American Idol S8 Finals Ep14 Don’t Leave Me This Way

Lament with me, kittens. Our great Anoop is dead.

Ok, lamentation done.

Noodles, it was sad, but on the real? Anoop was not going to be our next American Idol. And he threw away his chances week after week with both hands. Beat It? That sad, sad Usher impersonation? The parade of Members Only jackets? Heck, even on his sing out (which was scads better than on performance night, btw) he still forgot half the words to the damn song. The Idol gods help those who help themselves, darlings.

But mixed in with the bitter last night was an ample helping of sweet, no? Lil and her parade of ever worsening ,Kanekalon weaves and her stank face attitude and her second alto to the right church choir voice are gone home. And she took her butt and her white go-go boots with her. And I say good riddance to bad rubbish. Most disappointing pre-finals fan favorite of all time? I think so, darlings. Let us never speak of her again.

What else was sweet? Kittens, can we deal with the group sing? Yes, the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad lip synching was back in full effect. But everything else about that group sing was dyno-mite! Let’s start at the very beginning. Seeing Paula Abdul in her element kicked tremendous amounts of ass. It’s so easy to forget from the vantage point of eight seasons of drunk Paula that the woman is a kick ass dancer and choreographer. Cold Hearted Snake? What? Possibly the best dance intensive video of all time – nods to Bob Fosse not withstanding. She just looked so relaxed and easy and confident and in control putting the kids through their paces. And for the most part, they did mama proud. [Insert rant about Frikkin’ Gokey here.] Adam danced his ass off. Kris made me love awkward white boy dancing and the rest of the kids were sufficiently funky, funky. And the return of the pointy pose. Oh, pointy pose! I think I’ve missed you most of all.

Hmmm? What else? How about Thelma Houston and Freda Payne’s ta-tas joining Paula’s rebel army, the Breast Liberation Front? Or the fact that Paula did so much drunk chair dancing, and with such joy and abandon, that she’s sure to have aggravated the much discussed “back injury” which will cause her to go back on the sauce leading to the return of incoherent, Rainbow Paula? What about the juxtaposition of D’Archie, still looking like the cutest and cuddliest lost Teletubby ever being trotted out after the exhumed and bloated corpse of KC had just defiled the stage? Poor D’Archie. Or poor, befuddled Ryan? You try having a conversation with D’Archie and Manic Panic. Between the two of them, there’s not enough brain sparkage to light a gasoline soaked match. There was minimal judgery. And while Anoop might have been sent packing (and taken the world’s cutest parents home with him) at least he looked good going.

All in all, an enjoyable night of Idol. I will be crying again next week when it sinks in that losing Anoop means one more week of both Goat Boy and Frikkin’ Gokey, but for now, peace and be satisfied, kiddies.