Turn on Your “Heartlight…”

I quit reading Chicken Soup for the American Idol Soul. Scott Savol-flavored soup was not all that delicious in the first place. When Carly was declared not-as-good-as-Brooke-White-and-Jason-Castro I thought about setting my copy on fire like in those countries where they ban books. But then I realized I didn’t have any place to set stuff on fire that wouldn’t also burn up shit in my apartment. And I have lots of awesome possessions. So that idea had to be scuttled.

Then my little American Idol Happy Meal toy, the one I posted a photo of last week, broke. Just stopped playing music. In fact, it broke the day they kicked off Carly, THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED!

And then I had to put the red “X” sticker on her face on my dumb Fox promotional item. I thought about putting it on David Cook’s face instead because, you know, why not? It’s MY dumb thing, after all. I could wipe my butt with it if I felt like it. Except it’s made of heavy card stock, and that would hurt more than listening to David Cook sing. But not much more. Look upon it and weep.

So it’s Neil Diamond week. BFD. I don’t like his songs. OK, I like a few of them. I like “Sweet Caroline,” but then every frat boy in the world loves that song too, so it’s not like I’m being all revelatory and Greil Marcus with that one. I also like “Cherry Cherry,” “I’m a Believer,” and the one about the traveling salvation show, whatever that one’s called. Other than that, I have little use for him. Somebody better sing “Heartlight” or “Love on the Rocks” or duet with a Neil hologram on “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.” Because those are three of his six gayest songs (“Song Sung Blue,” “Forever in Blue Jeans,” and “America” are the other three). Some Neil Diamond fan is going to e-mail this magazine now and demand I be fired. Try it!

The remaining five idols WHO ARE NOT AS GOOD AS CARLY are going to sing two songs each tonight. That equals 10 Neil Diamond songs. Subtracting the four I like -- and there’s no guarantee that those four will be performed -- that’s six Neil Diamond songs I’ll have to hear. I’m thinking of turning off the sound and just listening to The String Quartet Tribute to Daughtry.

The “Here’s What A Neil Diamond Is, Kids” clip montage plays. If I were, say, 11 years old, here’s what I’d learn from it.

1. His shirts are made from Christmas tree tinsel.

2. His hair swoops, fluffs, and holds still, even while swooping and fluffing.

3. He was kind of cute back before he was in color.

4. He was in a movie called The Jazz Singer, which costarred the back of some lady’s head.

5. He’s sold 120 million records in his lifetime to nobody I know.

6. He has a new CD to promote.

Neil meets the idols. “Bring in those perky contestants,” he says. Then he goes, “Where’s Carly? Oh, they kicked her off? OK, I’m outta here.”

Actually he says something about encouraging them and how they’re all good and blahblahwhatever. Anyway, tonight is all about saving time so you barely get to see any Neil mentorship going down and the contestants sing truncated versions of stuff, unlike last week, and they’re only going to be judged once each, after having sung both songs. Good. The judges have been, as a group, totally wrong and annoying all season. Let’s keep them quiet.

So Castro is up first, singing “Forever in Blue Jeans.” My favorite part: when the camera cuts to the violin-playing woman in the band. She’s wearing “I can’t believe I’m playing this sucky song” sunglasses.

Cook is next. Got AC on his jacket, just like on his guitar. Those are his brother’s initials, the one who has the cancer. At least that seems to be the story. One brother with those initials has cancer. Good on Mr. Cook for not exploiting that for sympathy votes. But no amount of personal integrity can make me want to listen to His Lady Peacefulness. None. At least he chose two Neil Diamond songs I’ve never heard before. So I can simply not pay attention to which one is which and I can forget them as soon as he’s done. Awesome. In fact, I’m just going to fast-forward the TiVo through his first performance. I’ve earned that right.

Brooke meets Neil and asks, “Are you a hugger or a handshaker?”

Neil responds that he is both, which is great because Brooke is both a weeper and a quiverer. She sings “I’m a Believer,” and I really like watching her do it because she reminds me of what would happen if the entertainment for the 5-year-old’s birthday party didn’t show up and mom decided to just pick up a guitar and sing her favorite old Monkees song. She even goes, “Whooo!” in the middle of it, kind of like on Beatles week. The only thing missing is high-waisted jeans and a puffy-paint sweatshirt.

A bunch of commercials run, including one for a flea collar where they make the puppies in the commercial sing about how “there ain’t no bugs on me.” Our housemate Xtreem Aaron is obsessed with this commercial now because he loves singing puppies. Since this episode aired on Tuesday night he’s been playing the commercial for it over and over on his laptop and giggling. I’m going to have Brooke come over and sing at his next birthday party. The other thing Xtreem Aaron is obsessed with this week is Enigma’s “Sadeness, Part 1.” He’s been walking around the apartment saying, in phonetic French, “Saah… dey moi,” (I know, spelled wrong, and I don’t know what the actual French words are. So what?) and then doing the weird synth line that goes “boop-boop-boo-boo” with his voice. And while we’re on the topic of people in my house with obsessions, my husband/partner/whatever is freaking on the idea of having one of those stupid things that you hang bunches of bananas from so that they don’t bruise. There is no such thing in this world as one of those items that isn’t butt-ass-ugly, and if there’s one thing I won’t tolerate in my home, it's functional items that are unattractive. How would it look on our kitchen counter next to the incredible vintage Colonel Sanders bank or the vintage George Nelson bowl? Shitty, that’s how! I told him he has to buy fewer bananas and eat them before they bruise and that was going to be that. Someone has to make the aesthetic decisions around here.

I’ve totally lost my train of thought now.