Grading the American Idol Season Eight Top 9 on the TiVo Multi-Bloop Scale


When a monstrously funded, intelligently engineered, brilliantly conceived production chooses to be so lazy as to make their Theme of the Week “Whatever is on your iPod Shuffle”, I have no choice but to answer their laziness with some of my own. Let’s make this tripe quick.

Randy is useless and ugly and has the audacity to question someone’s fashion sense when I have seen him wearing teal cardigans that Heathcliff Huxtable would have dumped his Jello on, Simon is bored out of his bloody mind, Kara is losing her shit faster than I do in the second minute of the Where the Wild Things Are trailer and Paula, PAULA, is the sanest, most constructive judge on the panel.

Do I need to point out how utterly atrocious this season has become?

Fine, one more point, quickly: the most well-produced beat of the night was the video package of Ryan doing his American Top 40 Radio show. Man alive is that guy a pro! I wish Idol would just crown Adam Lambert tomorrow so that we could watch Ryan do all his various jobs for an hour every week till May. At least I’d have some passion to blog it.

As I do every elimination week, I recap the performances and grade the singers on a sliding scale of how much I wanted to, or did, TiVo-bloop through the song. At the end of each recap I’ll make my pick for who should (and hopefully will) get the axe on the mind-numbingly long results show. Let’s start the blooping!

The dreaded Triple-Bloop!TRIPLE BLOOP

americanidol-s8-top9-meganjoyMegan Joy – Just a mega-disaster of Watchmen box office gross proportions. Can’t pick a song to save her life (the judges would have kicked each other in the ear to praise her if she had sung Winehouse. Which is why they suck, cause this is a show about karaoke and yet we get told every week that karaoke is not what they want.), has anti-stage presence, and is so violently annoying that her beauty has become a wash. Simon practically yelled at her tonight for being an idiot. Take it from someone who watched the show twice, he wasn’t the only one.

Anoop Desai – I can’t believe it took us this long to call him out for being a drunken douche at a Frat House Rock Band night. And he picks this aimless, worthless night to suit up instead of the classy Motown Night? See: the first sentence.

The Terrible Double-Bloop! DOUBLE BLOOP

americanidol-s8-top9-lilroundsScott MacIntyre – Anytime you can turn a white guy’s fro into a white guy’s greasy helmet hair, you TAKE THAT CHANCE! Especially on a blind guy who won’t know how silly yet glorious he actually looks. I’m still meh on his talent and performance ability but I’ll reverse bloop him just to watch that luscious bubble hair head.

Lil Rounds – Was her wig off-center, or just awful? I’m going with both. Let me get this right, you’re told that the theme of the week is basically every song ever made with instruments, and you, a black woman, the only contestant with actual Hip Hop cred, chooses to sing Celine Dion? Congratulations Lil, you are now officially a beige person.

Danny Gokey - Snorey Snorekey. Snored me with his snorey snoring. And then? More snore. Somebody please explain to me why I should stay awake for this lightweight!

The vaunted Single-Bloop! SINGLE BLOOP

americanidol-s8-top9-krisallenAdam Lambert – The best he has ever looked; somebody was nice to the makeup artist this week! Was fun to see him stay cleaned up, love the Elvis pomp, you KNOW I love the return of the Rape Eyes, buuuut that was some campy theater shenanigans. I thought I was watching the second act of Jersey Boys. Call me when he remembers that there’s a difference between performing in theater and performing IN a theater.

Matt Giraud – I’m a sucker for pappy crap like The Fray and I’m a sucker for playing IN the crowd, so I can tell with a certainty how hopeful I was that Giraud would knock it out of the park. I was, as I am with this whole season, disappointed. He should have done “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon, better fit for his voice, sexier song, way more current and I wouldn’t have had such an awful pit in my stomach that at some point next year I’m gonna be hearing his second single underneath the Act Four montage of a misfired Grey’s Anatomy episode.

Allison Iraheta – Who doesn’t love an insanely crazy pink buckled mumu coat dress combined with an even pinker peacock hairdo? Especially when the point is to ape Gwen Stefani, the Queen of crazy pink buckled fashion. The performance was a miss, but her voice is just SO good, she gets brownie points for rocking the guitar and I’m giving her a personal bloop bump for how Ryan introduced her “[growing up] 20 miles from where No Doubt started”, which in Southern California proximity terms is like saying they both live in the Northern Hemisphere.


Kris Allen – The best performance by every standard ever used to measure anything ever. Who knew he could rock the keyboard? And better than Giraud, even! Amazing arrangement to a song that has been done and done and done, Kris made the song fresh and bold and interesting again. Can’t give a pass to his weird squirrelly singing faces, but I’ll forgive it if he makes music that sounds so good. For once, this 84% contestant gets an “A”.

The Bottom Three: Megan Corkrey, Scott MacIntyre, Allison Iraheta

My prediction for who gets the axe: Megan Joy Corkrey


Posted in American Idol, American Idol: Season Eight, Television | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Enumerating the Ways In Which I Lose My Shit Over the Where The Wild Things Are Trailer

I have now spent what seems like 14 full days watching the Where The Wild Things Are trailer. It’s nourishment for me, sustenance, at this point. I feel that if I don’t watch it, dissect it, consume it, I will lose it, and that is a loss I am not prepared to handle.

There is a lot about culture, specifically pop culture, which is dispensable. Forgettable. Trivial. You watch it on a lark, or because it’s pretty, or the explosions, or the Rachel McAdams, and you don’t feel one way or the other, emotionally, about it. Sequels meant to provide you with that safe feeling of security; no brain power is needed, you have already rode this ride, you know the loops and the spins, you will be OK. And that is all fine, to a point.

The other side is culture that is vitally important to your life on a conscious and subconscious level. Stories that have affected the way you think, characters that define you, words you live by. Art is a visceral experience; an active viewer registers a chemical response to the thing being viewed. This chemistry is inherently fixed, as Malcolm Gladwell would tell you, and is affected by synapses in the brain that cannot be comprehended. In other words, you have no choice over the things you love and hate. Everything that makes you who you are, environment, experience, et al, affect your chemistry.

I’m going on at length about this, so that when I tell you the chemical reaction I am having to the WTWTA trailer is so potent my skin is literally heating up, you won’t think I’m speaking in hyperbole. I watch this trailer and I lose my shit. Lose it.

I do so because the combination of images and sounds is so beautiful. Because the care being put into this movie is so readily apparent. Because I have long desired to see the Wild Things come to life, and here they are, as real as in my dreams, and I can not seem to shake the feeling that my imagination, my wild imagination, was right on on this one thing, and that validation is more enriching than love, in this moment.

My Mom read me this story. I looked at the pages and she read the words. I was that boy. I was Max. I had feelings of anger and hope and ambivalence. I was confused by my parents’ behavior, by how different I felt from my friends and schoolmates. I longed to be part of a community where I was the focus, where I was set free to revel in my id. I wanted to ride in my sail boat to that faraway land. This was important to me. And it has stayed important to me, as all landmark art does.

When I point out the difference between trivial and transcendent pop culture, I do so to illustrate just how vital certain works are, and how important it is for them not to be mangled or disrespected. My Dad read me The Cat in the Hat, but as I had no real connection to it (I care about a cat coming to life and playing with paint?), seeing Mike Myers piss on Dr. Suess’ memory wasn’t such a travesty. The story just didn’t resonate with me on a physiological level. Where the Wild Things Are did.

Had the creatures been made to look fake or “funny” or childish, I would have been heartbroken. Had Max not been wearing his costume, had he not danced and ran and growled, had the Wild Things not roared their terrible roar, it would have crushed me. Because it would have taken away that memory I have of being a child, being told a story, and believing in my mind that this was real. That it was right. That it was OK.

And so I watch this trailer and become a child again. And my mind moves and whirls and my heart breaks and my soul dissolves into molecules. And I close my eyes and relief washes over me; this memory, this sacred thing, is safe. I am safe.

And then I lose my shit.


The best shadow since the Episode 1 teaser poster.


This is EXACTLY what a kid looks like when he confuses fear with anger. How human is this movie!


The ultimate. Just the ultimate.


The “E” is a Wild Things foot. Did you just die? Did you just die a beautiful death? I thought so.


Aaaaaaand I have lost control of my faculties.


Holy Jesus. They actually made the Wild Things legitimately frightening. Love it.


An inside peek into what a boy sees when he uses his imagination.


This is where I truly lost it. That Spike understood that the book, in its basest form, is a cry for help from a young boy, slays me. Max is acting out because he lost his father. The Wild Things ARE his Dad. When he plays with them, he is really playing with the Ghost of his abandoned Father. There just aren’t words for the astounding tragedy of that idea.


When was the last time you rolled down a hill? It’s been too long.


Are you five years old, curled up into a ball, eyes wide with the wonder of the world at your feet? Cause I am. And continue to be…


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Harper’s Globe: Episode 1 – “Fresh Start”

I’m gonna need you to get ahead and watch this video. IMMETES.

In continuing my recent “you might not know this about The Jay” Tour, I wanted to tell you that when I’m not online skewering celebrities and on my couch TiVo-blooping Idol flunkies, I have me a real world jobby job. And in that jobby job I work on a webseries. That webseries is called “Harper’s Globe”. It’s the companion webseries to the new CBS show “Harper’s Island”, and, if I do say so myself, it rocks. It rocks the socks. It rolls, it owns, and it pwns. It would be the Top Post on

You know how Wayne Campbell says “This blows goats. I have proof”? Well Harper’s Globe is the COMPLETE opposite of that. It goats blows.

Picture the most amazing thing you can think of that doesn’t include a monkey wearing two tuxedos (ONE tux wasn’t formal enough!). So you’re probably imagining something like this: Keanu Reeves is whoa-ing in bullet time while Rachel McAdams makes out with Ryan Gosling on a pier, Rocky is boxing a Russian, Vince Vaughn is talking a mile a minute at nothing in particular, Reese Witherspoon is gathering nuts for the winter (because she is a squirrel), The Zellweger is hitting the wall, Guy Pierce is taking Polaroids of you, Mel Gibson is shaking hands with Jews, Megan Fox is bending over every car in the parking lot, the Terminator just showed up and is all “come with me if you want to live” but you’re holding out for Michael Beihn cause you’re a child of the 80′s, somehow you have a working lightsaber in your hand and Vader is NOT your father but IS a really cool Uncle, Chris Farley is suddenly alive and falling into coffee tables, Beyonce is singing Halo on a loop, ’99 Britney is rocking her catholic schoolgirl outfit and asking you to hit her baby, one more time, Molly Ringwald wants to go to Prom with you, Ferris Bueller is dedicating Beatles songs to you, Chazz is asking you about a gangster named Keyser Soze, Ben Affleck is saying that YOU were the bomb in Phantoms, your abs are as jacked as King Leonidas, you’re saving hostages on the top of Nakatomi Plaza, everything is in that James Cameron-style blue filter that makes you look kickass and THIN, your hair is better than Don Draper’s best day side-sweep and this is all being filmed using that one Spielberg shot wear the camera zooms in on the actors but the background goes all wide and blurry, like when Chief Brody first sees the shark in Jaws.

This is better than that.

Listen to my mouth words here and peep the star of our show:


Like you don’t want to spend time with her? Like that isn’t the punim that launched a thousand frenzied Google searches (real name = Melanie Merkosky. Have fun!)? You’re actually telling me this? And expecting me to believe you? Go fuck yourself.

So watch it, comment on it, help me make it a success. Because I don’t slave all day making high-quality web entertainment so that it can be ignored. Get on this, people!


Posted in Life and Times of The Jay, Lindsay Lohan, Miscellaneous Pop Culture, Television | Tagged , , | 5 Comments

Wild Things Poster Boof!


I want to see all sorts of this movie. All sorts!


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Grading the American Idol Season Eight Top 11 on the TiVo Multi-Bloop Scale

American Idol Top 13 attends the American Idol Top 12 Party

American Idol has a huge Country fanbase. We know this because contestants like Kristy Lee Cook routinely make it to the Top 7. We know this because Carrie Underwood is the highest selling Country Artist in music today. We know this because Bucky Covington exists on this Earth. And while those facts are all true, none of them support the bigger argument that American Idol should focus more attention on Country music.

Because this is, after all, a pop music show.

So why must we be forced to endure a host of kids who don’t listen to Country, can’t sing Country, don’t want to sing Country, and have no business fronting the genre, karaoke that beast? And why this season especially? Season Eight is atypically devoid of even one true Country kid. You could argue for Michael Sarver, cause of the Texas, but he fits more into the Bear Porn genre than he does Country Music. Alexis Grace is secretly a blues singer, Megan Corkrey is secretly from Mars, Adam Lambert only rapes in rock, and Anoop will only sing Country if his Frat House is doing a Western-themed roofie party with the Kai Delts.

And the judges hate the music, too! Simon loathes the genre, Randy has no experience in it, Paula only knows the Country Divas and Kara just wants to have sex with Kris Allen and not getting any Lambert herpes on her choppy bangs. Couldn’t we have just skipped this? Couldn’t we have NEVER spent two hours watching Randy Travis vainly attempt to find his pulse?

I’ve never wanted to octuple-bloop through a performance night so much in my Idol-watching life. Let’s get down to business so we can start forgetting this week ever happened.

To the Blooping!

As I do every elimination week, I recap the performances and grade the singers on a sliding scale of how much I wanted to, or did, TiVo-bloop through the song. At the end of each recap I’ll make my pick for who should (and hopefully will) get the axe on the mind-numbingly long results show. Let’s start the blooping!

The dreaded Triple-Bloop!TRIPLE BLOOP

0000055668_20090317211627Anoop Desai – I refuse to comment on Anoop until he wears something nicer than his Sigma Pike Beta Thursday Night bar crawl outfit. I don’t need to listen to him sing in the same clothes he wears while over-serving Freshman Sosh Majors into his Frat house top bunk.

Michael Sarver – So that was a whole that of please God stop doing whatever it is you are doing. The Roughneck may be super charming, and he’s probably a great guy to have a beer with, provided you don’t mind PBR, but listening to him do a Micro Machines commercial up there was nauseating. It wasn’t musical, it wasn’t entertaining, I don’t believe it was actually singing, so much as talking in front of a dude with a harmonica. If this is the truly indicative of Country Music, than I haven’t missed a thing.

Scott MacIntyre – Totes me de ocreage. Again we’re going to ignore the performance, cause I don’t have the time or the inclination to spend words on something that is inherently pointless, so we’re gonna talk about the rest of his camera time on the show last night. Did you notice that Scott caught hell for playing the piano two weeks in a row, but Matt Giraud didn’t? That’s the Idol Producers subtly telling you to kick him off so they don’t have to plan a whole Tour’s worth of choreography where one of the kids drags him along the elaborate stage. I’ve been to a Idol Tour show, trust me, it’s no place for Scott MacIntyre. But hey, he did have the best joke of the night: “I can move it closer”. If I said moronic things like “LOL”, here’s where I would. And then I would kill myself. Or volunteer to be Lamberted in the ear; something painful to repent for my sins.

Alexis Grace – She gets props for being the only Idolist to actually sound like a country artist. She loses points for being the only Idolist to sound like utter crap. And when did she turn into plastic surgery face? I haven’t fallen off a bandwagon this quickly since I went on a Sugar Purge back in 07 and then proceeded to eat 22 Oreo Cakester cookies eight minutes later.

The Terrible Double-Bloop! DOUBLE BLOOP

0000055664_20090317211621Lil Rounds – I finally understand what Simon means when he says something is “cruise-ship”. Lil Rounds sang that song with about as must passion as I have when I’m watching being forced to watch Private Practice cause nothing else is on (I hate everything about it except KaDee Strickland’s everything). You knew Lil was gonna biff on Country Week; not cause she’s black, but because why would her voice and style translate? Mary J. Blige wouldn’t be caught dead singing Reba or Dolly, and that’s the way it should be. Lil should have taken a page from Iraheta and just R&B’d the steez out of Nashville.

Danny Gokey – More like Danny BOREkey! Huh? Huuuuuh? Yeah. Had to. (Did I repeat this joke from last week? Don’t care. Still works.). I can’t believe we’re gonna crown this borebag. Archuleta was eleventy-thousand times more fun last year and he didn’t win and no one is buying his record, so why should I care about Gokey? Especially when he chooses to where Costanza Gore-tex jackets on stage and give Paul Rudd from 40 Year-Old Virgin Michael McDonald brain aneurisms.

Matt Giraud – Not yet on his bandwagon. I need to see him perform away from his piano and not come off like the spastic epilepsy patient that was his Coldplay performance. It’s not hard to be impressed by a dueling piano player be charming on the piano. But would he have been as charming doing what Kris Allen did? I’m thinking no. I’m thinking his nine-head sweats would have soaked the stage.

The vaunted Single-Bloop! SINGLE BLOOP

0000055660_20090317211613Kris Allen – Well that was certainly earnest goes to idol. I felt like I had watched every Mandy Moore movie ever made in the span of two and a half minutes, and suddenly I didn’t want to violently punch Shane West in the throat. And, really, that’s not so bad a feeling. I’d rather see him Mraz it up, but if Kris wants to get a little mellow every now and again, try to take votes from Jack Johnson, I’ll allow it.

Megan Corkrey – Looked great, toned the crazy down by 64%, played her sickness up just enough to stay safe for a week and only did one thing to make me regret crowning her my Boof (that would be the raise the roof before Ryan joined her on stage. Girl really needs to retire the gratuitous noise bullshit). Thought the performance itself was pretty reserved, fairly absent in her usual vocal quirks, but she played the part of Grand Ole Opry nine kazillion times more charming than Alexis, so kudos to my Boof.

Adam Lambert – When he wasn’t violently Lamberting my nether regions with his eyes and pasty skin, he was blatanly Lamberting David Cook’s “Billie Jean” performance. And despite my now sore and humiliated manhood, I thought the whole experience was pretty frackin amazing. The man’s rape voice can do astounding things. Blair Waldorf amazing things. I may have to watch him with my eyes closed (you know, so I can avoid the raping), but I will happily do so for many more weeks.


Allison Iraheta – OK, I’m officially on the Iraheta Train. She may have a face that’s ten pounds of ass in a five pound bag, but that voice is commanding and awesome and scrumtrillescent. She even made Country fun to hear. I like the hair modulations, the outfits are calming down and the personality, while still boring, is less horrendous than before. She’s a single bloop performer, quintuple bloop talker, and that’s alright by me.

The Bottom Three: Michael Sarver, Alexis Grace, Megan Corkrey

My prediction for who gets the axe: Michael Sarver


Posted in American Idol, American Idol: Season Eight, Television | Tagged , , | 4 Comments

SJP And The Jay Go For A Very Important Walk


Sarah Jessica Parker gallops down the road with The Jay.

SJP: Where we goin’, Jay?

The Jay: We’re going for some ice cream, SJP. Would you like that? Would you like some ice cream?

SJP: Oh yes, I LOVE ice cream. Neeeeeeeeigh!

The Jay: … right.

SJP: What flavor you gonna get?

The Jay: Orange Sherbet.

SJP: Oh yes, I like that flavor. Hee hee, that’s what Catrall and I and used to call Cynthia Nixon’s junk. Cause it was orange! Get it? Orange sherbet, orange junk?

The Jay: Very clever.

SJP: Yeah, I’ve gotten funnier, and classier, in my old age.

The Jay: Speaking of old age, it’s been a quite a good run for you.

SJP: Yeah, I’ve done a lot. Television, movies, theater, a beard. But there’s still life in me. More projects. More ridiculous outfits. More Kentucky Derby’s. …probably more beards.

The Jay: You think so?

SJP: I feel great. Truth be told, I think I have a good 20-30 years left in me.

The Jay: Wouldn’t that be nice.

SJP: Yeah. …wait a minute! This isn’t the way to the Ice Cream shop! Where are we going?


SJP: Jay? No!

The Jay: I’m sorry, SJP. This is the way it has to be.

SJP: But why?

The Jay: You know the wall?

SJP: I hit it?

The Jay: Dear, you hit it so long ago the remains have eroded into salt.

SJP: /whinnies sadly

The Jay: This is for the best. Really it is.

SJP: I knew things were bad, I just did realize how bad.

The Jay: Let me show you.


SJP: You’re right. …Do you think they’ll turn me into a glue stick or that white paste all the Tommy Boy’s eat?

The Jay: I’ll make sure it’s both.

SJP: Thanks Jay, you’ve always been a good friend to me.

The Jay: I know.

SJP: Tell Matthew I love him?

The Jay: Aww SJP, no.

SJP: It’s been a good life. A good life, indeed.

The Jay: SJP, would you do it for me one last time? For old times sake.

SJP: Sure. My name is SanDeE*, spelled big S, small a, small n, big D, small e, big E, with a star.

The Jay: Awesome.

SJP: Goodbye, Jay.

Sarah trots into the factory.

The Jay: Sarah Jessica?

SJP: Yeah?

The Jay: You were good.

SJP: Neieeeegh.

The Jay: (choking up) … you were good.

Sarah disappears into the factory.

The Jay: Vio con dios, horseyface.


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