(Note: Most of you probably already know who left because I’m horribly late. Unfortunately, now that NCIS and The Mentalist have come out of repeats, we DVR’d Idol and only watched it yesterday evening after supper. I’ve managed to avoid all Idol news, but after I post this I’ll go hunt up the results.)

Question: Why does Randy Travis look twenty years younger now than he did ten years ago?

Dear Michael Sarver: (Ain’t Goin’ Down Til the Sun Comes Up—Garth Brooks) — Horrible song choice. Even Garth Brooks has a hard time singing that one live and it’s his song. But you did better than I expected. If you were going Garth, I wish you’d sung Rodeo.

Dear Allison Iraheta: (Blame It On Your Heart—Patti Lovelace) — That fussy, 70’s maroon leather jacket did NOT go with your artificially fire engine-red hair, FYI. The song? It was okay, but your voice sounds odd, still. Apparently that’s only me, however, since everybody else seems to think you’re all that and a box of Cheez-Its.

Dear Kris Allen: (???) — Pretty, yet so boring. My husband fast-forwarded through your intro, so I missed the song title and don’t recognize it. Perhaps I do know it, but didn’t recognize your blah rendition?

Dear Lil Round: (Independence Day—Martina McBride) — I wish you Idol contestants would catch on. Martina’s deceptive. She makes her songs seem simple enough, but they’re really, really not. You belted the belty chorus parts well enough, I suppose, but you didn’t sing the verses for shit.

Dear Adam Lambert: (Ring of Fire—Johnny Cash) — Yowza! I’m not one for having my classics messed with it, but let me enlist Mr. Rodale to assist me: hot, scorching, searing, sizzling, sweltering, and let’s throw in a lascivious and lubricious, too.

Dear Scott MacIntyre: (Wild Angels—Martina McBride) — Hey, way to suck the life out of a song! That was not good, no matter what Paula says. You DO know what’s in her Coke cup, right?

Dear Alexis Grace: (Jolene—Dolly Parton) — Dayum. HUGE song. My expectation: You are SO going to rock this. Reality? Eh. No. Your “own little flavor” was meant to disguise the fact you don’t have the pipes for that song. It failed.

Dear Danny Gokey: (Jesus, Take the Wheel—Carrie Underwood) — Dude! That was WICKED AWESOME! But, like Lil, you have trouble with the quiet singing. The belting alone won’t see either of you to the end.

(Global FYI to the guys: My husband had some rather unflattering things to say about your genitalia due to your singing women’s songs. I won’t repeat them here because we’re romance writers and readers—and an editor in a pear tree—and we like our male genitalia to be big and throbbing, but trust me…you would have cried.)

Dear Anoop Dawg: (Always on my Mind—Willie Nelson) — I’m not a big Willie fan (heh heh) so, without the added burden of my fangirl expectations, I thought it was pretty good. If not for Danny and Adam, I probably would have thought it was great.

(Note: So “dope” is back in vogue now? I can’t keep up.)

Dear Megan Joy: (I Go Out Walking After Midnight—Patsy Cline) — Oh, honey. Ya just don’t go there. Maybe it’s the crack he’s smoking keeping Randy Travis looking young, because that sucked like a chocolate whore trying to get a double-thick malted through a broken straw. Oh, Judge Randy’s smokin’ funny things, too. Huh, all the judges. Trust me, they’re ALL wrong.

Dear Matt Giraud: (So Small—Carrie Underwood) — First, see note above from my husband. But as for me—WIN! I liked it more than Carrie’s version, actually. That little touch of blues you bring works for me.

My Top Three: Danny Gokey, Adam Lambert, Matt Giraud

Who should go home? Either Scott MacIntyre or Megan Joy would make me happy.

(Now I’ll go see who went home.)

:eyebrow:

Dear Voting Public: WTF is WRONG with you people? She didn’t have a great night, but…you suck!