkle. . . . And maybe I just did a little bit. The excitement must have overwhelmed Paula, because she obviously just woke up from a good hour or so of passing out on her face (while some kind of pigeon appears to have passed out on her neck). Is something wrong with my TV, or is her face fuchsia? And . . . Ryan just descended the stairs through some kind of downhill skiing gate, and we're off!

Just a quick note (or two): I'm not being sarcastic, at all, when I say I love Michael Jackson. Know this now. His songs don't exactly scream, "Cover me!" because he's one of those singers you don't want to be compared to . . . but everybody's on more or less an even playing field in that regard.

I also just have to disagree with all the judges and Ryan—the show just got a heck of a lot easier. Even with the announcement that the bottom two vote getters will be jettisoned this week, it's still better than the 75% cuts they had been subject to. No one has to be the best, they just have to avoid sucking the worst. Now let's get to the songs:

Lil Rounds
"The Way You Make Me Feel," is a wonderful song, even if it features a blatant ripoff of Transformer sound effects. But it's also one of those songs that's a little more fun to dance to than to sing along with, but Lil did okay. There seems to be an unwritten agreement that whoever starts off the show has to do an upbeat song, and Lil complied nicely. Her vocals were solid, but . . . eh, it kinda fell flat for me. Still, you gotta love Lil, even if she is dressed like a mall chick.

Scott MacIntyre
Maybe Simon didn't know the song, but I wore out my copy of the Dangerous CD, particularly this track, "Keep the Faith." Oh, man, I love this song. And I liked what Scott did with it. It still seems like he's a bit nervous, and maybe, underneath the nerves, not the best singer. Still, I loved the song. I like him. I'm not too worried about his chances at this point, but I don't think he'll break through the top 5. Outer fringes of elimination danger

Danny Gokey
It takes some serious chutzpah to stand in front of a national audience and sing, "P.Y.T." Danny Gokey has chutzpah coming out of his pores (and I think that's what he uses in his hair, too). The dude SANG that song. The dancing was funny. But man . . . I loved everything about the vocals. The King of Pop catalog is tough enough, and Danny chose one of the most demanding songs in there. Very, very solid. Oh, and the "Na Na Na Na's" with Paula and Kara were pure genius. He's a keeper.

Michael Sarver
Michael decided to go all Free Willy on us and sing, "You Are Not Alone." He sang great, but here's the thing non-Jacko fans might not have picked up on: he butchered the words. But he never really let on that he was making up new ones, which is . . . awesome. It's also sacrilege, but as he wasn't singing in the Chapel of MJ, it's forgivable sacrilege. I liked him quite a bit. I think elimination passes him by for now, but he should go over the lyrics one more time before tomorrow's show, just in case.

Jasmine Murray
Jasmine wasn't satisfied with being compared just to Michael Jackson, so she decided to double her displeasure by getting grouped with Mariah Carey as well—although she did avoid the dreaded Trey Lorenz standard by skipping the bridge altogether (and yes, I did know the dude's name without the help of Wikipedia; I double-majored in Michael and Mariah studies—deal with it). Jasmine did not compare favorably. She did look smoking, though. The sound side of things, less than hot. (Aside: I think it's absolutely hilarious that Simon said she sounded like a little girl trying to be a grown up when she was performing a song made famous by a 10 year old.) Inner circle of elimination targets

Kris Allen
You know what "Do You Remember?" really needs? An acoustic guitar. Thank you, Kris, for playing an instrument that, while Paula described with X-rated affection, could not be audibly detected by anyone, anywhere, by any means. The singing was fine, but the song was just weird. He will, apparently, continue to advance because he resembles a post-pubescent David Archuleta. Congrats. But from the looks of it, his wife won't be dialing or texting his number. She was clearly not wild about him becoming America's newest brand of eye candy. His mother, on the other hand, was quite giddy to hear Paula describe him as "sexy," while Simon attempted to unravel what I can only assume is the pull-string that makes Paula talk. One of the weirdest rounds of critiques I've ever seen.

Allison Iraheta
Allison brought B+ vocals with A+ poise to her rendition of "Give into Me," an unfortunate song choice not only for its too-dark-for-AI menace but also for the disturbing unspoken suspicion shared by all of Americans on some level: there's just the slightest possibility that song was written for Macaulay Culkin. Forgive me, Michael, but somebody had to say it. I actually really liked the performance, but I wonder if the darkness will fail to register with AI voters. After David Cook's win last year, I'm gonna say, nah. She's safe. She can see elimination nation from her house.

Anoop Desai
Michael Jackson was already a superstar before Thriller. "Beat It," was Michael's official notice to the world, saying, "It doesn't matter how ridiculous my lyrics are. I can make them awesome. I'm that good. Suck it." In fact, "Suck It," was the original title, but Quincy Jones put his foot down and made him tone down the machismo. All of that serves as my way of graciously glossing over the suckiness of Anoop's performance. There is just no way he should have been legally allowed to perform that song. The boot of elimination is planted firmly on his neck.

Jorge Núñez
"Never Can Say Goodbye." I feel for Jorge, I really do. No one has a better excuse to be unfamiliar with Jacko's songs than Jorge. But I thought the judges were a little too harsh on him. I actually thought he did fairly well. The only problem was, even in MJ's Jackson 5 version, the entire song is redeemed on the basis of a single, mind-blowing note that very few people in the history of R&B could have delivered as powerfully and masterfully as the young Michael did so long ago. It is that note and that note alone that holds the difference between okay and awesome. Jorge never had a prayer. Jorge can smell elimination singeing his tail feathers, but I'm not sure his goose is cooked quite yet.

Megan Corkrey
Last week Simon called Megan current and quirky. She decided to avenge that critique by singing "Rockin' Robin." She added a new dimension of mobility to her previously static gyrations of awkwardness. She flapped. She pointed. She actually sang pretty well, but the whole thing was just so . . . eerily cutesy. Her street cred sank below even the sewers, but her chances of winning Disney Idol have skyrocketed. But if I may do a Paula, she looks prettier every week. Elimination is taking a shot at Megan. If his aim's any good, she's gone. But I think he's just a bit distracted by her legs.

Adam Lambert
Paula got Word of the Day toilet paper for Christmas. And Adam rocked the bejeezus out of "Black or White" (I've always wanted to say that.) Fancy that. A guy with a showcase voice picks a showcase song to . . . well, you know, showcase his pipes. He did roam around in Cheeseville quite a bit, though. He can easily get away with that during MJ week, but he better watch it if they explore the songs of James Taylor down the road. Still . . . wow.

Matt Giraud
I haven't heard him sing but a few notes as I type, but this was the perfect song choice. Love. It. Now that I hear him sing, aw, man . . . is it even worth describing? Go buy it off iTunes. It's an awful lot of falsetto, but still, the dude rocked and rolled all over that sucker. The judges are hurrying now . . . thank goodness.

Alexis Grace
Did you ever have that dream where you show up to work or school or church with no pants on? On a completely unrelated note, Alexis sang, "Dirty Diana" . . . in front of her daughter, which took some of the teary-eyed aw-shucks sympathy away from her intro. That said, I like her—I just wish she hadn't taken the judges' early advice to dirty-up her image so stinking seriously. She definitely can sing, but she overdrew from her vocal chords and had nothing left for her final boo-yah note. If for no other reason than the weird phone number problem and the fact that she and the last few contestants won't have their replays show up on DVRs, she's a distant threat to get overlooked.

Ryan and Simon ended the show with a tease about a new wrinkle in the rules involving the role of the judges. I wonder if they'll have veto power. Very interesting and just a little troubling, because this was a great show (MJ bias noted) and the judges seem to have their clear favorites in mind. Still . . . this was one of the most impressive rounds of performances this early in a season. I'm pretty excited to see and hear what unfolds.

I Might Be A . . . yeah.

I've made no mystery of my love of mail (for those of you snickering, please note the spelling and the lack of an "s" at the end of that word). Be it snail or e, fan or hate, personal or junk, I love mail. Today was a major postal haul at the homestead. It was both glorious and humbling.

The first thing I noticed was that the mailman came to the door. Usually that means one of two things: 1) I'm in trouble, or 2) Awesome! Today it was a little bit of both. He was a carrying a big puffy bag, a handful of would-be normal mail, and the BMG CD I was trying to send back. So let's start with the trouble.

He was very nice about it, in fact, only trying to look out for my best interests, which I greatly appreciate. No beef at all with the mailman. He's great. What he pointed out to me, though, stoked the flames of my ire in a different direction. "When they see that you've taped up the package, sometimes they return it to you and charge you postage because you already opened it," he said kindly, pointing to the packing tape encircling the bottom of the unwanted CD carrier. 

"As far as I know," I replied honestly, "that's how it came to me. So I guess I'll risk it." 

He gave me a wry smile that said silently, "You might want to ask your wife if one of your kids got a hold of this." 

I gave him a nod in an unspoken attempt at saying, "You're right. And the fact that BMG is going out of business isn't going to help my chances of them taking this back, but you know what? It serves them right for making it impossible to cancel your account while making me refuse 2-3 featured selections per month. Good riddance, and I hope you bring down Columbia House with you." I think he understood.

Then I took the mail inside and was filled with glee and horror, intermingled into a kind of, "Eh, could be worse," feeling. The big puffy bag was a big puffy Valvoline stadium blanket and a $7 auto service gift card. And in the mail was an envelope with my official United States Bowling Congress membership card. 

I immediately faced a moment of truth. Do I accept my destiny or inwardly rebel at the circumstances raging out of control around me? There I was at home, hair a mess, in a t-shirt and jeans, with a Valvoline stadium blanket in one hand and a bowling congress membership card in the other, and feeling like Nick Cage in The Family Man. And then I made the only decision that could ever bring me peace.

I'm a redneck. And proud of it.

P. S. I highly recommend doing a Google image search on the term redneck. It's priceless.

Monopoly: Beginner's Luck Edition

I played Monopoly (Cubs Edition) with Addison today. Yes, a full game of Monopoly that took entirely too little time to complete. There was no cheating, no fudging, no grace.

Addison smoked my sorry behind.

It broke down like this: Addison never drew a single Chance or Community Chest (Home Jersey or Away Jersey in the Cub Edition) that made him pay money. Every single card he drew either transported him to safety or earned him money. I got all the "you pay" cards. He then proceeded to gobble up Boardwalk and Park Place (Billy Williams and Alfonso Soriano) in his first two trips around the board. Then he bought all four railroads (bases), and I subsequently drew the card requiring me to advance to the nearest railroad and pay the owner twice what he was entitled ($400).

I was completely bankrupt within the hour, going broke on Baltic Avenue (Kerry Wood) of all places. It was the single most embarrassing Monopoly performance of my life. I'd like to say I was a good sport, that I was proud of my son for playing like a man. But in truth, I hated it. It was ridiculous. I had never seen such luck, and I kinda resented the fact that it fell on Addison at my expense. I may have gotten a bit angry if I wasn't still laughing at him calling it "Monny Polly" and his other in-game antics. But here was the best part.

At one point in the game, Addison was dancing in typical goofy fashion . . . a sort of line dance that carried him back and forth in a straight line . . . left, right, left, right. I asked him if he had to take a bathroom break, but he flatly responded (without breaking his rhythmic pacing):

"No, I'm just moving to the beat of 'We Will Rock You' (which wasn't playing)."

But in his head, it was playing. And I had blood on my face, a big disgrace, and he was kicking my can all over the place.

Oh, and I almost forgot. At one point, Addison turns to me and goes, "This game is hard for you." Gotta love the smack talk.

Idol Eyes, Wild Card ***SPOILER WARNING*** (ALTHOUGH IF YOU DVR'ED IT, THAT WON'T TELL YOU HALF THE STORY ANYWAY)****

I'm gonna start at the very end with this one . . . that was not even close. American Idol was so far from being completed in the allotted time, Ryan had only begun to break the bad news to the fourth competitor from the end when the program had reached the 3-minutes late mark. Yes, I should have adjusted my DVR settings to accommodate the predictable end of the show, but the folks at AI had some nerve cutting to yet another commercial break when the show was already supposed to be over!

And now, the performances:

Jesse Langseth
She sang "Tell Me Something Good" in a way that invoked Jamie Lee Curtis trying to look sexy in the "Dance for me, doucement" scene from True Lies but just the part before she really got the hang of it. The vocals were just alright for me. Really, she's an okay singer, but she just doesn't quite have the stage savvy to stay in this competition, I'm afraid. But not that afraid, I don't really like her that much.

Matt Giraud
About 10 seconds into his performance of "Who's Loving You," I told Heather, "He's through." He rocked it out all bluesy like, but I had a real problem with the end. The last thirty seconds or so (of a ninety second performance) were all yeah yeah's and oo whoo's. Sing real words if you can squeeze them in there, Matt.

Megan Joy Corkrey
Gosh, I would like this girl a little bit more if she didn't imitate a washing machine on its gentle cycle at key points throughout every performance. Really, she looks like an idiot when she does that. I predict many more weeks of annoyance from this one, as she's got a good voice and a nice little veil of protection from the judges: they like the fact that she doesn't sing songs that are all that vocally challenging (like "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree." Some might call that "not really good," but I think she'll sail on for quite awhile under the guise of it just being "quirky."

Von Smith
He started out doing Adam Sandler's Opera Man sotto voce routine in what is clearly the weirdest ever performance of "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word." Then he started singing well, but with the completely wrong emotional palette. The lyrics said, "it's sad," but his vocals were telling me, "It's mad, so mad. Like . . . tell-tale heart mad, you feel me, lamb chop?" I feel you, Von-due. You're scalding hot and yummy on fries. But you really should have sung, "Goodbye, Yellow Brick Road."

Jasmine Murray
When I heard she was singing "Reflections," by Christina Aguilera, I knew the song was just a little too big for her--an obvious overcompensation for choosing a pathetically small song the last time out. The only question was, would her voice be big enough to excuse the judges for wanting her back with all of their hearts no matter how badly she performed. From what I can tell, she vindicated the Jasmine love. I like her, I do. But the judges clearly wanted a true hottie in the finals, and Jasmine didn't disappoint.

Ricky Braddy
Before he sang a single note of "Superstition," I knew Ricky's chances for survival were pretty slim, because his bluesy-white-dude counterpart, Matt, already knocked the swinging, soulful slider out of the park. But Ricky was good. Still, Stevie Wonder is one of those guys that if you're gonna do his song, you better either change it up enough to make it clear you're not competing with him, or seriously compete with him. Ricky ain't Stevie. He ain't bad, but he ain't Stevie. Stevie Wonder is a musical genius.

Tatiana Del Villa De Los Locos Muchachas
She sang "Saving All My Love for You" . . . AGAIN. Fortunately for me and my newly scrubbed carpet, she nixed the part about making love the whole night through, which spared my evening Idol snack from going all projectile on me. Whew. The thing is, Tatiana has an amazing voice. But I'm genuinely concerned that she's going to kill someone. In the interviews before and after her performance, she was suddenly very, very, very Latina. It was like Sammy Sosa forgetting English when he testified before Congress. Then she broke out the psycho laughter, the convulsing, the "omygahiloyousomach," and the dead-on, I'm talking "boil up the rabbit and leave the bathtub running" flawless imitation of Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. I'm scared. I want her show to end.

Anoop Desai
How perfect is it to follow up a worn-out Whitney song with a needlessly exhumed Bobby Brown song? I'm sorry, but I can't say Anoop's name without getting Salt 'n' Pepa stuck in my head. Anoop can sing, but I don't understand how his performances thus far have been anything but a punchline. At least with Nick Mitchell, he intended to make people laugh. But Anoop? I love you, dawg, but I don't understand the judges' fascination with what you got going on on-stage. He's just not . . . bad-arse. In fact, he's so not bad-arse, I'd feel dirty putting the real word in a sentence describing Anoop.

***YET ANOTHER SPOILER WARNING, FOR REALS, YO***

After all the performers were done, I turned to Heather and said, "Okay, Jasmine, Megan, Matt, and Anoop. Which one isn't going to make it?" But the judges finally revealed their decisions and (after too much pageantry and Tati-drama) it turns out that all four are going through. The final 12 is actually a baker's dozen.

Awesome.

Idol Eyes, Group 3

Well, well, well, Idol saved its best for last in the mass-elimination, Godfather-style bloodbath that has been the round of 36. If you watched the show, you've suffered through more than enough painful introduction, so let's get to it.

Von Smith

I dub thee, Von-due, because that performance was dunked, covered, and simmering in a big ol' vat of cheese. It wasn't just that he saturated "You're All I Need to Get By," with overdone theatrics and under-thought style, the dude lit up the cameras with the facial expressions of Japanimation heroes in shock. At one point I almost yelled, "Speed, Trixie, Spritle and Chimp-Chimp are in the trunk!" at my TV.  In an effort to convince us this show won't suck (which turned out to be completely unnecessary) the judges collude to praise Von for not disrupting the space-time continuum. If they were being genuine, Von must have rocked out in rehearsals. Not according to Seacrest, though, who seemed to wonder if Von-due had rehearsed at all. Odds of advancing: 25 to 1

Taylor Vaifanua

I'm amazed by her boots . . . or are they pants? What in the world is causing that patent shine, because I am entranced!?! Oh, yes, she's singing. If I ain't got you. Alicia Keys is a great artist to cover, because her songs are much better than her voice (more on that later). Taylor is almost there, but not quite. Too bad, I like her, I love her boot/pant/leather action (Paula has informed me those are leggings . . . I shouldn't want to try on a pair, but I'm absolutely fascinated) . . . um, where am I? Oh, yes, sorry, Taylor, you couldn't hit those low notes (a very common problem among the ladies this year) and you can't afford to show America which notes you can't sing. Not this time, but she seems like something great could develop if she only had more time. Odds of advancing: 15:1

Alex Wagner-Trugman

It's called the giggle test, Alex. And you did not pass. I have to confess that when I'm pondering my own American Idol song choice, I frequently settle upon "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues," but this did not work. OMJ! He actually did the Michael Jackson thigh slap! That is brilliant. Eliminate the strange growling and the scary moments and the whole Freaks & Geeks vibe, and Alex might have something. He needed to play it meek and smooth. He opted instead for the Austin Powers meets Doogie Howser vibe. And there, look, the judges are giggling. And I guess that's why they call it the giggle test. Odds of advancing: identical to the odds of nine of the contestants dying from a real bad case of the giggles

Arianna Afsar

Abba. I don't even know how I should punctuate that. Abba? Abba! Abba . . . hmm. Oh, sweetie, you took a risk, and for that I applaud you. For everything else, though, not so much on the applause. If she could have edited out all but 30% of the notes she sang, it might have been great. But you have to be really sure of yourself to sing that song, and ironically the only parts she really managed to deliver correctly were the phrases about losing and being judged. Now, if sitting there looking cute were the only factor, Arianna's puppy-dog eyes would have been enough to get me dialing and texting and wishing and hoping and praying. But this is not Puppy Dog Idol. But there should be a Puppy Dog Idol. Odds of advancing: 1,000 Puppy Dogs to 1

Ju'Not Joyner

I kinda hope we haven't heard Simon butcher his name for the last time, but I'm afraid that just might be the case. "Hey There, Delilah," is one of those songs that, when you slow it down, really gives you time to reflect on how devoid of substance it really is. By comparison to those who sang before him, Ju'Not is awesome. And looking forward, he could be the leading vote-getter for the guys . . . it's possible. But he did hold back and play it safe (until he told the world he just got a cortisone shot to the butt). If this is Ju'Not hyper, he must be a zombie on a normal day. He really seemed to be holding back, which is too bad. This is so not the hold-back round. Odds of advancing: 8 to 1

Kristen McNamara

Kristen is the Tonya Harding of the competition (watch your knees, Lil). Okay, I think she's much, much sweeter than that, but she's . . . I don't know, the girl with Macy's talent at Big Lots prices--she eliminated the expensive ads and fancy packaging and passed the savings on to you. Because of that, something inside me really wants her to get another chance. Tracy Chapman is another good artist to cover on Idol because her songs are all beautiful and her performances understated. But Kristen went a little chintzy and came off looking like she had just won the talent show at the County Fair. But her voice is sooooo good and pure, and I truly believe she has a chance to find her voice and connect with America. I really hope she gets another chance. And hey, look, it only took Kara one week to forget everything she learned about live television. Odds of advancing: 6 to 1

Nathaniel Marshall

Okay, call me crazy, but Nathaniel somehow managed to seem more comfortable on the big stage than anyone else has so far. If that comfort had translated into awesomeness, he'd be guaranteed a spot in the final 12. Unfortunately, he looked like Simon LeBon dressed as Olivia Newton John for Halloween (when Simon stole this comparison, I peed a little . . . I guess it wasn't as clever as I thought). Somehow he managed to make "I Would Do Anything for Love (but I won't do that)" sound even more campy and fruity than Meatloaf did. (Aside: Hey, check it out! Paula brought her notes and took her meds tonight!) Odds of advancing: Slimmer than his headband

Felicia Barton

I was so excited for a chance to finally hear someone sing "No One," on key that I almost forgot to pay attention to Felicia's performance. Unlike Alicia Keys, Felicia didn't miss all the notes, but she didn't quite hit the big ones. She also got a little sloppy with her diction, at times turning into a jumbled mess of breathy vowels. The judges loved her, and she had her moments, but I don't see this translating into a repeat performance. Still, she was good enough to make me wonder how many other possible finalists were sent home way too soon. Odds of advancing: 10 to 1 (take heart, Felicia; that's been a great omen the past two weeks)

Scott MacIntyre

I'll admit, I was a little nervous for Scott, as I always am. I feel like there's more pressure on him than anyone to validate his place here. There's just no getting around it: everybody wants him to do well, not just because he's blind, but because he seems like such a great person. I liked his choice of Bruce Hornsby. I didn't like the overpronouncing, the straying notes, and the choppiness. But Scott is another person who seems like he has so much more to offer than what we've seen and heard so far. I have a feeling America loves him as much as the judges do, though, and I don't think anyone should apologize for that. Odds of advancing: 5 to 1

Kendall Beard

With a strong voice (that weakened as the song went on) and a sharp dress, Kendall brought her A- game on "This One's for the Girls." The main problem with Kendall is the simple fact that I think this was probably the very best she could do. It wouldn't be a shock to see a country hopeful advance on the strength of a grass roots campaign, but it would be disappointing in light of the superior competition. Odds of advancing: 11 to 1

Jorge Nuñez

Jorge can sing beautifully. I wish he hadn't looked hypnotized at the outset of his performance, but other than a lack of a truly breathtaking finish, the dude really represented himself well. He had a memorable post-performance interview ("When I get this emotional, I can't think in English") that should help him. I was impressed, and I think he has something more to offer as well. Hmm . . . man, he truly is a wild card, because he really seems to have a unique style in this season and in American Idol history. Very interesting. (Stop banging the dang table already, Kara!) Odds of advancing: 6 to 1

Lil Rounds

We knew the judges wanted her in the finals from the beginning. But this is the first time I've fully understood why. Holy moly. She has it all. The clothes, the voice, the presence, the rhythm, the hair, the lipstick, the flair, the ease . . . she has it. Every single week the show has managed to put the clear favorite in the final slot. Random? Um, no. But who cares. Lil needs no preferential treatment. I can't wait to see what happens when she actually tries. The only questions at this point are 1) Will anyone this season manage to compete with her at all? 2) Will America remember to vote for her? I hope the answers to both questions are yes, but we shall see. Odds of advancing: 1 to 1. She's advancing.

I'm not even going to give predictions, because aside from Lil, it seems pretty wide open to me. I do think we're going to see two ladies advance, but I'm just not certain. Good week, AI, good week.

***Update with Spoiler Warning (Also, this update was made with equipment that may have come into contact with peanuts)***

Jorge, Scott, and Lil. I can't say I disagree with any of those choices. What I will say is I'm shocked just a little bit by the judges' Wild Card selections. Group 3 was, in my arrogant opinion, clearly the best of the bunch. The judges clearly disagreed, sending one of the worst of the bunch back to torture America's auditory sensibilities once more. Seriously, Von Smith's singing career should have been shut down along with Gitmo. And Tatiana? I seriously think they picked her just to prove she really is that crazy. I'm thinking about voting for her just out of spite. The other choice that can be explained only by one of two possibilities 1) Crack, or 2) General Juma was about to dismember Emilio Estevez (yes, their relationship is now strained, but she couldn't let that man hurt her baby) unless they put her through . . . is Marilyn Manson Jesse Langseth. Gimme a W . . . W! Gimme a T . . . T! Gimme an F . . . F! What's that spell? Jesse Langseth!!!

Overheard, the Red Rule

Addison wasn't satisfied with the Golden Rule, so he asked what the Red Rule was. Upon learning that there was no such thing, he decided to make one up. I unveil it to the world today with the hopes that all will follow its beautiful wisdom:

"The Red Rule: Peace and love; obey God and forgive your friends."

New Top 5 Movie List

In our Sunday School class this morning, we all fessed up to the last movie we saw from beginning to end. A lot of facts and trends stood out to me (Taken is getting mad Sunday School reviews; parents in general seem overjoyed just to see an entire movie sans kids, no matter how bad it is; parents don't like the movies they watch with their kids), but the most telling observation was the simple fact that as a group we weren't wild about our latest film choices.

And now that I think about it, I'm having a real hard time remembering the last film that I loved. 

Just to be clear, I've seen plenty of movies I thought were really good over the past several years. I enjoy almost every movie I watch. I'm no film snob. And when it comes to movies, I probably play it freer and looser with the word great than just about anybody I know (my brother Steve comes to mind as a clear exception). 

But I wouldn't say I LOVED a movie unless I really do love it so much that I simply must see it again. To love it, it must change the way I think about my life. If I really, truly love a movie, when I see its name pop up on the channel guide, I won't flip by without checking out a few minutes of it. That's a rare flick that captures my affection so strongly. It can't just have great action. It can't just be hilarious. It has to become a part of my consciousness.

And now that I think of it, I have to go back many years to find a movie that I loved and still love. It's been probably 10, 15 years since I amended my Top 5 movie list, so here's a new one:

The Last 5 Movies I've Loved (in reverse chronological order of first viewing)

1. Happy Feet

2. Good Will Hunting

3. Pulp Fiction

4. The Shawshank Redemption

5. Se7en

Get Real

I have heard many people say how much they hate it when people are fake. Personally, I don't know what I would do without that cultural blessing. I mean really, if everybody was "real" all the time, I don't think I'd ever go out in public. If the people who couldn't stand me just told me as much flat-out? I'd be devastated.

No, please, give me the fake smile, the fake laugh, the abbreviated discussions, and I'll take the hint and pretend right along with you. We'll both know it's all code for "I don't like you," and we'll move on without the scars of an honest exchange.

It's the fake that makes reality bearable. Politeness is just a public acknowledgment that being real doesn't work toward our mutual advantage nearly as much as being pleasant does. So don't knock fake until you've tried it--and believe me, you have. Embrace it. Love it. Marry it and have a bunch of little fake babies.

But as much as I don't hate the fake, I love being real . . . just in small, carefully administered doses. I try to limit my real intake to three times daily (with food, of course). OD on real and you'll go crazy. Don't get enough and, ironically enough, you'll wind up becoming a reality show host.

And speaking of the real, I've moved my daily Bible doses (my biggest reality injection) to a new blog. This was starting to become just a little too real.

Basic Formula

Bildad, you're up!

Okay, Job, here it is: if your sons sinned, they simply got what was com . . . 

Hold it, hold it. Bil. Daddio. Why did you open your mouth, compadre? Bildad's speech in Job chapter 8 gets me a little irritated, mainly because his brand of advice is not unpopular today. If there's something wrong with you, you must have done something wrong to cause it. And if you would simply return to a right place with God, He would fix everything. Your livelihood escaped you because you forgot God, like the short-lived green season of quickly wilting rushes rooted in unsure soil. (Super mega bonus points if you can identify the mystery MP3 at the top of the playlist and weave the lyrics into the meaning of this passage.) Buck up, if you're right with God, you'll be back to your laughing-happy self in no time.

Ugh. I hope to not ever talk about God like I've figured Him out. There are things I know for certain about Him, but not to the point that I can manipulate His nature to produce my desired ends. Bildad, you insolent slut.

Idol Eyes, Group 2

I haven't started watching yet, but there's one contestant I want to see and hear more than I've ever anticipated anyone this early in a season: Nick Mitchell. I just . . . I know I'm gonna laugh. Okay, let's press play on the DVR and see who shows up and who screws up.

Jasmine Murray

Oh dear, Jasmine. I guess I haven't heard enough of her from the prelims to really know where she fits, but she's fallen into the other side of the song-picking trap for female Idols. The first (of which we witnessed plenty last week) is when the less-than-diva songstresses try to ascend to Mt. Olympus where only Whitney, Aretha, Mariah, and Celine belong. (The corollary is treading into alternative paradises like Valhalla, where Sting and Bob Marley reside.) But Jasmine, who I think has a potentially bigger voice than some of the other contestants, made the mistake of doing the casual, "strum it out in a coffee shop" song. She bottled up her genie. She's such a cutie, but I don't like her chances. Odds of advancing: 8:1

Matt Giraud

When I heard he was singing "Viva la Vida," I thought, "Great choice . . . for Week 8." I liked what he was trying to do with the vocals, but the instrumental arrangement didn't change at all. It was like he was trying to improvise over the karaoke track--and as anyone who has ever sung karaoke knows, you can't do that. Oh, man, it hurts, because he is so good. But this performance was in the not-so-good category. Dude. DUDE! Thank Simon for the Wild Card. Odds of advancing: 5:1

Jeanine Vailes

Somebody get Jeanine Kate Winslet's shampoo bottle. Seriously, that would have been ten times as good if it had not been on mic. Bad sign #1: the camera cuts to a shot of your friends after your performance, and they look thankful that you're done. Bad sign #2: the judges (and Ryan) all talk about your legs. And they were nice legs. The really weird thing is, I'm pretty sure this is the first time Jeanine has sung this season. The judges look like they're just now meeting her for her long-overdue local audition. She just made the classic blunder of picking a song with notes that had to be sung. Odds of advancing: I think the judges covered that convincingly enough.

Nick Mitchell (a.k.a. Norman Gentile)

Okay. For the very first time I didn't have the slightest shred of disappointment. Holy crap. I've laughed out loud at least a dozen times. And Simon is just playing into his hands. Nick recognizes this show is about entertainment, and Simon is playing the foil. I can't disagree with Randy and Kara more . . . the vocals were hot. Would I plug that performance into my CD player? No. But I will watch that again. Look, the fact is, he sounded better than anybody so far. That's what should be making these judges cry. And he is the only contestant so far tonight who has actually remained true to what got him here. Odds of advancing: 5 to 1. Yeah. They're that good.

Allison Iraheta

A little piece of me dies every time an Idol contestant sings a song by Heart. If Allison were riding shotgun in my car while singing this song, I would say, "Girl, that was awesome. You can sang!" But if I heard that coming out of the speakers, I don't think I would keep listening. In both instances, I'd be wondering what the hell I was doing listening to Heart. Now, Paula just credited her on her microphone use . . . but when she started, I couldn't hear her. Kara seems to have grasped the finer points of mic management, so maybe she should dole out some lessons. There's been some real bad mic work so far tonight. Still, Allison did sound loads better than those who came before, and I like a little raspiness.  She wasn't terrible, but I thought she was a little out of control. Odds of advancing: 3 to 1

Kris Allen

When Kris announced he was singing "Man in the Mirror," I yelled, "Awesome!" If I were on Idol, I would sing this song every time. But he made the mistake early on of pronouncing a few words like Michael does. Nobody sings like Michael, and nobody pronounces "I see" as "ai chi" like Michael does. BUT, I agree with Kara. I think the lackluster performances of the first half have lowered the standards of the judges. The arrangement was cheesy, and he didn't change it enough to distinguish his vocals from those of the King of Pop. I'm sorry, Kris, but . . . I can't see myself voting for that. Bravo for winning over the judges, but I couldn't wait for that to be over. Odds of advancing: 10 to 1

Megan Joy Corkrey

A tattoo has never seen so misplaced as the sleeve on Megan's right arm as she invoked the spirit of an impish five year old . . . or a doll that sprang to life. I just don't get it. The awkward quarter twirls so perfectly mimicked by Ryan (for real); the cutesy singing that wasn't nearly quirky enough to be considered jazzy; the inability to find the groove; the overconfidence that only seemed to translate after she was finished . . . man, I don't get what the judges are on. A terrible start has thrown off their powers of perception. Odds of advancing: 10 to 1

Matt Breitzke

Aw man, I'm dizzy from the swirling cameras. Yet another song-choice pitfall: the song that doesn't quite rock but doesn't quite roll. Pick a slow heart-wrencher or an upbeat butt-kicker. But don't pick the song that, at a concert, leaves the audience perched near the edge of their seats murmuring to each other, "um . . . are we supposed to stand up?" But he didn't sound bad. It's just not a "hey, look at what I can do" song. Odds of advancing: 6 to 1

Jesse Langseth

Bette Davis eyes? The best part of the song was the rhythmic clapping during Kara's critique. I don't know who to blame for the abysmal band arrangements that have haunted this competition, but they really have been horrendous. It's this bad lounge act vibe, and it's not doing anybody any favors. Back to Jesse, though. I think she lacks the ability to connect with songs that anyone but her misunderstood art-house clique will appreciate. Don't pick a song because of its story when you only have 90 seconds to sing it. Odds of advancing: Infinity to nothingness

Kai Kalama

The dude wins the name competition hands down, but the "how bad do you want me" look on his face makes Enrique Iglesias look understated. He sang alright, but yeah . . . he was old fashioned. He was boring. He is nice enough to make you want to apologize whilst ripping his performance to shreds, as all the judges did. . . . And he looks 40. Odds of advancing: 40 to 1.

Mishavonna Henson

Misha-V broke her promise not to disappoint America before she made it. Drops of Jupiter is just not an Idol song. It didn't cooperate at all with the massive Idol reverb. It doesn't work all too well being sung about a guy. It doesn't capitalize on the fact that she's at least 1/4 elf. But she has a great voice. I wish she had chosen a song that showcased that with more than "Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh." Aw, man. I really like this girl. I didn't hear much from her, but, crap. I wish she was sticking around. Maybe she'll get wild-carded. Odds of advancing: 15 to 1

Adam Lambert

He was accused of being too dramatic, musical theater, and disconnected. I'll never forget what he suggested as a remedy to that: "Believe," by Cher. If your problem is theatrics, the solution is not Cher. Dear boy. Fortunately for Adam, his problem is also his strength. He's very theatrical. He's very, uh . . . Freddie Mercury, but with the mustache enlarged and draped across the top of his head. You can love it. You can hate it. But the dude has the wow factor. Compared to the competition, he kicked serious Aztec warrior. Odds of advancing: Even money

Whew. Ugh. This was a terrible week IMIO (in my irrelevant opinion). I actually think this is gonna be a tighter race than last week, because there are fewer "definitely not's" and fewer "definitely's." My prediction: Adam, Allison, and . . . Nick. Call me crazy.

UPDATE ***AND SPOILERICITY***

Adam. Check. Allison. Check. And Kris? So far I'm two for two on giving that last guy to make it 10-1 odds. I found it hilarious how poorly the contestants from this week hid their disgust at the material for their group performance. What was that? I did like hearing from Brooke again . . . she's kind of the anti-Idol. And, yes, I posted a picture of Jeanine because it is the last we'll be seeing of her. . . . Unless they come out with Leg Idol. Or Lips Idol. Or Holy Crap, What Did I Just Hear? Idol.

I Can't Handle the Truth

Isn't there just a small part of you (or maybe you feel it with ever fiber of your psychosis) that fears that if God would answer your prayers out loud, immediately, His response would sound a lot like the classic Jack Nicholson rant from A Few Good Men?

No matter how closely we snuggle up to God, we will never approach equality with Him. We can't do what He can do. We can't put ourselves in His place. We cannot know what He knows. So if we, like Job in the 7th chapter of his eponymous book, ask God, "Why have you made me your target?" we ought to be prepared for a response that shocks us.

Job, though, was probably better prepared than anyone ever has been. He understood his smallness on the universal landscape, which is why he asked why God would even pay attention to him. He cringed under the gaze of the Almighty, wishing he could escape into death. Twice he anticipated his disappearance from the face of the earth and the sight of the Lord . . . he predicted that he would cease to be.

Something fascinating and troubling I noticed in this chapter: Job, a man at the rock bottom of suffering and loss, echoed almost verbatim the sentiments in Ecclesiastes from Solomon, a man at the pinnacle of human achievement, wisdom, pleasure, and flat-out existence. Um . . . if that doesn't show us middle-class folks the need for something more than this world offers, nothing will. 

God, I need you. If the man who lost everything and the man who had everything both felt life was meaningless, I need something more, please. Complaining about or reveling in the circumstances that surround me gains me nothing. The only thing that is pure is you. You are not a corrupt colonel, you are my almight, all-loving God who knows infinitely better than I do that You alone can please me.

Dude

If Eliphaz had delivered his response to Job in the 21st century A.D. instead of B.C., Job may have responded with a deadpan glare and an understated, ". . . Dude." But Job was old school, and he said quite a bit more in Job 6, the first half of his response. I'm taking a lighthearted approach, still, because I don't know what else to do. It's hard to read about suffering when I'm not suffering, even when I know others who are. And humor and/or sarcasm have always been my chief coping mechanisms anyway.

Job took a different tack. He reiterated his desire to die and expressed his deep disappointment with the level of support he was getting from his friends. He had no explanation for his suffering, no way out of it, and no love from his entourage.

. . . 

The main conclusion I can draw from this is that when things go bad, I can't expect a reason, an end, or a helping hand. Sure, sometimes I might get all three--but other times I might get none. Am I ready for that? Um . . . I don't want that. I definitely don't want that. I think it's time to be grateful for what God has given, because I'm no Job and I deserve far less than what I got.

Everybody Hurts

It's interesting to me that the toughest day so far in this virtual commitment to spend a little time alone reading the Bible was Sunday. Go figure. But today I'm back on track with Job chapters 4 and 5, not because I want to make up a day, but because those two chapters form one continuous bit of poetic advice from Job's friend Eliphaz.

Even before I began reading, a thought hit me about Job: I care more about Job's suffering because he had it good for so long. The injustice of his suffering seems far more monumental than that of someone who has suffered all his life. And I can say whatever I want about Job being a picture of American culture or my own callousness toward the poor and suffering in the world, but I'm just going to leave it at that. I know it's sad. I know it's wrong. Maybe my heart will beat differently now that I realize how my slanted compassion favors those with whom I most closely identify. I can't force it. But still . . . 

Anyway, Job's friend's soliloquy only deepened my convictions, because he describes this very simple understanding of the very complex problem of human suffering. I realize I'm simplifying it even further, but the gist I came away with was this: 

Look, Job, you've helped people out of trouble before. You're a godly man, and that should be enough to pull you out of your misery. Good people don't get destroyed, evil people do. But nobody's perfect. God is just disciplining you. If you let this present suffering embitter you, you'll be ruined. If I were you, I'd ask God to make it better--you know he will. . . . Oh, and I had this weird dream about an angel or something flying by me. Gave me the chills. Whispered something. Weird, huh?

Some things I take away from this:

• I am not the center of the universe. Not everything that happens in my life is a carefully orchestrated plan to send me a message.
• They say the flapping of a butterfly wings can trigger a chain reaction that results in a hurricane halfway around the world. I don't know about that, but I do know that huge changes can result from small variations. The things in my life that I am most sure about and place the most security in can fall apart in an instant. God's love will never fail. (I believe you were looking for this verse, Bill.)
• I need to be careful not to oversimplify life or God. Phrases like "Good people don't suffer" or "you reap what you sow" don't account for the complexities of being a tiny part of a gigantic universe. Not everything I experience in life is the result of my actions. And God isn't a calculator; you can't just plug in the numbers and predict what He'll display. You can't just tell someone, "Ask God to make it better, and He will." I should turn to God, but I shouldn't expect Him to conform to my trite understanding.
• Job didn't ask God to heal him. At least, it's not recorded here. He was suffering, yes, but he didn't adopt the attitude that God should operate at his beck and call. I'm not saying that's right or wrong, but I am noting that Job seemed to have an uncanny sense of humility.
• Job's heaviest mourning came during his own physical suffering. It was probably torture. It can be somewhat easier to think through and reason your way toward coping with emotional loss, but it's hard to even think straight when you're in physical pain. 

Abbreviated Osc.

I'm not going to do a blow-by-blow commentary on the Oscars, especially since I missed the first eight minutes of blowing. But I will say what I've loved so far (and, although, I haven't seen everything just yet, I've loved just about all that I've seen . . . a very well done show).

1. I love the five past winners of the acting awards introducing the performances of the five nominees. I don't know who wrote the introductions. It certainly appeared natural enough to me that I'm allowing for the possibility that the presenters themselves wrote them. I wouldn't mind seeing it done that way every time. Seems to take the sting out of not winning when you have a past winner telling the world how great you are. Love it.
2. I loved the way they introduced the documentaries . . . with a mini documentary consisting of interviews with the directors and clips of their films. Just a brilliant way to package a group of films I (honestly) wouldn't care anything about otherwise. Loved it.
3. I'm loving the fashions, especially Addison's critique of Penelope Cruz's Cinderella-esque gown: "That sure is a jumbo dress." There's just something about seeing stars dress like stars . . . it's pretty much the best and fanciest they can ever hope to look outside of a Baz Luhrmann production. For my money, the best-dressed presenters thus far: Daniel Craig and Sarah Jessica Parker (also the hot presenters most likely to have real-life people resemble them without being remotely hot).

Okay. That's all. I did catch a bit of the musical number and wondered how many years will go by before we see an awards show that doesn't feature Beyonce. Not that I'm complaining . . . and not that I'm not. I'm just sayin', that's all.

I Wish My Birthday Would Die

You gotta hand it to Job: the dude knew how to mourn. In Job 3, he cursed the day of his birth, wishing it would be banished from hanging out with all the other days. And the day his parents broke the news to the entire patriarchal world that they were expecting? He would have liked to shoot that day out of the sky as well.

Now, I don't know who exactly was prepared to raise Leviathan, but apparently they were in the business of day-cursing. I don't mean to mock Job's sorrow, I'm just pointing out that it was poetically extreme. When you get to the point where you wish you were miscarried, you've entered a bad place emotionally. Job was there. 

Contrary to Satan's speculation that Job would trade anything to be alive, the fact that he wasn't dead was now Job's biggest complaint. Back in chapter 1 (v. 10) Satan said God's hedge around Job was the reason for his love for God--but Job complained (v. 23) about this very protection now that he had lost his loved ones, his possessions, and his health. He wanted the protection lifted. He wanted to die. He was longing for the peace of the grave. But he still wasn't prepared to curse God to effect his own death.

Who else has said with him, "I am not at ease, nor am I quiet, and I am not at rest, but turmoil comes" (v. 26)? A lot of honest people have. Everybody has some pain, but for most people, it has to get really bad before they let it show. As B.B. King said, "The blues was like that problem child you may have had in the family. You was ashamed to let anybody see him, but you loved him. You just didn't know how other people would take it."

I haven't felt pain like Job has. But what I do feel, I prefer to keep hidden. I usually try to keep anything "wrong" hidden from as many people as possible. Because the conclusion Job's friends make later ultimately is the one I think everybody is going to make about me: if there is something wrong in your life, it's probably your own fault. . . idiot. No one ever tells you you're an idiot or a loser when bad things happen to you . . . but you can feel the label adhering to your forehead, can't you? Ugh. That's why I keep things quiet. 

I don't know what the conclusion is here. I mean, bad stuff happens. Job had no idea why he was suffering, he just wanted it to end. And I guess that's what is honorable . . . he didn't blame. He didn't try to reason it out. He just knew it was awful, expressed how awful it was, and left it at that. Hmm . . . this is the part of Job where I tend to lose interest. I'm going to try to stay open to what it says, but I'm not going to force any conclusions. For now, I'll say this:

God is good. Life is . . . iffy.

Skin for Skin

Today I read Job chapter 2. It's not a pick-me-up, but it's good to read. Again, when God asked Satan where he had been, Satan's reply was essentially, "Just, you know, walking around on Earth." When, in fact, the answer was, "Causing pain, death, destruction on God-honoring people." Satan is the original PR spinmeister. 

I found it peculiar that God didn't deal Satan a full accusation. The way verse 3 is phrased, God took responsibility for what happened to Job. He said that Satan incited Him to ruin Job's life. He blamed Satan for instigating the calamity, but God talked of Satan's acts as if He Himself had done them. You'll find variations on this theme every time you discuss the subject of God giving authority to kings, even evil ones, to rule over their people. We all want to tone down that idea, that God merely allows evil leaders to rise to power. I'm not so sure that's right. God is sovereign. I believe He takes responsibility for what He allows to go down . . . not to say He's guilty of evil, but when He gives someone the ability to do evil, He doesn't claim He didn't know or that His hands were tied. He's God.

But God also praised Job for his integrity. Would all the suffering be worth it if you knew God, the high ruler of the universe, was praising me for my integrity? It would certainly help. 

But Satan was skeptical. He accused Job (and all of mankind) of being willing to trade the lives of everyone he knew in exchange for his own. I actually love this accusation, because it is disproved time and time again. There are many people throughout history who have been willing to die for their fellow man (for good and bad causes). This, I believe, is the true mark of God's image upon us.

So God let Satan do whatever he wanted to Job, short of killing him. And this time, there's no mistaking who is doing the action. The text specifically says that Satan struck Job with boils (and who knows what else). The Bible clearly leaves out some of the gory details. Job's wife told him to just end it: curse God. Get it over with. Die already.

And before we get too hard on Mrs. Job, remember that she lost everything, too. She's not an outsider to all the pain and suffering. But Job corrected her. He had welcomed all the good for his entire life, and now he was ready to accept the nasty. And he didn't sin. I haven't heard this come up much, but . . . do you think God may have been responsible for Job's positive attitude? Yeah. I'd say He was. Job had a close relationship with Him, and I would suppose that God rewarded him with the power to stay true. Just my guess.

And then Job's friends came by, saw Job in his suffering, sat down with him, and said nothing for an entire week. That was the best advice they ever gave him.

Seriously, I wish I knew when not to talk. I wish I was always true to God for better or worse. I hope I can be comfortable accepting God's sovereignty over everything. I hope I can accept the strength that comes from God and give Him credit when He helps me.

Why Would He Worship?

In Job 1:12-22, God granted Satan's implied request for a litmus test of Job's faith with almost complete power over all the man had with just one caveat: no touching Job. 

This tells me something about God that was implied pretty much from the moment He planted a forbidden tree in the Garden of Eden: God creates and rules this world without eliminating the possibility of evil, suffering, and sadness. We can ask why, and in this case we have at least some small answer. Satan doubted that Job's allegiance to God was genuine. It isn't spelled out for us, but it seems reasonable to assume that God wanted to validate Job's faith and love by showing that it was real; that Job loved God not because he was rich, and not because he had a great family, but because God was God. But like I said, this is a small answer, because I doubt it would have been any great consolation to Job.

Next, Job's life fell apart, and the way it happened tells us something about Satan, because all the terrible things that happened could easily have been explained by natural or normal causes. One group of people stole his livestock and killed his servants. Then a natural disaster (presumably lightning) destroyed more livestock and servants. Yet another group of outsiders stole even more livestock and killed even more servants. And then a whirlwind killed all his children.

It's not exactly encouraging to know Satan can have control over the actions of armies and the power of weather. And it's possibly even more distressing to think that God would grant him that power. (Is the entire history of the world just a drawn out argument between God and Satan . . . with really compelling theoretical examples?) But it happened. Job lost almost everything.

And the way Job reacted tells us something about him. Job grieved and worshiped. I understand why he would tear his clothes, why he would shave his head. But the worship? 

I guess there's something more to God than just the fringe benefits.

Daily Struggle

Okay, so it looks like I'll be doing American Idol recaps every week. (Thanks to Steph, I'm all twitterpated. What can I say, I'm honored.) But that's not the only blogatory commitment I'm making.

I decided this morning to spend some time in God's Word and in prayer every day. One of the great things about writing Today in the Word devotionals from time to time is that studying the Bible becomes part of my job, which is a silly crazy good thing. The downside is, eventually I start to blur the lines between my work and my own personal time with God (and by "eventually" I mean right away). It seems I've developed a subconscious policy that I won't study the Bible unless I'm being paid to do it.

That changes officially today. To keep me honest (or at least accountable in this regard) I decided to post some devotional thoughts each day. If I don't post anything, that's because I didn't read anything.

Today I started in Job, Chapter 1:1-11. The sad fact is, I picked the book of Job because I thought, I don't want what happened to him to happen to me. Honestly, I don't put nearly enough thought into my choices, because from the very first verse I realized a proper reason would have been, I want to be the kind of man he was.

Job feared God, turned away from evil, and (here's the kicker) prayed for his family. Actually, he didn't just pray, he offered up burnt sacrifices on behalf of his family members on the off chance that one of them had cursed God. 

Internal skeptic says: Yeah, but doesn't Christ's role as the highest of High Priests negate that responsibility now? Old Testament laws don't apply anymore, so you don't have to do that. 

No. I don't have to do it. But here's a little thing to remember: neither did Job. This was all pre-Mosaic Law. God never issued Job or any of his ancestors an order to burn sacrifices on his own behalf or anyone else's behalf. Job made those sacrifices because he knew what pleased God, and that's all he wanted to do, and all he wanted his family to do. So I realized, I need to pray on my family's behalf. Not because I'm commanded to, but because I want my heart to long to please God, and I want to train it to do so. (Aside: Addison just jumped in my lap, looked at what I have typed so far, and said, "Who's the kicker?") Another realization: I don't have to sin. Job was blameless, and while I wouldn't take that to mean he was eternally sinless, the fact remains, he was good. There's no excuse for sinning repeatedly.

Next I read the part about the angels (or sons of God), Satan included, presenting themselves before the Lord. Some things that strike me: 1) Satan just waltzed in, but the Lord didn't greet him as though his presence were expected or welcome. 2) God drew Satan's attention to Job and his faithfulness. Was it to provoke Satan? I doubt it. I think He was showing Satan the truth: that the people He created in His image really are capable of staying true to God. 3) Satan didn't buy it. Satan's perspective was, look, I know from experience that being true to You is an exercise in foolishness. Job isn't true to God, he's true to the comfy-cozy life God gave him. Satan is House. 4) Satan's perspective is all too often my perspective.

I decided I want to have Job's perspective. I want to "fear God for nothing" other than God Himself. I want it to be said of me that if everything I held dear were taken away, I would still love and follow God. I commit to that today with fear, knowing I need serious help to reach that place.

Idol Eyes

Um . . . okay, that was weird. Apparently they let the Idol contestants run production for tonight's show, because they were cutting to cameras giving us closeups of the floor, mysterious glimpses down empty corridors, and tapes of the wrong contestants. Seacrest also dealt us a bit of a shock: only three contestants will make it out of this round.

And then they started singing to help us feel better about their collective departure. So here are my observations:

Jackie Tohn (-deaf) For some reason she decided to dress like a down-on-her luck Minnie Mouse. Somebody needs to break it to Jackie that gigantic pirate-sash leather belts, spandex glam pants, polka-dotted halters, and untied old-school Jordan knock-offs went out with . . . creation. Her dancing was reminiscent of a little jig I used to do while waiting for my siblings to vacate the bathroom. Not good. The singing and the song choice "A Little Less Conversation" complemented each other quite well in their stinkiness. Even more bizarre was the fact that only Simon had the audacity to tell her the truth. Kara isn't quite ready to judge on live tv. Odds of advancing: zero to zero

Ricky Braddy This dude was good. But I would have to look up what song he did to remember it, which pretty much proves that Simon knew exactly what he was talking about when he called the performance forgettable. Really, I liked him, but in a round where no more than two guys will move on, you should pick a song people will remember. No one, it seems, spent any time with Kara showing her how to use her microphone, because I think she just ate it. Odds of advancing: 5 to 1

Alexis Grace The judges loved her rendition of "Never Loved a Man," but I had to look up that one, too. They said she had soul . . . I neither saw nor heard it in her performance. It seemed like she was hitting a series of notes rather than communicating any actual message or story. Just didn't buy her as the character she was pretending to be in that song, but . . . she's got a chance of making it through. Odds of advancing: 3 to 1

Brent Keith He sang some country song. No power. No soul. I couldn't wait for it to be over . . . and I didn't. I did hear Randy and Kara telling him his true identity is a country singer, which is their polite way of telling him he should have tried out for Nashville Star. After Simon told him the performance was forgettable, Brent said, "I don't think country fans are going to forget that anytime soon." And even though I was watching on DVR, at that very moment, I swore I could hear a throng of people cry out in drawling unison, "Forget what?" Odds of advancing: 2 hundr'd ta one.

Stevie Wright I guess she sang some Taylor Swift song. I wouldn't know, because I spent the entire performance turning up the volume; had no idea the girl was singing. Seriously, she may have sung the entire thing an octave too low. It looked painful, and it was for me. At this point, all the judges remembered what Simon had spent the whole night trying to remind them about: they are allowed to tell contestants they stunk it up. And poor, 16-year-old Stevie did just that. Odds of advancing: No, sweetie. Not this time.

Anoop Desai I was so disappointed in his performance of "Angel of Mine," mostly the fact that it happened. Every time I had heard Anoop-dogg in the past, I've loved him. If he makes it to the next round, it will be on the strength of those brief, pre-recorded glimpses into his earlier auditions. The whole thing just sounded weak, uninspired, and, according to Randy, sharp. He did not get it done tonight. All the judges honestly panned his performance, apologizing all the while because they like him so much. I'm sorry, too, Anoop. That was a big An-Oops. Odds of advancing: 4 to 1

Casey Carlson I won't easily forget her song choice: "Every Little Thing She (He) Does Is Magic." I don't need to tell you what I think of that selection. The most disturbing thing by far was her mannerisms while pseudo-singing. At first, she was winking and beckoning like the strip-tease was about to begin. Then she bared her teeth like she was about to gnaw the midsection out of a gazelle. Next thing I knew, she was doing some bizarre imitation of a centaur's gallop. Crazy. The judges were really hitting their stride at this point. You could tell they were second-guessing their choices, and with good reason. These people were really starting to su-huck. Also, will someone please tell Kara to stop banging the table. It sounds like the auditorium is under attack by something even more dangerous than atrocious singing. Odds of advancing: Only if there's a very large contingent of males with mute buttons and lightning-fast texting abilities.

Stephen Fowler First warning sign as Michael Jackson's "Rock with You" began to play: Stephen Fowler single-handedly demolished every racial stereotype ever conceived about rhythm. As the lyrics tell you, "You've gotta feel that beat." Well, judging by Stephen's right hand snapping randomly at his side as if trying to snatch the beat out of thin air, we can most definitely not ride the boogie. Oh . . . this was just so bad, it hurts to relive it. The judges are dumbfounded, even though this happens every single year. The contestants are just making it too easy to send them all home. Kara is still banging the table. Odds of advancing: Can odds be negative?

Ann Marie Boskovich "Natural Woman." Honestly, I dont' know why women on this show select songs that showcase how inferior they are to real singers. Aretha's hat could have sung better than that. The judges, once again, let her have it. Odds of advancing: 30 to Life (because that was murder)

Michael Sarver He sang Gavin DeGraw's "I Don't Want to Be." Apparently not. This guy sailed through the audition process singing soul and R&B, and then he ditched it all in favor of a fast song with which he could not keep up. I wanted to see this guy compete some more, but I am just as disappointed as the judges were. This was a serious streak of underachievement and ridiculii song choices. Ugh. Kara, please. The microphone is connected to the table. Odds of advancing: 10 to 1

Tatiana Nicole Del Toro It pains me to say that Tati-ha-ha-HA-ha-HA-na was one of the best female vocals of the night. By now you know that's not saying much. As soon as she appeared on screen, I told Heather, "She makes me want to die." Heather replied, "She makes me want to shoot myself in the foot. I wouldn't die, but it would distract me from the pain in my ears." Her "Saving All My Love for You," was okay, except when she delivered the lyric "making love the whole night through." The moves that accompanied her vocal stylings triggered my gag reflex, and I almost blew pretzel chunks all over myself. Fortunately, I looked away just in time, and a pukey mess was avoided, albeit narrowly. As was the case a few times, the strangest part of her performance came after the singing was over. She did her very best to appear normal, professional, and reserved. It was scary. Like when Glenn Close would get quiet in Fatal Attraction. Please, America (and I'm looking at you, too, Puerto Rico) don't let her pass. Odds of advancing: 4 to 1 (nooooooo!)

Danny Gokey The guy lost his wife right before the first audition. Then his best friend got eliminated at the final cut. Plus, he's a really good singer, and he looks like Robert Downey Jr. with the creepy dialed down a notch or two. But his performance of Mariah's "Hero," was a bit off. He tried to do too much with it, and it really felt like he got detached from the song in a couple places. But somehow, he launched a major fan-crazed freakout from the female judges. Kara almost cracked the table in half and destroyed her replacement mic with a series of booming Woooooooooooo's. Paula couldn't stand up high enough . . . didn't even sit down for her commentary. Randy thought the performance had been dislodged from the proverbial hook. I think Kara proposed. And like the other bookend to one of AI's oddest shows, Simon once again gave the only genuine critique: it was good, not platinum record good. Odds of advancing: Even money.

Okay, that's it. I hope next week's round is better. And I can't wait to see nine of these people get the old heave ho.

UPDATE (AND ****SPOILER WARNING****)

So Alexis (3:1 odds), Michael (10:1 odds, the longest shot of any of the people I gave realistic odds at advancing), and Danny (Even odds) are in the Top 12. It's still possible that Anoop or Brent might be saved by the Wild Card round, but I don't think any of the girls have a shot. 

And where in the world do AI producers get the nerve to make these people perform group numbers with the knowledge that two-thirds of them are about to make an exodus straight out of their 15-minute fame window? One last time in the spotlight must be worth a lot to them, because they were all smiling (although Jackie Thon was clearly not singing . . . was that her choice, do ya think?).

Overheard . . . Jumbo

The hardest thing about parenting just may be holding in the laughter when your kid says something that you find to be simultaneously reprehensible and hilarious. Addison has become an expert at testing me in this area. Up until now, though, one genre of humor has operated under a zero-tolerance policy: name calling. Making fun of other people's physical, social, and all other traits is not funny in this household, at least not until the kids go to bed. When Addison calls people names that aren't theirs, or he uses derogatory descriptors to poke fun at them, I don't laugh. I don't want to laugh. I correct him as swiftly as I know how.

Yesterday, that all changed. Addison and Heather came home from a session at our church's indoor crazy-fun kiddy playground, and I received a report that proved too funny for even my noblest objections to suppress the resulting laughter. 

Addison was trying to make his way through some apparatus; a slide, a walkway, a cargo net . . . whatever. He found his way blocked by a boy Heather estimated to be somewhere in the 10-12 age group; not fat, but definitely tall. Keep in mind, Addison is five. He's not that much bigger than I was at five (and I really was tiny), but he's a heck of a lot bolder. When I was Addison's age, I would have taken one glimpse at the towering figure before me and immediately head in the opposite direction, never to return again. Addison decided to face the blockade head on and said:

"Out of the way, Jumbo."

When I heard this, I knew I shouldn't laugh. But there I was, busting. Buckled over. Chortling. I couldn't look Addison in the face, because I knew the laughter would explode from me in waves. What would I be teaching my son if I laughed at this?

Well, if this was a test of fortitude, I failed. My son is Sawyer, and I can't help laughing. I guess I taught him that sometimes, name-calling is funny. I just hope the lesson sank in that it's best not to put humor to the test when the object of your verbal jabs has the power to squash you.

Lost Update

If you don't care about Lost, you probably don't care that I added yet another blog . . . it's really ridiculous, but I couldn't stop myself. I know it appears to be a total waste of time, but I'm actually just trying to be more productive with my pent-up, nervous, time-wasting energy.

It's Real Status Updates at facebookforreal.blogspot.com. What does it have to do with Lost, you ask? Well, allow me to connect the dots.

First of all, this episode demanded quite a bit of your long-term memory, forcing you to reach far back into Season 1. Danielle Rousseau was a seasoned, sharp-shooting, independent resident of the island back then (which was actually much later than the events of tonight's episode . . . awesome). She told us, through conversations with Sayid, and others, two things that were brand new revelations at the time but also remained total loose ends, until tonight:

• She was forced to shoot the surviving members of her expedition, including her husband, because they were sick.
  
• The black smoke, she argued, was not a monster, but a security system.

Other loose threads from past seasons were tied together in just a few small comments made by Danielle's husband in tonight's episode before he tried to kill her, forcing her to bust a chapeau in his derriere:

• John Locke had an encounter with the Black Smoke Monster, after which he claimed to have looked into the eye of the island . . . apparently he found it beautiful.
• John also came very close to getting pulled into the same Black Smoke Monster hole we saw in action tonight, except that he wanted his friends to let him get dragged down into it . . . and his limbs remained intact. 
• Mr. Eko saw the Black Smoke Monster twice. Once it flashed a bunch of images at him and then retreated. The second time it flashed a few images at him, turned into a giant hand, and whacked him around Bugs Bunny style.
• The folks at the Dharma Initiative . . . not in love with the Black Smoke Monster, but they knew that their electromagnetic fences kept it away.
• Alex's boyfriend, Karl, was forced by the Others to sit in a room and get brainwashed by a bunch of pro-Jacob propaganda in some sort of mental reprogramming video.
• The Others were sent to "the Temple" at the end of Season 3. Aside from it being kind a far away from the barracks, we really have no clue what or where it is.

But now we know a little bit more about this temple, because we heard Mr. Rousseau telling his gun-toting bride that the smoke was just a security system that protected the temple. Linking the security system concept with the temple is huge. Here's why:

• It definitely distinguishes the temple from any Dharma stations. If the Black Smoke Monster is protecting the temple, the temple is most definitely anti-Dharma.
• It opens up a whole can of worms about who the Others are, how they are recruited, why they are selected, and how they are trained.
• The images projected by the Black Smoke Monster now seem to be connected to the Others' mental reprogramming video. It would make sense. The Black Smoke Monster could possibly both project these brainwashing images and detect brain activity in the dude (or dudette) it's attacking, evaluating the dude's response. If the brain is receptive to Jacob's messaging, this dude is Other material. If not . . . 20 million people are about to see the dude's guts.
• If that theory is true, it's quite possible that the Black Smoke Monster and, by relation, the Others in general are interested in weak-minded people who are likely to have their intellect reshaped by Jacob's little hyper-drive power point presentation. People with especially strong wills of their own are unlikely to conform to the will of Jacob and his merry band of Others.
• And if that's true, it's not a very good sign for Locke and his state of mind. Of course, listening to Jack's dead dad has led to some bizarre life choices for the Losties, so Locke is looking like a full-blown Froot Loop. You'd kind of expect Ben to be in the same boat.
• Along those same lines, it's not a sure thing that the Black Smoke Monster is really just a security system. That notion was the calming reassurance of psycho shooter frenchy husband guy. I think security system is probably not a terrible description, but brainwashing superspy of cartoon death might be a more apt name for it. If the Black Smoke Monster is an ACME product, ya gotta hand it to them, they finally got one right.

Now, I already told you that Daniel Farraday's mom was Ms. Hawking. That proved to be true when Desmond showed up at the door of her . . . church. But Jack's dad, Christian Shepherd, as Jacob? That's real interesting. It's even more interesting that he couldn't help Locke up. We've seen from the way his cabin moves around, that whoever this Jacob is, he is really flippin' good at manipulating what people see. It appears those talents don't extend to the touch. I don't know how he's doing it (maybe he found the corpse in the wreckage of the crash), but it seems that Jacob has chosen the image of Jack's dad to speak to the Losties because he's such a common bond between so many of them (Jack and Claire's dad, talked to Sawyer, met Ana Lucia).

Long story made even longer . . . I don't believe it's in anybody's best interests to go back to the island. My guess is that Jacob (whoever he or they may be) is trying to bring the Losties back to keep them from talking to anyone else about the island and risk it being discovered once again. I think Charles Widmore is pro-Dharma (Science), Benjamin Linus is pro-Jacob (Faith), and they're all a little bit crazy and fighting to the death to keep the other from having a controlling interest in that islandic gem.

It's just a what, now?

The saying "It's just a game" means nothing to me. Saying that to me is like telling Donald Trump, "It's just money." It's telling Barbie, "It's just plastic." Like telling Dr. King "It was just a dream."

Games are a part of who I am. And that's not to say I'm ultra competitive. I am. But that's different. I love games even more than I love to win. I would rather play a game I knew I would lose than not play at all. I like to watch games, play games, make up games, turn things I don't like into games . . . even when they're not fun, games usually appeal to me more than the alternatives of life. If you see me, and I'm not playing a game . . . don't be so sure. I probably am.

So the whole, "It's just a game" thing just doesn't trigger feelings of dismissal and perspective. My internal reaction to that statement is typically, "It better be, or it's not worth the trouble."

I also tend to be a stickler for the rules, when it comes to games. In life . . . eh. But in games, the rules are essential. Because in games, the rules make the game fun. They make it fair. They make it work. If I see a rule being ignored or dismissed or misinterpreted, I will stop the game to straighten the situation out and bring all wrongdoers to funness. If I see a bad call by a ref, ump, or line judge, boils of outrage erupt on my skin. Thank goodness they're metaphorical boils, too, because they don't go away quickly.

You probably know where I'm going with this. Am I distraught about the A-Rod thing? Does the steroid era bother me? Is my sense of sporting and gaming justice shattered?

Not as much as you might think. 

I'm actually okay with changing the rules if it makes the game more fun. And if fun wins out over fair . . . I'm okay with that. And if blatant cheating winds up making the game even more fun . . . yipee! And if at some point somebody feels the need to blow the whistle and put an end to the cheating, that's cool, too. Let's agree there will be no cheating and then move on.

I make sense of the apparent contradictions with semantics. I find them helpful. If cheating is recognized as cheating, it's fine. If someone cheats and insists that they're within the rules, I would sooner chew their ear off then allow the behavior to continue. See the difference? Let me put it this way: if a wolf sneaks into my flock, steals one of my sheep, and yells "nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah," I'll enjoy a good laugh with the remaining livestock. But if a wolf sneaks in wearing a white fluffy toque and saying, "Baa, baa" over and over, well . . . I'll shoot the huffin', puffin' animal. 

You might understand if you ever played games with my dad. He never plays by the rules. Sometimes it's extremely annoying. (Like when he looks at the answer on the back of the Trivial Pursuit card and starts giving the opposing team hints like, "Adoooooooooolf . . . . Oh, give 'em the pie, they knew it.") Other times it's hilarious. (As it is when he lays down an enormous stack of random cards and yells, "Gin!" . . . when we're playing Uno and it's my turn. Or when, during Catch Phrase, he starts using charades gestures and rhymes to get you to guess "Iran-Contra scandal.") In one case, he's completely betraying the spirit and integrity of the game. In the second case, he's cheating with reckless abandon. See the difference?

From 1989 to 200?, baseball players cheated with reckless abandon. Sure, they weren't trying to be funny. And . . . maybe some of them will die because of it, we don't know that. Vaunted records crashed, as they were made to do. Do they mean nothing now? No! To me, the records are still a cherished part of the game . . . which, outside of the game, never meant anything to begin with. BUT WHO WOULD WANT TO BE OUTSIDE OF THE GAME, I ASK YOU!?!?!!? Watching the home run derby that was the 1990s . . . was a lot of fun. It's fun now. Heck, watching professional ball players squirm under oath and the glare of intimate interview lighting is pretty fun too. 

I follow the game of baseball because it's part of who I am. Not because I think it's . . . real. It's a game. It is meant to be enjoyed. I do that. If people cheated, cheat, will cheat, so be it, amen, hallelujah. Just make sure it's fun and save me a cheap seat.

It's a Brand New Me

Not exactly. But here are some changes I've made over the last several days:

One day I replaced one cup of coffee with a big glass of water. I was glad I did, but that particular change always results in the sudden need to, um, get out of the office ever 20 minutes or so. Still, it helped.

Another day's change wasn't especially good for me, as I think I pretty much decided to eat as much as I could every chance I got. Still, I was glad I did that, too.

I also started a new blog, one I had been putting off for years. Why I didn't have a Cubs blog before now, I don't know. But now I do. It's called And Counting, and you can find it at countingonthecubs.blogspot.com. 

Then yesterday I slept for roughly 12 hours. Actually, I slept roughly for 12 hours, as the semi-hibernation was induced by migraines. But still, you can't complain about 12 hours of sleep. Eat pizza, go to sleep, wake up and have breakfast? That's change you can believe in.

Great Start

My change for today was to get to bed early. You see, at a quarter after midnight, I'm beginning to realize why they say it's important to make your goals specific.

Groundhog Day 2

Last Groundhog Day, I made a commitment for the month that I found far superior to any batch of New Year's resolutions I had ever concocted. The plan was to make one change every day for the entire month. I didn't commit to making the changes last. Some stuck. Some didn't. But I pretty faithfully picked at least one thing every day to change.

I had no idea where the process would lead, but every step of the way was exhilirating. Not all the changes were earth-shattering. One day, I decided I needed to stretch in the morning to get the blood flowing. Another day I ate an apple instead of a cookie. Somewhere along the way I decided not to say anything negative about anybody. I took a break from the computer. Oh, yeah, and on one of the last days of the month, I resigned from my job of almost 10 years.

The more comfortable I became with change, the more I realized that big changes needed to happen. I loved it. It was amazing. It seriously changed my life.

But I gradually stopped making changes. And now I miss them. I miss the daily realization that something about me needs to change, at least until I make it all the way to perfect (which, Heather reminded me, will happen after I flatline).

And I can't recommend anything with more sincerity and gusto. That's right, long before Barack Obama made change fashionable, I got hooked on it myself for a whole month. Change, even for its own sake, is brilliant. Try it . . . for a change. Yes, I know that was cheesy. I'm okay with it.