Ryan Seacrest's announcement of which American Idol contestant has been voted off is usually met with at least a few "awwws" and "booooos" from the audience. Last night, as Sanjaya Malakar got the long-awaited boot, the audience erupted into squeals and cheers. Maybe that's what made the 17-year old hairdo wizard start to cry as his name was read and fellow contestant LaKisha Jones embraced him with a heavenward look as if to say "thank you, Jesus... I'll make a better song choice next week Jesus, I promise."
Though the Vote for the Worst folks must be in collective mourning today, their mission still lives on, as it is their policy to choose a new "worst" contestant when their "favorite" is voted off. Here are the current results of their poll to decide who should take Sanjaya's place:
1. Phil Stacey 48%
2. Chris Richardson 29%
3. LaKisha Jones 12%
4. Blake Lewis 9%
As long as Phil keeps performing like he did on Tuesday night, I say bring it!
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Now, lest you think this is becoming purely an American Idol blog, let's talk about how Pauly got his ass grabbed by a homosexual retail salesperson yesterday afternoon.
In advance of his trip out here, Pauly let me know that he would need to spend a day shopping for some new clothes to take out to the WSOP this summer. This, of course thrilled me to no end, since I love shopping and am always there to lend a hand to guys who show a willingness toward fashion self-improvement. We struck out at Macy's in Century City and decided to hit the Grove, which boasts a Nordstrom's, an Abercrombie & Fitch, and large J.Crew and Banana Republic stores with plentiful selections.
First, we hit up J.Crew, where he found a graphic T-shirt and a polo that we could both agree on. The next stop was Banana Republic, where he wanted to check out their sportcoat selection. Though I have become at peace with the fact that Pauly does wear a certain blazer purchased at a certain discount superstore with a red and white logo, he decided all on his own, that it was time for an upgrade.
We were immediately met by Billy, a rotund, dark-haired salesperson who was so flaming we needed heat shields. Pauly shook his hand and he started us on a tour of every blazer sold in the Banana Republic men's department. The first one Pauly tried on was a no-go. "Too Norman Chad" he proclaimed. The second was a gray number that I could definitely live with. And the third was a lightweight black one with subtle stitching on the lapel that gave it a hip vibe. Billy held out the garment and Pauly slipped his arms into the sleeves.
"Ohhh. I like this on you. And if you wanted to take it in, we could do a little tuck here." Standing behind him, Billy ran both his hands down Pauly's sides. Pauly's jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out at me as I stood in front of both of them, cackling on the inside.
"OK, now button it. Yeah, that looks like it fits. Let me check the vent back here." The vent, as I was about to learn, was the flap thing on the bottom of the back of the jacket. As Billy "checked the vent" his hand grazed Pauly's ass.
Billy left us at the three-way mirror to give Pauly a moment to choose.
"Oh my God! That dude grabbed my ass!" he squealed.
We put the hip black jacket on hold in order to peruse the rest of our options before making a purchasing decision. Nothing at Nordstrom appealed to him, so we headed into our final stop, Abercrombie & Fitch. Recently remodeled and expanded to two floors, the store's interior was nearly pitch black save the floor to ceiling walls of back-lit shirts arranged in rainbow order. Club music thundered out of the speakers. It felt like Friday night on Santa Monica Blvd. Walking back outside, we squinted at the daylight, like two Vegas clubbers emerging into the 7 AM sun.
Pauly decided the hip black Banana blazer was the one, so we went back and got it. Though he spent twice as much as he had intended, he was as happy over an item of clothing as I've ever seen him. I think it's dead sexy. And totally worth the money.