American Idol Snark Station: The Sun Goes Down on Me

One of the few non-fist-flying, hair-pulling, face-spitting moments I can remember having with my brother when we were kids was the time we spent choreographing and practicing a dance routine to Elton John's "Bennie and the Jets" in anticipation of presenting it to our parents and neighbors on Sunday afternoon. I even used up a whole bottle of Elmer's Glue to coat my go-go boots with green glitter and my brother likewise outlined a pair of my mother's YSL sunglasses with gold sequins.

We were so over the moon for Elton John, my parents even agreed to allow us to join his fan club, which used to send us these monthly newsletters outlining all the goings-on in Elton's life in that hyper-exclamatory manner so particular to fan mag writing of the time: "Elton says the best way for a girl to catch his eye is not to be too fake!" "Elton can eat wherever he wants in the world but still says his mom's meat pies are his favorite!'"

To this day, if one of his songs comes on the radio—even "Candle in the Wind" and "I'm Still Standing"—I'll listen. Some still have the power to slay me completely, most notably "Daniel," "Someone Saved My Life Tonight," and "Yellow Brick Road." Elton even followed me into adulthood, when S.B. revealed during the early days of our courtship that one of the things that got him through three stints in a Nigerian compound was John's Tumbleweed Connection on his Walkman because there's a song on there that reminds him of me.

So I couldn't help but cringe when I heard that the Idolators were doing Elton songs last night. Seriously? Because of all the pop songs out there, Elton's are to my mind at least some of the toughest to cover. What makes Elton John great is not only his lyrics and piano-driven melodies, but also his voice, one of the most distinctive in all pop music, capable of phrasing things in ways that no mere mortal, regardless of technical ability, can match.

And you know what? They still can't. The thing about Elton, too, is that so many of his songs are so personal. And these kiddies seemed not to grok to the meaning of the lyrics at all, especially Pia, who for all her technical proficiency just comes off to me as cold and un-engaging. The praise heaped on that Cruise Ship performance made me wince.

You know who I did like, though? Durbin. It was a little manic, but his voice was awesome and he brought an energy and a power to his performance that was almost Elton-esque. Oh, and Pauls' suit? I want that suit. I'd wear that suit. That suit rocks.

You?

Movie Clip Wednesdays: Favorite Liz Taylor Movie

Oh, what, you were expecting a video of Liz Taylor? Well, of course I adore Liz Taylor (RIP), but I think our Movie Clip Wednesday's hostess's birthday takes precedent over any ol' clip of Liz flashing those violet eyes and swinging those zaftig hips.

So, Happy, Happy Birthday, Boxer Baybeeeeeeeeee! I hope your day is filled with oodles of special things, well wishes, love, cake, presents, cake, vodka, love, and cake.

Mmmmmmmmmmwah.

Haiku Monday: Lemon WINNER

Hey, now, this was fun! Although I'm not sure I'd blind judge again. Maybe HIRE someone to judge, but not blind judge. A few of you, I groked to immediately: Boxer with her booze (nicely done), Troll with his Yo (party at Trolls!), and Czar with his obscurely compelling reference to 30 Rock (what does it mean? Liz Lemon and her car?!?) because it just seems so, well, Czar. And the terrific haiku extolling U2's Lemon love had to be either Pam or Kym (Kym).

A few of you tripped me up, though. Whod'a thunk Troll of all people would toss in a pop cultural reference to Napoleon Dynamite, only the greatest comedy of the last half century, yes I'm serious, if you don't think it's funny well I won't judge but, seriously, it's pretty freakin' funny . . . although I can't imagine Troll would think so. Then again, NATURE loves her little surprises. As he so astutely pointed out in the haiku, which resonated especially strongly with me (another top contender) because I've been reading Guns, Germs, and Steel, and so, yes, exactly! What IS natural? Well, ever since man first started tinkering with his existence, the answer is, Not much. So take that, Al Gore, and shove it down your pie hole along with another donut. The entire PLANET is a construct.

Anyway.

I also want to give a huge shout out to two new participants: Princess and Mitzi. Princess, I hope you keep playing, because the only thing that kept you out of the running was lack of adhering to the 5/7/5 syllable construct. Not all American haiku adheres to this rule, but we do, otherwise, goodness, Party People, it would be total anarchy around here, dogs and cats, living together, and then where would we be? Limmericking, that's where.

Speakin of which, Mitzi, thanks for the laugh. Come back anytime.

Second-time participant Fleurdeleo was a top contender with her ode to the joys of Love's Fresh Lemon, which is as entrenched in my scent memory as all the other late, great 1970s scents that seemed custom made for a certain class of junior high chica just beginning to sow her oats.

You regulars really put on a great show, too, and I wish I had time to speak to each and every haiku individually, because each of them had something that I loved. Even those that also discounted themselves because they didn't adhere to 5/7/5 (and all I can say in that regard is count, count, count, and count again), most especially Karl's 6.0 and lemonade stand, which were both top, top contenders. But they went over syllable count. Boo.

So, which haiku excelled at catching my eye and ear? Those that placed a very strong visual in my mind and that located them in a certain time/place. K9, for example:

yeah, it's beautiful
but that automobile is
bad yellow citrus

Right? We've all seen that car.

Also, Czar again being clever, only this time with something I "get:"

In Costa Rica,
Yanquis taken by surprise.
Asked, "Lemons?" Got limes.

And Foam, who is like the Yoda of Haiku.

scrunched up little nose,
wide startled eyes, puckered mouth . . .
thppt! lemon arcs far . . .

God lord, that's great.

And I love this from Pam:

Yellow like the sun
Sour, tart, tangy, bitter so
For ade, add sugar

Get it? Ade/aide? Love it.

But, after all is said and done, the one haiku that got my heart and my head, that transported me back to the halcyon days of my youth, when no bikini was too teeny and the initials SPF were still an unknown in some wet blanket scientist's mind, when we girls spent our summer days trying to get our bodies as dark as possible and our hair as light as possible, all in the laser-focused, single-minded pursuit of attracting the attention of as many lank-haired, pre-verbal boys as possible, is Fishy's:

Poolside Summer teens
streaking our hair with lemons
we smell'd like sun pies

It was that last line that got me. Smell'd like sun pies. Smelled. Like. Sun. Pies. That line just keeps playing itself over and over in my mind. It is perfect.

Congrats, Fishy! If you still have my email addy, send me your address toot suite and I'll send you the cookbook—and decide if you want to host/judge, or toss it back to Troll.

Thanks again, Party People! You are all sun pies to me.

Haiku Mondays: Make LEMONade

Welcome, Party People, to another installment of Haiku Monday. I hope you're playing along this week and have come up with an homage or two to the theme, which is LEMON.

Me, I'm like Bubba Gump when it comes to this fruit. I love anything that tastes, smells, looks like, and/or otherwise utilizes the ingredient of lemon, including but not limited to: lemon icebox pie, lemon custard, lemonade, lemon chicken, gremolata, 7-Up, Fresca, and any perfume, cologne, or eau de toilette with a lemony accord, the ne plus ultra of which is Dior's Eau Savage, a scent I'd bathe in if I had the financial means. (Any of you currently trying to woo a member of the opposite sex might try dousing yourself with a little of this stuff, it's just that gorgeous.)

So I'm looking forward to reading what you crazy kids come up with—on Tuesday, because I've decided to blind judge this contest just like Czar did his. Which means, in order to be considered for the win and prize, you'll at the very least need to post your haiku here in this post's comment section. Miz Chickory has been kind enough to volunteer to copy and paste all entries and email them to me tomorrow evening after the contest closes (9pm PST) or first thing Tuesday morning. At that point, I will choose the winning haiku, announce it sometime on Tuesday, and bestow upon the lucky ducky author a copy of Clyde Casey's cookbook, Red or Green: New Mexico Cuisine.



So get crackin'. From this point forward, I WON'T be around to visit your blogs nor will I check in with mine, but feel free to post your haiku(s) with images at your own blogs as well, so your fellow participants can come by and ooh and ah at your literary genius and Google Imaging Search skills.

Ciao for now!

Feast or Famine

Right now, it's feast, but if you could hear me say it, my voice would be dripping with irony. Because before I even get to set aside a single cent for the shoe fund, the entire fruit basket of my labor will be sent straight to the gooberment. Toot suite.

So that the Obamanator and His Minions can then turn around and send it to China—or use it to perpetuate our "kinetic military action" in Libya. That's your circle of life in action right there. But at least we can all rest easy knowing there will be no military issued foot wear touching terra firma anytime soon. (Because the boots are too busy getting slaughtered in Afghanistan.)

Hope YOUR day is going swimmingly.

American Idol Snark Station: Do Not Adjust Joo Screen

Hola Beeches!

Eet is I, Juan Carlos Miguel Jose Garcia Mendoza. Can joo believe that eet has been nearly a year since Mees Moi and I met up in that hotel room in the Miami Beach? ¡Ay, caramba! The way she scream and jump up on the bed, I felt bad for a second. I was only trying to make friends. But then she go down to the manager and make heem come up weeth three cans of Raid and a broomsteeck. No, I become very peesed off at her then, and I vow never to ever speak her name again.

Theese whole year, I try. I try to get her out of my mind. But, I cannot. Mees Moi, she is tenacious in the brain, like la Cucaracha in la Cucina. And then when I realize, from reading theese blog, that she lof Hennifer Lopez as much as I do, I think to myself, ay! maybe now we can be friends! Oh, the fun times me and mi madre and padre, and all of my cousins twice removed from my uncle's side from the Brooklyn branch have had in Meez Lopez's house. We lof her. Except that hosband, that skeletal man, heem, no, we do not like. Heem, we weesh could have been thees man:


Reeky Martin and Mees Lopez, they would have made the most beautiful bambinos, no? But, alas, Reeky's gate, eet sweeng the other way (shhhh, do not tell Mees Moi, eet steel make her cry) and there is no carpenter on earth or in heaven gonna feex that. Let us pause for a moment, shall we, to ponder hees beauty in the honor of all beauty everywhere.

So, anyway, I think, Ay! Moi and I, Juan Carlos, we have something een common! So, jes. I leave my home in the Miami and I walk across the Joonited States and I buy flowers. I climb all the way up to her house, and I knock, knock, knock on her door last night and what does she do? She throws another pair of those choos at me and then her dog, that fat one with the reedeeculous wrinkles on hees face, he try to eat me.

But theese time, I was ready. I bring the what you call it, the chloroform? And now I have Moi and those Perros locos tied up in the garach and I am typing on my leetle laptop from the inside of one of Moi's Louboutin's where I am eating all of her Cheetos and, jes, letting the cheeps fall where they may. And it is I, Juan Carlos, who will be blogging the Amerikeen Idol to joo all tonight. Ay, I am so like the Che Guevera. Except I cannot get this leetle beret to stay on my head.

Never the mind. We must hurry. Before that stupeed husband of hers, he come home with hees peestol.

Casey: "I Heard it Through the Grapevine" Who ees theese leetle boy with his grown up suit and beeg voice? I am confused. He ess not Reeky Martin sexy, but he has a quality. I know theese because Hennifer, she twinkles her eyes at heem. But I would say, lose the beard, muchacho. The ladies. They do not like the beards. They like the tentacles. Four tacos.

Thia: "Heat Wave" Heh. I geeve theese leetle girl a heat wave. She should come visit me, Juan Carlos, in the Miami in August. And we go get some carne asada at Pinolandia in Leetle Havana. Then we see eef she still sings like a leettle girl mouse whisperer. Peh. Two tacos.

Jacob: "You're All I Need to Get By" I lof the Marvin Gaye and I lof theese song. And I lof the way theese shiney boy in hees shiney pink suit jacket sing eet, weeeth just the right amount of feeling that never made me roll my eyes. But I liked not so much the keesing of everybody else's bottom. Four tacos and a jalapeño.

Lauren: "Keep Me Hanging On" For uno momento, I thought la chica, she was gonna treep in that silly long dress but then I say to my self, Juan Carlos, she got a the pipes. The pipes will get her through. Four tacos.

Stefano: "Jello"
Once upon a time, Mees Moi was at a dance at school when theese boy he asks her to dance a the slow song to theese Lionel Reechy song, which she hate, but she like theese boy, so she says, "Okay," and then theese boy, he tells her he lof her, even though he step on her choos, but then a day later he tell Moi's frien' he lof her, which, Dios mios, was not a good idea. So Moi, she tape a theese song and call theese boy tree, four time a night and play it over hees telephone because those were the days before that stupeed star-seex-nine ruined all a the prank call fun. Two tacos.

Haley: "You Really Got a Hold On Me"
Not so much hate theese week as last, but eet wasn't the song that was the problem. Eet was her drum majorette outfit. An' I for juan deedn't see no Beeg Band, did joo? Three tacos.

Scotty: "For Once in My Life"
Ay, I hear a the Texas accent and I start looking up expecting the roach-keecker cowboy boots to land on my head. Hennifer, I think she lof heem, though. Two and a half tacos.

Pia: "All in Love is Fair"
Oh, sorry, eet's so snuggly warm down here inside thees Louboutin's I had a nice leetle nap and missed performance. But I theenk I could make Moi my frien' eef I buy her that dress. Jes, even I, Juan Carlos, knows that the dress, eet is awesome. Two tacos.

Paul: "Tracks of My Tears"
Oh, jes, I know what to do weeth theese Paul now. Send heem to Reeky Martin, with a big red bow wrapped around hees butt. However, for once he didn't make me want to put charp steeks in my ears. Three tacos.

Thia: "Dancing in the Streets"
Moi, she says she like a theese girl. Moi, she is maybe un pocito loco. Even Reeky wouldn't wear those pantalones. Two and a half tacos.

James: "Living For the City"
Dios mios, theese raccoon tail boy. One week I lof heem, the next I want to keek heem in hees head. Tonight, I ask myself, "When deed Adam Lambert have a son? I thought hees gait sweeng a the other way?" Also: "Why does he keep squeenting hees eyes like a peegy?" Two and a half tacos. And a quarter jalapeño.

Jokay, compadres. Ees time for me to go hide. I see joo next week! Unless I get peestoled . . .

Movie Clip Wednesdays: Favorite Hitchcock

My absolute favorite Hitchcock movie is Rear Window, but I already posted it for a MCW, so I'm choosing this one, Hitchcock's only remarriage, screwball comedy.

Starring Carole Lombard and Robert Montgomery, Mr. and Mrs. Smith opens with the happily married Lombard and Montgomery enjoying a lively breakfast together in one of those swank, high rise NYC apartments that people used to be able to afford before the world went to hell in a hand basket.

For some reason known only to the crazed technician responsible for the wiring of the female brain, Lombard asks her husband, if he had it to do all over again, would he still marry her? And then demands an absolutely truthful answer. Now, this is surely one of the stupidest questions a woman can ever ask a man, ranking right up there with, "Do these jeans make my ass look fat?" and, "You don't find her attractive, do you?" But if there's anything stupider than the woman asking the question, it's the man taking her at her word and answering truthfully.

True to form, Montgomery answers, "No, I don't think I would marry you again." which of course makes Lombard cry and Montgomery has to scramble to save his happy ass. But THEN, to add insult to injury, they discover later on in the day that they're not really married. Which prompts Lombard to hatch a plan to get back at Montgomery by sowing some wild oats of her own. Hijinks, naturally, ensue.

This scene, in which Lombard and her new beau are out on their first date, comes off as oddly flat in dialog and interaction, but I love it because it points up some really interesting differences between life lived today and life lived a mere 70 years ago:

1. Can you imagine anyone today getting that dressed up to go out on a date, much less a date to an amusement park? People don't even get that dressed up to go to the opera.

2. Can you imagine anyone today agreeing to get on an amusement park ride this flimsy, that goes up this high, with little else than a skinny little rope flung across their laps for protection?

Also, the camera work is totally awesome. Typical Hitchcock. I get vertigo just watching it on my laptop screen.




Once again, Ms. Boxer his hosting this Wednesday film fete, so if you want to play along, post a three minute clip in your blog, head over to her place and say, "I'm up!"