Pot Committed's 2009 Academy Awards Live Blog

Last year, at Academy Awards time, Pauly and I were holed up in a hotel room in Copenhagen, Denmark on a misty Scandinavian night. The Oscars were supposed to come on around 1 a.m. our time, but for some reason, Danish television wasn't carrying it live, so we had to settle for staying up all night watching alpine skiing. I'm fairly positive that it was the first Oscars I missed since I knew there was an Oscars.

This year, we're off the road, settled in the Slums of Beverly Hills and I'm about to start cooking up a pot of chicken and andouille jambalaya to enjoy while ogling at the parade of designer gowns during the red carpet pre-show festivities. And for dessert, some of Southern California's finest medicinal brownies are chilling in the fridge.

So, why not live blog the whole shebang? That's what I'll be attempting to do throughout the day and evening, or at least until the pot brownies render me completely incapable of coherent thought. David Denby may pooh-pooh snark, but I'm all about it today. Snark was practically invented for shit like the Oscars.

***Live Updates***

12:50 pm - Ingredients for jambalaya are bought. Time to start chopping up veggies for the mirepoix, which boyfriend will no doubt find offensive.

1:33 pm - The 'poix is chopped. Onto slicing up chicken and andouille. Current cooking music= John Coltrane.



2:05 pm - While my veggies are caramelizing to a golden brown, let's remind ourselves of this year's nominees. Here's the major categories:

Best motion picture of the year

*"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"
*"Frost/Nixon"
*"Milk"
*"The Reader"
*"Slumdog Millionaire"

Performance by an actor in a leading role

* Richard Jenkins in "The Visitor"
* Frank Langella in "Frost/Nixon"
* Sean Penn in "Milk"
* Brad Pitt in "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"
* Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler"

Performance by an actor in a supporting role

* Josh Brolin in "Milk"
* Robert Downey Jr. in "Tropic Thunder"
* Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Doubt"
* Heath Ledger in "The Dark Knight"
* Michael Shannon in "Revolutionary Road"

Performance by an actress in a leading role

* Anne Hathaway in "Rachel Getting Married"
* Angelina Jolie in "Changeling"
* Melissa Leo in "Frozen River"
* Meryl Streep in "Doubt"
* Kate Winslet in "The Reader"

Performance by an actress in a supporting role

* Amy Adams in "Doubt"
* Penélope Cruz in "Vicky Cristina Barcelona"
* Viola Davis in "Doubt"
* Taraji P. Henson in "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"
* Marisa Tomei in "The Wrestler"

Achievement in directing

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" David Fincher
* "Frost/Nixon" Ron Howard
* "Milk" Gus Van Sant
* "The Reader" Stephen Daldry
* "Slumdog Millionaire" Danny Boyle

Adapted screenplay

* "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" Screenplay by Eric Roth
Screen story by Eric Roth and Robin Swicord
* "Doubt" Written by John Patrick Shanley
* "Frost/Nixon" Screenplay by Peter Morgan
* "The Reader" Screenplay by David Hare
* "Slumdog Millionaire" Screenplay by Simon Beaufoy

Original screenplay

* "Frozen River" Written by Courtney Hunt
* "Happy-Go-Lucky" Written by Mike Leigh
* "In Bruges" Written by Martin McDonagh
* "Milk" Written by Dustin Lance Black
* "WALL-E" Screenplay by Andrew Stanton, Jim Reardon, Original story by Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter

3:02 pm - Jambalaya is simmering. Kitchen is clean. Here's a quick tutorial on how I made it.

2 cups onions, 1/2 cup each of celery, green pepper and red pepper.

Caramelize veggies in pot with oil for 20 mins until golden brown.

Consume pot brownie, if desired.

Add 1 lb. andouille and cook 10 mins. Add 1 pound cubed chicken coated in creole seasoning. Cook another 10 mins.


Add 2 cups chopped tomatoes, 4 cloves chopped garlic, 3 bay leaves and some fresh thyme

Add 2 cups of rice. Stir it around and get it happy.

Finally, add 2 quarts chicken stock. Bring it to a boil, then leave it on low heat to cook down.

Stay tuned to see how it turns out.

3:10 pm - Miley Cyrus gets interviewed by Ryan Seacrest on the red carpet. Her dress totally sucks. Pauly thinks it's right out of a debutante ball in Charleston, South Carolina. "Who's Africa Bambaata in the background there?" he adds. "She's gotta be like, the Pope of Africa with that hat."

3:21 pm - We still can't bear to turn the sound on the TV and are watching it muted with Medeski, Martin & Wood on in the b.g. Giuliana Rancic painfully interviewing song and dance man Hugh Jackman.

3:23 pm - First sighting of Slumdog Millionaire kids on red carpet. Dev Patel is like the pimp daddy of Mumbai right about now.

3:31 pm - WTF is Jennifer Grey doing at the Oscars? And that gay kid from High School musical and his beard girlfriend?

3:45 pm - Awwww look at all the cute little Indian children! Seacrest tries to talk to the littlest one, who does not speak a word of English. He switches over to the little girl. "Oh, this one speaks good English!" he says. Nice, Seacrest.

3:54 pm - First effects of pot brownie being felt. Yowwwwwza!

3:56 pm - Jambalaya is off the heat, green onions and flat-leaf parsley have been stirred in. Will be ready for consumption just in time for 4:20.

3:57 pm - "What are they on? #1"- Slumdog Millionaire director Danny Boyle. He's going for the loosened-tie look on the red carpet. "Danny's a Brit, he's probably drinking" says Pauly. "Yeah, listen to that slurred speech."

3:59 pm - Oh. my. God. You can't get gayer than that spray-tanned creature standing next to Giuliana Rancic.

Pauly: I think I could walk up to that guy and light my bong.

OMG with the instant replay fashion analysis. "Freeze it right there! LOOK AT THAT NECKLINE!"

4:03 pm - Amy Adams: awesome dress, flawless hair and makeup, but what is that wreath around her neck?

4:10 pm - Seth Rogen arrives on the red carpet. You know he's high.

4:11 pm - "OMG I'm freaking out! Sarah Jessica Parker can do NO WRONG!" screams the fashion fag. Well, yeah, if you think 10 yards of beige tulle is perfectly acceptable.

4:13 pm - What are they on? #2 - Amanda Seyfried. "She's high on Scientology."

4:16 pm - Sign I've been out of Hollywood for too long - I have no idea who these Twilight actor kids are. The British dude is hot though.

4:18 pm - SJP attempts to introduce her husband to Ryan Seacrest as she steps up for an interview. "Oh I've heard of Matthew" says Seacrest. Epic fail. He asks what color her dress is. "Barely Mint" she coos. Still looks beige to me. Broderick has blond highlights in his hair. Total sign of a mid-life crisis. Carrie Bradshaw is totally on valium.

4:20 pm - Seth Rogen steps up for an interview. Seacrest asks him how he's losing the weight for The Green Hornet. "I vomit a lot" says Rogen. Seth Rogen @ 4:20 = awesome coincidence.

4:23 pm - I could eat this jambalaya forever. Pauly thinks it needs bacon and cheese.

4:26 pm - What are they on? #3 - Pauly said, "Marissa Tomei is on pills. Most likely some sort of Vicodin family of substances. You could see it in her glassy eyes. She looked pissed at Seacrest... 'I'm smooth and don't feel a thing. But you're a fuckin' retarded American Idol flunky. I can't believe you brought up the Vinny fuckin' movie you pillow biter."

4:30 pm - Mickey Rourke tells Seacrest that he'd rather have two more years with his dead chihuahua, Loki, than an Oscar. Rourke is also wearing a photo of said deceased canine around his neck.

4:33 pm - "Freeze it right there!" Giuliana and queer boy use the Glamastrator Replay System to analyze Anne Hathaway's gown, which does happen to be stunnnnnning.

4:35 pm - Wow. At least two of my former employers are on the red carpet, including the Big Man.

4:37 pm - Evan Rachel Wood looks like a lovely 21 year old girl should on the red carpet after ditching Marilyn Manson and the accompanying goth styling. But will TMZ catch her tonguing Mickey Rourke at the after party?

4:39 pm - "OMG ITS BRANGELINA" screeches Giuliana Rancic. "WE HAVE THE FIRST SHOT OF BRANGELINA" she reports breathlessly, as Angie exits her limo, dressed in a black strapless gown, and waves at the crowd.

4:42 pm - Commercial break. Here's a look at the finished jambalaya.



4:44 pm - So I guess everyone ignored the whole "recession-chic" thing.

4:45 pm - Eating the second half of the brownie. Prepared for blast-off around the time they're presenting best documentary feature.

4:52 pm - Kate Winslet. Love her, love the periwinkle-pewter color on the dress, love the hair. She's dressed like someone who knows she's going to win.

4:58 pm - Seacrest gets two sentences out of Brad Pitt, which is one more than he got at the Golden Globes.

4:59 pm - Robert Downey Jr. gives Seacrest a long chat. Totally forgot he got nominated for Tropic Thunder, which shockingly enough, I have not caught yet on a transcontinental flight. Clean living looks good on him. I used to know his wife way back in my D-days. She's a badass and a damn smart woman.

5:00 pm - Switching from E! to the official pre-show on ABC. Which is good, because I was long past my Giuliana Rancic limit.

5:03 pm - OMG Tim Gunn! Tim Gunn > J. Alexander

5:04 pm - Matthew Broderick looks sedated. And like he wants to cry. SJP again attempts to introduce him to the interviewer, who clearly knows who he is. Want to smack her.

5:05 pm - "Richard Nixon could not be here tonight, but we have Frank Langella." Yeah, BECAUSE HE'S DEAD.

5:09 pm - Tim Gunn fawns over "icon of style" Valentino, who is spray-tanned within an inch of his life.

5:10 pm - Mickey Rourke again mourns his fucking dead fucking chihuahua. In addition to the dead dog necklace, he points out a dead dog photo on his lapel.

5:13 pm - Again, with the High School Musical kids? WTF?

5:16 pm - Behold, the OSCAR DOOMSDAY CLOCK has flashed onscreen. 14:05 to go and WHERE IS BRANGELINA?

5:17 pm - "Your Armani Prive gown is simply staggering" says Tim Gunn to Anne Hathaway.

5:19 pm - OK, I've finally decided that the Miley Cyrus dress looks like a wedding cake with glitter.

5:20 pm - Tim Gunn schtick going south fast, as he proclaims that the Price Waterhouse Coopers accountant guys with the ballots "really make it work." Wah, wah wahhhhh....

5:23 pm - What are they on? #4 - Jack Black. "Pills, weed, and probably Viagra."

5:25 pm - Marisa Tomei shows off her lavender Versace gown to Tim Gunn as photos of her Oscar gowns past flash in a corner of the screen. "It only arrived this morning" she says. Pauly says it looks like a MC Escher painting. I agree. It's covered in these fanned-out "staircases" of fabric. Or maybe I'm just... wow, this brownie is awesome.

5:30 pm - Here we go...

5:31 pm - with your host HUGH JACKMAN!! That was kind of awkward.

5:32 pm - OMG Hugh Jackman musical theatre. "I didn't know Hugh Jackman was gay" says Pauly.

5:38 pm - Am I just soooo wasted like Katie Holmes in The Ice Storm or were the freaky gay dancers and the "I Haven't Seen the Reader" segment not fucking genius? And kudos to Anne Hathaway for chanelling her inner New Jersey high school musical theatre star and singing with a spray-tanned Australian in front of like a billion people.

5:40 pm - Why are Meryl Streep and her daughter wearing matching dresses?

5:46 pm - "What's that on Goldie Hawn's lips?" / "Those are her lips." Over/under on lifetime cc's of collagen?

5:47 pm - Penelope Cruz wins best supporting actress. "Has anybody ever fainted here?" She thanks Woody and Almodovar but Almodovar gets the applause. She is stunning in a 60-year old vintage gown and really quite poised in the moment. She breaks into Spanish at the end.

"Now all the maids know she won!" screeched Pauly in a fit of giggles.

If brownie level was a 6 before it's an 8 now.

5:52 pm - Tom Collichio is doing Diet Coke commercials. I'm so depressed.

5:53 pm - What's Steve Martin doing with Sarah Palin?

5:56 pm - Sarah Palin has pretty nice cleavage for a grandmother.

5:57 pm - Dustin Lance Black wins best screenplay for Milk. Yay, one for the gays! Let them get married! Also, for a guy whose day job is as a writer/producer on Big Love, his stock just went wayyy up in this town.

6:01 pm - The favorite wins - Simon Beaufoy for Slumdog Millionaire. Just discovered that Pauly made online Oscar bets. He was getting 7-1 on the field and lost in this category.

6:03 pm - Jennifer Aniston walks onstage. Pauly makes cougar noises. Then cat noises. He's trying to tempt her and Angelina into a cat fight.

6:05 pm - "Kids movies are so trippy these days. I'd like to see The Carolina Kung Fun Pandas on some good molly," said Pauly.

6:10pm - "Domo Arrigato Mr. Roboto?" said the Japanese animation Oscar winner.

6:16 pm - SJP and New Bond Daniel Craig present Art Direction award. SJP's dress is actually way nicer-looking under TV lights than on red carpet. Wow, people. I am high. I have to get it together.

OK Benjamin Button wins for art direction, avoiding a total shutout. That's a "phew" for Paramount, sorta.

6:21 pm - Big hats for Keira Knightley win Costume Design Oscar for The Dutchess. I thought Fergie was the dutchess.

6:23 pm - The Curious Case of Benjamin Button wins for Best Makeup. Pauly unexpectedly leaps from his seat and runs around the room. "Clutch!" he screams.

6:25 pm - "Oh my God, is that the girl from Mean Girls?" Amanda Seyfried and the hot British dude from Twilight present an ode to cinema romance together. Pauly thinks she's a Scientologist but can't explain why. A Coldplay song runs behind the clip reel. I still don't know what all this Twilight shit is and feel quite unhip. And old.

6:30 pm - OCT-O-MOM! OCT-O-MOM! Viva la National Distraction!

6:34 pm - Ben Stiller aping Joaquin Phoenix even makes Ron Howard peal with laughter. Pauly chants for his bet on Benjamin Button in the cinematography category, but Slumdog Millionaire notches another win.

"You look like you work in a Hasidic meth lab"= best line of the Oscars so far.

6:39 pm - Jessica Biel talks about the kinetiscope and has fabric inexpblicably hanging from the front of her dress.

6:44 pm - Pausing while we SCREAM at the Pineapple Express skit, especially the gay parts. Hate to say I love Judd Apatow shit. Props to victim Januz Kiminski.

New favorite line of Oscar telecast: "Who is a better actor, Ronald Reagan or Barack Obama?" / "Dude, that's Robert Downey, Jr."

6:47 pm - Spielzugland. I'm going to say that over and over again. Spielzugland. Then Spielzugland wins for Best Live Action Short. Pauly pumps his fist having bet on the Germans to win.

6:52 pm - Hugh Jackman is tap dancing. Is this real life? Is this going to be forever?

The level of musical theatre schtick is so thick here that Showcase calls. "There is red shit hanging from Beyonce's vag" he laments.

There are chorus boys in top hats. There is a medley with nods to Dreamgirls, West Side Story, Chicago, and Mamma Mia. It's really all too much for me in this state. I'm flashing back to 1997. It's so vivid it's shocking. The character shoes. The red bouttoniers. The kick lines. I am 20 years old and in New York City and in a rehearsal room at 890 Broadway. I am 18 years old and in a dance studio in Evanston, Illinois on a freezing winter morning. I am 21 years old and in the audience high on ditch weed while Showcase sings a solo in our college musical.

Where am I? Is this real life? Is this going to be forever?

7:03 pm - Here come the old supporting actor winners...but we know Heath is gonna win.

7:09 pm - Heath wins. It's sad and the camera pans to celebs crying. Ledger's family gives props to Chris Nolan and his agent, CAA's Steve Alexander. Go Death Star. Sis Kate acknowledges his daughter, "beautiful Matilda."

7:14 pm - Bill Maher presents Best Documentary Film and plugs his own in the process. Shill that shit! The Oscar goes to Man on Wire.

7:17 pm "Nhem Em!" chants Pauly, rooting for his horse on Best Documentary Short Subject. The Oscar goes to Smile Pinki. Booooo.

7:22 pm - Denise Richards is on Dancing with the Stars? It's astounding how this woman continues to find more last grasps at fame.

7:24 pm -A tribute to action films? Really? With the state of action films today?

7:28 pm - While I was in the kitchen starting a grilled cheese, Benjamin Button won for visual effects and The Dark Knight won for sound editing. Because that's what you do during categories like visual effects and sound editing. Apologies to visual effects and sound editors.

7:35 pm - Indian dude wins for sound mixing for Slumdog Millionaire and is completely overwhelmed. Slumdog picks up another when Chris Dickens wins for Best Editing right after that.

7:43 pm - Neuvo-Nutty Professor Eddie Murphy presents Humanitarian Oscar to Jerry Lewis, who is one of those people whom I thought was dead up until this moment. The grilled cheese was perfectly grilled and buttery.

7:48 pm - "This is the lull in the event where they give out the second-rate Oscars so they can give the big stars time to go outside and smoke a cigarette, go to the bathroom and snort a line, or hang out with Seth Rogan and Merly Streep and smoke a doobie," - Pauly said.

7:51 pm - It's true. Most stars do go and take a piss during one of these categories. This Henry Mancini thingamagic is prime star pissing time.

7:55 pm - Ship it to India, it's Slumdog Millionaire's A.R. Rahman for Best Score.

8:00 pm - "And the Indian-flavored themed song and dance number... I don't recall those parts from Batman."

8:02pm - That Jai Ho song wins from Slumdog Millionaire. Showcase texts: "Get me the stage rights to Slumdog ASAP!!!! It's gonna be FUCKIN HUUUUUUUUGE!!

8:06 pm - @ScheckTwit writes on Twitter: all of this slumdog love is so that hollywood can film cheap in India, and so that indians start going to the movies. pokerstars is rigged

8:07 pm - Departures wins Best Foreign Language Film. "Haki haki I'll be back!" declares its director. Tranlation= Hollywood sez: "Japan, we want your money!"

8:12 pm - Applause surges for Michael Crichton, Harold Pinter, Roy Scheider, Isaac Hayes, Stan Winston, Anthony Minghelladuring Queen Latifah's dead people montage. Cheers for Sydney Pollack and Paul Newman.

8:16 pm - Only Director, Actor, Actress and Picture left to give away.

8:19 pm - "Academy Award winner Reese Witherspoon." I bet she likes the way that sounds.
She wears an odd blue and black dress and presents Best Director. Danny Boyle wins, naturally.

8:27pm - Shirley MacLaine gets Anne Hathaway all verklempt. French chick who won last year introduces Kate Winslet with a fawning tribute. Halle Berry attempts to relate to Melissa Leo via their common thread of being nominated for indie films (?) Oh God, Sophia Loren looks like a hot mess paying tribute to Meryl Streep in the beige version of Molly Ringwald's prom dress from Pretty in Pink! And Nicole Kidman is ever the ice princess in a gleaming silver gown adorned in crystals and feathers as she fetes nominee Angelina Jolie.

8:32 pm - And the Oscar goes to...the heavily favored Kate Winslet. Thankfully, she does not lose her shit like she did on the Golden Globes. Winslet gives a classy, prepared speech her voice shaking with emotion. She gives props to her agent Hylda Queally, husband Sam Mendes and the late great Anthony Minghella and Sydney Pollack.

8:38 pm - Good Botox on Michael Douglas. The sunshine in his Bermudan tax shelter home is working wonders. He introduces Best Actor nominee Frank Langella, followed by Robert DeNiro doing the same for Sean Penn (paparazzi joke= check). Adrien Brody practically chokes up over Richard Jenkins (whom I agree, does deserve to get recognized. The man kicks ass in every film he's in). Anthony Hopkins looks tan and fresh off the South Beach diet paying tribute to Brad Pitt, and Ben Kingsley, immaculately sharp in his black tuxedo and white silk tie intros Mickey Rourke.

8:42 pm - And the Oscar goes to...Sean Penn! NOT Mickey Rourke. Pauly pumps fist, having won a 4-1 bet.

"You Commie homo-loving sons of guns!" exclaimed Penn as he took the podium.

What can I say. Hollywood loves the gays. Hollywood wants the gays to marry. This could be good for that.

Penn also gave props to the resurgent Mickey Rourke before leaving the stage.

8:47 pm - Jackman brings out Spielberg. Best Picture, finally.

8:52 pm - There's an actual drumroll as Steven Spielberg reads off Slumdog Millionaire as this year's Best Picture winner. All the little Indian kids get to go onstage and look adorable and pathetic. On the other side of the world, Mumbai explodes with celebration much like it did at the end of the film itself.

Hollywood sez: "India, please invest in our films."

8:55 pm -Telecast runs over by 25 minutes. Hugh Jackman bids us goodnight. The Indians celebrate. And the brownie has all but worn off. Well, maybe not worn off, but I'm certainly on the way down.

Thanks for tuning in. I'm going to pass out in front of the Barbara Walters special now.

American Idol Wednesdays: Grace and Gokey Lead Top 36 Opening Session

The first 12 lambs of the 36 remaining in the American Idol Season 8 flock were led to the slaughter in front of 25 million or so viewers last night with a two-hour performance show. While I went for a bowl of pork and white bean soup, Pauly elected to injest an entire double-strength cannabis brownie for dinner, and by the time show opener Jackie Tohn took the stage, he had offered his own personal "thumbs up/thumbs down" rating services in between fits of laughter induced by his discovery, only 15 minutes prior, of fmylife.com.

If there is one cardinal rule when it comes to song choice on American Idol that the judges have tried to ram down contestants' throats over the last seven seasons it's this: Girls, don't do Whitney. Guys, don't do Michael. It never works out for anyone. Put more broadly-- don't attempt the big iconic songs when you know your voice just can't handle it. This piece of advice was roundly ignored by this crop of contestants and most of them flamed out spectacularly as they tried on tunes too big for their karaoke-quality voices. However, two singers rose to the top of this field and did so by proving that not only could they handle the big songs, but they could slaythem.

Jackie Tohn - "A Little Less Conversation"

I was totally disappointed in Jackie's schtick-laden, hammy performance when I was expecting some Janis Joplin-meets-Susan Tedeschi soul singing. And what the fuck was going on with that outfit? The corset looked like it was nicked from the wardrobe department of a college production of Grease, and who in their right mind decides that, yeah, shiny black lycra leggings and high-top sneakers will look totally sexy.As for the judges, Randy and Kara thought she really worked the stage and showed us who she is as an artist (seriously?). Paula mumbled something incoherent about falling in love with her, and Simon bluntly went where the others wouldn't, declaring that she blew a good opportunity "by doing something silly rather than doing something good."

"Needs to show more cleavage" said Pauly, but he gave her the thumbs-up anyway. "She could play a lounge at Mandalay Bay. "


Ricky Braddy - "A Song for You"

This guy must have completely slipped by me, because I couldn't remember this North Carolina chicken shack waiter at all from Hollywood Week. Braddy went for a sleepy ballad that showed off his voice but didn't necessarily showcase him as a well-defined artist. Upon hearing the falsetto runs at the end, Pauly gave it a definitive thumbs-down. Sure it was a solid vocal, but will I remember it in 15 minutes, let alone tomorrow? (Answer: no, not really) Kara, Paula and Randy jizzed all over it, proclaming his performance "effortless" and "brilliant" but Simon criticized his lack of star quality (ding ding ding!).

"You're a nice, shy guy with a very good voice." But not a pop star. Next!

Alexis Grace - "Never Loved a Man"

Well, now. Here we go. Everyone's favorite Mormon mom decided to sing Aretha's blues and man did she ever. Grace exectued the song's vocal acrobatics and scat sections with ease and exuded soulful confidence onstage. Even Pauly gave her the thumbs up. While I think she's a shoo-in to advance to the Top 12, I'm less sure about this whole "dirtied up" look she's trying on for the show. I mean, the pink streak in the hair, the red lips, the black slipdress, the costumey long knotted pearls? It all seems a bit misplaced on this delicate little blonde girl with porcelain skin and I'm not sure what message she's trying to send with it.

Brent Keith - "Hick Town"

Hello Mr. Hardworking Struggling Midwesterner trying to make good and earn some money for his family. I bet you have a lot of friends back home that are going to be dialing those phones for you. However, I couldn't hear the actual redneck lyrics to this redneck song, as Pauly spent the duration of Keith's performance singing his own improvised set of redneck-themed lyrics, which detailed his Daddy's trip to county lockup for cooking meth in his trailer.

"I don't think you're going to have any impact with that song whatsoever,"was Simon Cowell's apt assessment of the performance. Our boy went too safe here and it's just not going to cut it when it comes to standing out in this crowd.

Stevie Wright - "You Belong with Me"

Dead in the water from the off-key intro, this will unfortunately mark the end for 17-year old Stevie in the music industry and I'm pretty sure she knew it about halfway through her performance. She had good intentions with selecting a contemporary song by someone her age (Taylor Swift), but her choice not only exposed just how weak her voice was compared to her peers, but showed us no sign whatsoever of the Stevie that nailed "At Last" to the wall back at her initial audition.

"Stevie it was terrible... you looked nervous, out of your depth... there is zero chance of you making it through to the next round after that" said Simon. Ouch. You really can't do much worse than bomb in front of 25 million people during the audition of your life.


Anoop Desai - "Angel of Mine"

Pauly gave Anoop-Dawg's performance a reluctant thumbs up. "Just because I loved him in Slumdog Millionaire." Anoop turned in what was in my opinion, the best male vocal of the night, but my god what a boring-ass song choice! This round is all about standing out from the crowd and picking a mediocre Monica song was the wrong move, especially for a guy who does have the chops to tackle something huge. Based on the vocal, I hope he goes through, but I think the redneck robodialers that are behind guys like Michael Sarver are going to give him a run for his money when it comes to getting votes. Even if he does miss the cut this week, he's a strong contender for the wild card round.

Casey Carlson - "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic"

Pauly gave Carly bonus points for picking the Police, "But too bad it sounds like she's fuckin' singing at a fuckin' high school dance, like when the nerd is about to hook up with the hot chick."

This was total cruise ship karaoke crapola for me. I mean, this was one of the most epically bad song choices ever made by a contestant on American Idol when you really think about it. Alas, the judges had such high hopes for Casey because "she's such a package artist" (read: a really hot girl who can sing), but she pretty much dug her own grave on this one. This drivel was barely good enough for the retirees sipping their margaritas on the Sapphire Princess' Lanai deck. The cutesy faces, the winking... it was just utterly tragic. Score one for the talented ugly people-- the other bikini girl is toast!

Michael Sarver - "I Don't Wanna Be"

Pauly: "I guess this guy could play a fraternity party."

Michael Sarver's Gavin deGraw cover was nothing better than a standard bar band treatment of the song. Sorry oil rig guy. I know you wanted Idol to be your bailout, but after that forgettable performance you're really going to have to hope that the entire state of Oklahoma dialed their ass off for you last night. Remember, kids. It's not just enough to sing it well anymore. That might have worked in Season 2 or 3, but now you're expected to "put your stamp on the song" and he did nothing of the sort here. However... if there's one guy not named Danny Gokey in this group that is going to get the sympathy vote for being a nice guy down on his luck, it's Sarver.


Anne Marie Boskovich - "Natural Woman"

Boskovich went for the song that Kelly Clarkson broke out with back in Season 1 but in this performance, she sounded like she was straining the entire time. Once again, it's just a simple case of a contestant picking a song too big for her voice. Instead of providing her with a breakout moment, on her, the song just didn't fit and she came off like a good wedding singer rather than a future pop superstar. Props for attempting to stand out, but overestimating the strength of her own voice sealed Boskovich's exit from the Idol stage.

(It's also worth noting that at this point, Pauly gave up and decided to watch Apolcalypse Now in the other room. )

Stephen Fowler "Rock With You"

Fowler got in one good high note (though he cracked on it) but everything else about this performance was ordinary and forgettable. I don't see America giving him a third chance after the second chance in Hollywood when he forgot his lyrics at the piano. This was a bad arrangement, an awful song choice...and he blew it. He blew it spectacularly. Damn these two-hour episodes are long. Next!

Tatiana Del Toro - "Saving All My Love for You"

Even doing Whitney, whom you're NOT SUPPOSED TO DO, Tatiana almost got there with the vocal. Almost. But let's get real here. Tatiana is bat shit crazy. She's not going to the Top 12. She's here because she's nuts and got a lot of attention. The vocal was OK, but the whole "desperate to be famous" thing that Simon aptly recognized (um, remember kids, she did bring her demo tape to the initial audition)just mucks up the whole package and makes it impossible for me to see here as a legitimate artist. Who is this girl? Do we really want to watch her fly the freak flag high and proud again? Didn't think so.

Danny Gokey - "Hero"

I believe that Danny Gokey could have showed up last night and taken a shit onstage and he would have been voted through. I mean, the guy's 28 and his wife is dead...he's going to make the Top 12 because America loves a good sob story. This was a safe, even predictable choice for Danny to take on in the first round. The bridge and a strong finish on this one (along with the show-closing slot) coupled with his sympathetic background will probably be more than enough to send him through to the next round. Don't get me wrong-- I didn't think he sucked or anything. It was just safe, and it's really the failure of his peers that ensured his spot in the Top 12.

My predictions as to who will advance: Danny Gokey, Alexis Grace, and I think it's a tossup between Michael Sarver and Anoop-Dawg.

Unexpected Domesticity

Each day starts nearly the same. I wake up in my own bed. Most of the time Pauly is already awake and writing at the dining room table. I make coffee. I drink the coffee while checking my email. I either go to the gym or at least seriously consider it. I finish off my freelance work in the morning. I do the breakfast dishes and make myself lunch. I eat the lunch and watch the news. I spend my afternoon in the depths of the screenplay I've been trying to write for three years now. Sometimes I listen to music, sometimes it's silent. Sometimes the TV plays a movie at a low volume to provide a little white noise. I stop working and start dinner around 6 or 6:30. I try to cook something healthy enough for me and satisfying enough for Pauly. He emerges from the cocoon of his office when I yell that the food is ready. Then we sit together at the dining table and devour our meals. I do the dishes and clean up the kitchen right afterward. Evenings are for TV, movies, trying to beat level 5 on the iGoogle Pac-Man app, and reading. Pauly gets his daily dose of online poker at this time of night. These days I may only fire up a few SNGs a week or play the odd hour of triple draw or Badugi on PokerStars.

In the absence of sitting around airports and living in hotels, I've become downright domestic. Like Mad Men's Betty Draper, I happily cook for my man every night...except without the pearls and high heels. Ilook for recipes. I make grocery lists. And in light of the failing economy I've discontinued the services of the two illegal Mexican immigrants who used to clean my apartment in favor of doing it myself (my, those Swiffer Wet Jets sure make doing the floors easy!)

Here's the really weird thing, though... I sort of enjoy it. Me, who used to let dirty plates pile up for weeks until the Mexicans would come in and make the kitchen sanitary and livable again. Me, who used to eat take-out three meals a day. Me, who cringes at the mere mention of a wedding registry yet now finds herself coveting new cookware.

I've caught a few episodes of the Gordon Ramsay show The F-Word on BBC America over the past week or so and in it he does a somewhat controversial segment aimed at getting women back in the kitchen-- not in the sense of getting them out of the workplace and back in the kitchen like it's Leave it to Beaver or something, but getting women who never learned to cook for whatever reason, or women who had bad cooking experiences back behind a stove in order to conquer that fear. On the show they presented the statistic that in 1963 the typical American woman spent, on average, 13 hours a week in the kitchen preparing meals. These days that number has dropped to 5.9-- still plenty of time to prepare a week's worth of food-- but only a shocking 11% actually plan the meals ahead of time. Figure in the fact that eating home-cooked food is far healthier and all the people who never cook for themselves and wow, no wonder the whole country is overweight and unhealthy. But I digress.

Women, men-- no one should be afraid of the kitchen. Seriously, anyone can learn to cook. I was 22 years old before I knew how to pan-fry a chicken breast. When I was in college, I set my toaster oven on fire trying to make grilled cheese. But after watching a few episodes of Emeril Live on the Food Network and learning some simple techniques from my mother, I was cooking food that most of the time, was damn near restaurant quality. During my years as a D-girl, though, I hardly ever had the energy or motivation to cook just for myself. I'd pull out the stops on special occasions and holidays, but my typical weeknight grub was a box of take-out sushi.

With Pauly living here now and our efforts to eat more healthily than the piles of grease we typically injest on the road, I've caught the culinary bug again. I like cooking. For me, there's nothing more zen than chopping ingredients and pulling together the whole mise-en-poise. I made my own chicken stock a few days ago and made a velvety poached whole chicken in the process. Yummmo. The only difficulty I find is in concocting something we'll both enjoy. We both like bold, spicy flavors but he bristles at the presence of any vegetables whatsoever. And when it comes to foodstuffs like beans, lentils, polenta, quinoa, and almost any type of seafood-- they too shall never pass his lips.

Rain woke me up this morning. Slamming against the window that runs nearly the length of our bedroom. I put the heat on and made coffee. Pauly came home from the diner and sat down in the living room to pack a bowl. He'd slipped off to Nick's before I woke up so he could eat the greasy breakfasts he so enjoys without making me feel bad about looking at plates of delicious food I shouldn't eat. We talked about politics and the end of the world before he slipped off into his office to write and I sat up a little straighter and started pecking at the keys.

Six hours before I start dinner. I think it's a turkey chili night.

American Idol: Exit the Ringer, Enter the Freaks

Choose me! Love me!

It appears that the jig is up for Season 8 ringer Joanna Pacitti. Within hours of last night's episode in which the Top 36 contestants were revealed, FOX issued a press release stating that it had "been determined that Joanna Pacitti is ineligible to continue in the competition" and that Felicia Barton would be taking her place. Though the network had been extremely upfront about Pacitti's past as a recording artist on A&M/Geffen, they were far more reticent about the her friendship with 19 Entertainment executive Roger Widynowski, who serves as VP of Music and TV Publicity. Once this information was leaked, FOX was forced to disqualify her "to avoid any appearance of impropriety."

Pacitti's rough road in the entertainment industry just got a whole lot worse. While I still believe that she doesn't belong in the competition, this poor girl was just dragged through the ringer of auditioning (or being planted to "audition") for Idol after being dropped by her label, mucking through Hollywood Week (where she seemed to forget more lyrics than she remembered) accepted into the Top 36, and then given the immediate boot once the media had caught on to too much of the story. Ringer or not, Pacitti is a talented girl whom at every turn throughout her 12 years in the business, be it on a Broadway stage or a label marketing meeting, has been told she isn't good enough. I really don't know how many more career blows one person can handle.

Joanna Pacitti may be out, but Nick Mitchell is in... as his alter ego Norman Gentle. Though Simon Cowell clearly disagreed with what has to be some sort of ratings ploy designed to create this year's Sanjaya Malakar, the others officially got behind a guy dressed up in khaki shorts, a lame shirt, a terry-cloth headband and your high school physics teacher's eyeglasses. While I was entertained by Norman's on-his-knees versions of "I am Telling You I'm Not Going" and "Georgia on my Mind," and appreciate Mitchell's audacity in terms of getting his shtick in front of 30 million pairs of eyes, I think his antics will fall embarrassingly flat when we get down to the performance shows. This is still a singing competition, after all.

One thing is for sure-- those freaks over at Vote for the Worst have got to be jizzing in their pants this morning with Norman Gentle, psycho crazypants Tatiana del Toro (above), and weepy emo fag Nathaniel Marshall (o rly, ur druggie momz in jail?) all advancing.

Here's who made it to the Top 36 and will perform in groups of 12 over the next three weeks:

Chicks: Alexis Grace, Allison Iraheta, Ann Marie Boskovich, Arianna Afsar, Casey Carlson, Felicia Barton, Jackie Tohn, Jasmine Murray, Jeanine Vailes, Jessie Langseth, Kendall Beard, Kristen McNamara, Lil Rounds, Megan Corkrey, Mishavonna Henson, Stevie Wright, Tatiana Del Toro and Taylor Vaifanua.

Dudes: Adam Lambert, Alexander Wagner-Trugman, Anoop Desai, Brent Keith, Danny Gokey, Jorge Nunez, Ju'Not Joyner, Kai Kalama, Kris Allen, Matt Breitzke, Matt Giraud, Michael Sarver, Nathaniel Marshall, Nick Mitchell, Ricky Braddy, Scott Macintyre, Stephen Fowler and Von Smith


Among the girls I'm a fan of Jackie Tohn, Megan Corkery and Stevie Wright. With the boys I'm rooting for Anoop-Dogg, Danny Gokey, and the oil rig roughneck guy.

Performances start next week. Who will tank? Who will become an instant iTunes sensation? And what will Ryan Seacrest wear-- the tight graphic T-shirt with a blazer or... the tight graphic T-shirt with the blazer? I'll be waiting with bated breath.

American Idol: Where's the Music, Man?

"Norman Gentle" moments before receiving his golden ticket

Idol was so bad this week I didn't even want to recap it.

The only thing I remotely enjoyed about last week's duo of episodes was watching "Bikini Girl" Katrina Darrell finally get the heave-ho. Because if she got one more nanosecond of camera time I was going to have to launch into one of my rants about skanks like her being atrocious role models for the millions of teenage girls that tune in every week-- showing young women that the best way to get noticed is to parade around practically naked, force a (probably gay) man to make out with you on-camera, and blow off your detractors with bullshit rationalizations like "girls are haters" and "they're just jealous."

Life on the pole isn't that bad, Katrina. You can still make some good money for a few years before gravity takes hold and you'll be relegated to the afternoon shift. Just don't get into meth.

I'm really disappointed to say it since I'm obviously a fan of the show, but the truth is, Idol has been bad so far this season. Really bad. A once and future stripper with a mediocre voice, a contestant who has already had an album chart on Billboard and the presence of comedian Nick Mitchell and his bespectacled alter ego "Norman Gentle" in Hollywood Week have been the major stories so far. Not the talent. And when they do get around to, you know, actually showcasing some voices, it's been less about how the contestants are singing and more about their tragedy-laced backgrounds.

I just want to hear some music, dammit. Is that really too much to ask for between all the product placements?

So who got the boot this week as half of our 150 Hollywood hopefuls were sent packing? After auditioning with a searing rendition of "Barracuda," Emily Wynne-Hughes went 0 for 2 in Tinseltown, botching a No Doubt song and blanking on her lyrics during her group performance of Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop." Jessica Furney arrived at the Kodak Theatre looking much as she did at her audition in Kansas and barely got a lick of airtime before being cut in the first round, despite turning out one of the best initial auditions of the whole bunch. Told ya she'd need the glamazon makeover to survive despite her Kelly Clarkson-esque vocal chops. And poor little orphan Rose Flack was cut after forgetting her lyrics during the group number. Oh well, see you on Phish tour, Rose!

This week, the 75 remaining Idols are whittled down to the Top 36 which will advance to the performance shows. That list has been leaked all over the internet, and of course, contains more than a few surprises.

Until then...

February Truckin'

The new issue of Truckin' is out and it's a good one, guys. This month features the inimitable Johnny Hughes, a hilarious debut from Aussie ex-pat poker pro Jonny Vincent, Betty Underground brings the sexy back and my beloved has penned not one, but two pieces for you all to enjoy. (One of them is about pancakes, a stack of which I would love to devour right about now, especially those of the chocolate chip variety, but I digress) Check it out, spread the word, and if you like what you read, drop the writers a line.

Truckin' - January 2008, Vol. 8, Issue 2

1. Kitchen Table by Paul McGuire
That's cool. You're a chick. And chicks are supposed to like sappy shit like Coldplay. I need something that I can play air guitar to. Not 'insert and remove tampons from my ass' kinda music... More

2. A Proper Bow-Tie by Betty Underground
I lay out the pieces of his tuxedo, he finishes the primping process. Gathering the necessary toiletries strewn across the bathroom floor one by one, as he needs them. The hair dryer goes off. I run my fingers through his dried, loose, locks and secure them in the back in a short ponytail while he tones, moisturizes and brushes. In that order... More

3. Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, Joe Ely, and the Cotton Club by Johnny Hughes
Elvis bragged about his sexual conquests, using language you didn't hear around women. He said he'd been a truck driver six months earlier. Now he could have a new woman in each town. He told a story about being caught having sex in his back seat. An angry husband grabbed his wife by the ankles and pulled her out from under Elvis. I doubted that... More

4. First Impressions: Buenos Aires by Jonny Vincent
I tell him I'm from the Future, from the 21st century where people are used to paying for goods and services with this futuristic method of payment called credit cards. I apologise yet again and claim full responsibility for my own lack of research into his quaint and backwards and medieval system. I tell him I have no gold, no jewels, no currency and nothing to barter in exchange for the consumed food except these futuristic and useless credit cards... More

5. Pancakes by Paul McGuire
I just have to tell people the pancakes story and it perfectly explained Sabine. I sat through her bizarre routine every day for a year as she slipped into a trance and maniacally prepared her pancakes. She cared more about the pancakes than her own art. More than herself. Heck, more than me... More

American Idol: A Rose by Any Other Name

Who's got my molly?

Seriously, can we get to Hollywood Week already?

FOX must have been thinking the same thing, as this week, the torture of auditions finally finished up. We got three episodes this week as the judging quartet of Simon, Paula, Randy, and Kara hit up Salt Lake City, Jacksonville, New York, and San Juan, Puerto Rico. Everyone from High School Musical 3 extras, to aspiring nudists, to an actual Osmond family member showed up in the hopes of grabbing their golden ticket. That and an abundance of orphans, teen mothers, and disease survivors to tug at your fragile heartstrings. Here's who I think we'll be hearing from again:

Change100's Top 5 Idols to Watch: Audition Week 3 (Salt Lake/Jacksonville/NYC/San Juan)

5. Jasmine Murray. I wasn't exactly blown away by her rendition of the dreadful tune "Big Girls Don't Cry" by Fergie, but I know something commercial when I see it. Meet the new black Disney girl, America. If 16-year old Jasmine doesn't survive the American Idol Top 12 this season, she'll be signing a deal to star in the new series The Magicians of MLK Boulevard or something of that ilk.

4. Rose Flack. Who doesn't love a 17-year old hippie orphan from Idaho? Adorable little Rose is sure to become Coventry's new favorite Idol contestant. Though she stepped into the audition room shoeless, her dirt-caked feet straight out of the lot of a String Cheese show, Simon thought she looked marvelous and her soulful rendition of Carole King's "I Feel the Earth Move" made me think she could be an edgier, less squeaky-clean version of last year's fifth-place finisher, Brooke White. And, if we don't see you on Idol, Rose-- see you on Phish tour! We'll save you some pharmies!

3. Jorge Nunez. A tenor with gorgeous natural technique, he bowled over the judges with a version of "My Way" en espanol. Nunez has the potential to be hugely commercial and has a confidence about him that I really haven't seen too much this season. Now here's someone who can go to town during Gloria Estefan week!

2. Megan Corkery. Little Megan is only 23, already getting divorced, and the mother of a 2-year old son. When she announced she was singing "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man" I braced myself for a horror show, but instead was introduced to a standout jazz voice, complete with a crackling scat. I don't know how it will be for her to handle some of the big pop ballads that come with the AI territory, but I'm truly excited to see her do more. Gotta root for a talented Mormon mom getting out of a bad marriage!

1. Jackie Tohn. Jackie is a veteran who has been playing gigs for 10 years and you can tell it immediately from the ease she had about her when she walked into the room. She has rare combination of infectous energy and a gritty, smoky voice that reveals both depth and gravitas. I hope she's heard of a little band called Grace Potter & the Nocturnals because those are some perfect songs for her.

Hollywood Week finally kicks off on Tuesday night, where our 160-or-so hopefuls will be whittled down to only a few dozen. Let's get rrrrrrrreadddy for rejectionnnnnnn!!!

The New Hollywood

People ask me all the time "Change, the poker industry is dying-- why don't you go back to Hollywood?"

I usually give a clumsy answer about how feature development jobs have completely dried up, how many of my peers who lost their gigs during last year's writer's strike are still unemployed, and how online content is rapidly contributing to the decline in television viewership and box office revenue, making studios and production companies loathe to hire people like me to expensively develop new projects.

800 people got laid off at Warner Bros. last week. NBC Universal recently axed 10% of their workforce. Assistants at many top agencies have seen their health insurance disappear and their salaries reduced essentially to minimum wage. Even industry stalwarts, like Variety writer Anne Thompson have been given pink slips in recent days.

Sharon Waxman's piece Hey Hollywood, welcome to your future answers this question quite eloquently and in more detail than my weed-addled brain could manage. Waxman, at one time, was a senior columnist on the film industry for the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times-- you know, before print journalism started dying along with the rest of the economy. I suggest you check it out.

When One Window Closes...

My reasons for arriving at LAX three and a half hours before my flight to Dallas were two-fold. (1) I wanted to get on standby for one of the two hourly departures that were scheduled to go off before mine, and (2) Pauly wanted to watch the NFL playoffs. I had noticed a few days prior that I had an extremely narrow window between the first leg from LAX to DFW and the second, longer, far more important leg from DFW to Santiago, Chile. I didn't even know how the PokerStars travel guy was able to book an international flight with a 40 minute connection window. Thus, I gave myself plenty of time to try and rectify the situation.

I stared at the visible dark roots on the ticket agent's platinum blonde hair as she retrieved my itinerary.

"Oh... you have an international ticket. I'm sorry hun, we can't change that on the same day."

"But you see my problem, right? I have only 40 minutes to get on my flight to Chile. You know how huge that Dallas airport is."

"I do... well, I can put you right in the front of the plane so you can run once it lands?"

"Seriously, there's no possibility of letting me go standby on the 1:40? Or the 2:25?"

"I'm sorry, no. It's federal law. How about seat 7B?"

Ergo, due to this federal law I'd never heard of before, I waited out the three hours before I could board in the back of the Terminal 4 Chili's Too. I ate a mediocre salad and played two SNGs on PokerStars as the noise from the NFL games drifted in from the bar area. I won one, took second in the other.

Finally, it was time to board. I avoided the clusterfuck line and slipped on as the final boarding call went out. As I strapped myself into 7B next to a woman who looked like my elementary school librarian, I reached up to crank the A/C. It wasn't working. I turned around and half the plane was fanning themselves with their boarding passes. Then, I heard a loud grinding sound from the belly of the plane. Something wasn't right. I checked the clock on my iPod. 3:25. We should have been pulling back from the gate by now.

"Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking..."

Well, that's never a good sign.

Evidently, the device which pumps pressurized air into the engines in order to start them was broken. They were bringing over another one from a different gate. In the captain's current estimation it would be a 15 minute delay.

Well, his current estimation was dead fucking wrong.

They brought over the new air thingy. The new air thingy didn't work. Then they had to tie the two air thingys together to see if both of them together could produce enough air get the engine started. That worked, but the entire process took over an hour. We pulled back from the gate at 4:30. Our new estimated arrival time was at 9:00 p.m.

My flight to Santiago was scheduled to leave at 9:10.

And so began a mad series of calls and texts to Pauly to see if there was any other way I could get on a plane to Santiago tonight. There was a flight out of Miami at 11:30 but I had no possibility of making that. Everything on other airlines was leaving at the same time or would have already left by the time I landed in Dallas. I popped half a Xanax as we took off and tried my best not to freak out.

About an hour before we were scheduled to land, I tried to flag down a passing flight attendant to see if he had any news on our time of arrival.

"I'm sorry, I have to take care of something else right now" he said as he brushed past me and headed toward the rear of the plane.

OK...

Ten minutes later, I rang my call button. A tall redhead emerged from the first class cabin.

"Hi. I'm in a situation where I have an extremely tight international connection. Do you have any information on the status of Flight XYZ to Santiago?"

"No, I don't have any information for you."

"Could you please try and check on it for me? Even if you could tell me what gate it's leaving from so I can plan my running route through the terminal?"

"Everyone else is in the same situation, ma'am. They can probably re-route you through Miami or New York."

"Well, not exactly," I said as calmly as possible, trying to keep my cool. "This is the last flight to South America on any airline tonight."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

Awesome.

Thirty seconds later, the redhead was back in first class, offering warm raisin cookies with cool glasses of milk to her passengers. I sat there steaming, imagining that if I were seated on the other side of that curtain, I'd be getting a bit more than the brush-off.

We touched down in Dallas at 9:00. I was off the plane and sprinting from the C gates to the D gates by 9:05. As I ran, I imagined that if there were federal laws prohibiting me from changing the domestic portion of an international ticket, there were probably federal laws barring a red-faced, sweaty passenger from boarding an international flight only seconds before departure.

That wouldn't matter, though. By the time I found gate D-29, the plane was on the runway. The crabby gate agent told me to go to the ticketing counter to re-book and make hotel arrangements.

(This is the point in the story where your heroine truly understands her fate. Tears well up in her eyes as she realizes that more likely than not, she's going to be stuck here for the next 24 hours, have to cough up money for a hotel room, and miss the first day of her assignment. The Xanax has definitely worn off.)

I stood hunched over the ticket counter as the rotund gentleman pecked away at the keyboard. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and he dashed away from his station to dial a phone.

"Ma'am if you'll gather your things and follow me please. Go back through security as quickly as possible and meet me at Gate D-23. The Santiago flight has returned to the gate."

"WHAT?"

"The aircraft got a flat tire and has returned to the gate. Please, we don't have much time."

He ran ahead while I broke everything down for security in record time. Shoes. Hoodie. Laptop. I took off for D-23, still wearing only socks. Once I arrived there, my new hero, fat ticket guy, not only got me on the plane, but got me an aisle seat next to an unoccupied window seat.

My smile was as wide as Texas itself as I triumphantly marched down the plane and collapsed into seat 24B. A white-haired man with military tattoos on his arms sat across the aisle from me.

"Wow, did you get lucky!" he replied after I hastily told him my story.

"Yeah. Sucked out on the river BIG TIME," I answered.

24 hours later, I was reporting Day 1 of the LAPT Vina del Mar. I had arrived safely in Chile, though my luggage was still stuck in Dallas. And there he was, the man with the military tattoos, wearing a media badge. He was one of the camera operators for 441 Productions, the company who films poker tournaments for ESPN.

"It's you! You're the one who almost missed the flight!"

"You know, I knew you were a poker guy when I saw your reaction to me telling the whole airplane about how I sucked out on the river!"

"I'm Joe," he said, offering his hand.

"Change," I replied. "I'm glad we made it, Joe."

American Idol: Enter the Ringer

Season 8 contestant Joanna Pacitti, no stranger to the red carpet

Last season, we came to discover that Irish lassie Carly Smithson once had a recording contract. So did Kristy Lee Cook, as a teen. And so did Aussie rocker Michael Johns. None of this was really mentioned upfront, and one could argue that especially in the case of Smithson, that the Idol producers did all they could to hide their "amateur" contestant's professional background.

So this year, when a young woman who has starred in a Broadway show, recorded an album on a major label, had that record debut on the Billboard charts at #31, and contributed songs to half a dozen major motion picture soundracks decides that her career has floundered so badly that her best option is to audition for American Idol, it begs a very important question.

When it comes to the ringers, where do you draw the line?

Well let me tell you this. I had actually heard of Joanna Pacitti before she got her golden ticket to Hollywood. Yes, me, the same girl who had yet to hear a Jonas Brothers song before two days ago when I was sitting in an airport in Santiago, Chile of all places. I remembered Pacitti from when she went by the singular name Joanna, and performed at a New York City rally for then-Presidential candidate Howard Dean in the summer of 2003. A couple of years before that, she had a song on the Legally Blonde soundtrack. OK, if that was it, I could probably forgive Idol for letting a not-even one hit wonder have a shot at the show. But that wasn't even close to the totality of Pacitti's showbiz experience.

In 1996, Pacitti earned the title role in the 20th-anniversary Broadway produciton of Annie. She went on a pre-Broadway tour and got mostly positive reviews over the course of her 106 performances. Then, only a few weeks before the New York opening, she got bronchitis and had to sit out a few shows. One of the little orphan girls from the chorus learned her part and the producers liked her so much better in the role that they decided to fire 12-year old Joanna. So, her parents turned around and sued the producers for $50 million and told their story to any media outlet that would listen. Here's Joanna on the Barbara Walters-hosted Turning Point. Proceed with caution... I take no responsibility for the gagging this clip may induce:



Four years (and, I imagine, a significant amount of therapy) later, 16-year old Joanna moved out to L.A. by herself to pursue a music career and was signed to A&M Records by producer Ron Fair, who discovered Christina Aguilera among others. She got the aforementioned song on the Legally Blonde soundtrack and over the next five years became a veritable tween movie soundtrack staple, contributing songs to Cadet Kelly, First Daughter, Nancy Drew and Bratz. Pacitti released her debut album This Crazy Life in the summer of 2006 and it debuted on the Billboard charts at #31. The album quickly tanked, though and a year later, her label dropped her. She then started dating some dude from Dancing with the Stars and has appeared in the odd tabloid item as recently as last year.

Ah, another teen starlet that almost was. The L.A. basin is littered with them. Some, like Jodie Sweetin, become meth-heads. Others, like Family Matters' Jaimee Foxworth, end up in Chatsworth doing porn under the stage name "Crave." And now, the Joanna Pacittis of the world are finding that their last best career option may be getting in line with 10,000 of America's finest freaks to audition for Idol's judging quartet.

But, seriously-- where do you draw the line? Number of albums sold? The size of the audiences they've been paid to play to? I mean, 30 seconds of Google research will tell you that Joanna once opened for Sheryl Crow for Christ's sake.

This is not to deny Pacitti's talent. She has a helluva voice that I'm guessing is probably a lot better than the teenybopper drivel she once recorded. I'd love to hear her shred some Pat Benatar or Heart tunes on a weekly basis. And after a decade of post-college life in and around the entertainment business, I understand the sheer amount of mindfucks and rejection she has had to deal with in her short life.

But does she belong in this competition? No. This is a girl who has had a more than decade-long career in the industry who has fallen on hard times in the last year. She had her shot. American Idol is about finding someone who hasn't.

OK, enough about Joanna. At least the controversy surrounding her added something interesting to the show this week. Because lemme tell you, the talent this week was thin. These two episodes were full of freakshows and train wrecks interspersed with very few palatable auditions. Nevertheless, here are my top 5 picks from this week.

Change100's Top 5 Idols to Watch: Audition Week 2 (San Francisco/Louisville)

5. Adam Lambert Here's another borderline ringer-- this kid has already been on Broadway in Wicked! Lambert has a brilliant tenor, though and a commercial David Cook-esque look, and could be Top 12 material if he tones down the music theatre phrasing and affectation.

4. Matt Giraud A dueling piano player from Kalamazoo, Michigan, Giraud could be this year's R&B white boy a la previous contestants Elliot Yamin and Blake Lewis.

3. Kai Kalama *SOB STORY ALERT* This struggling musician cares for his ailing mother during the day and plays gigs at night (sniff). Loving the thick, soulful voice, but Kara and Simon are dead-on when they say he has to work on his charisma.

2. Alexis Grace Wow, they do get started young in the South. 21-year old Grace is already a mother of a 2-year old boy, lives in Memphis, and has a husband who is away at military school. But man did she impress with Aretha Franklin's "Dr. Feelgood" exploding out of her lungs like a freight train. She, too has an incredibly commercial look (though is in dire need of some clothes NOT purchased at Wal-Mart) and could likely sing across a variety of genres.

1. Leneshe Young *SOB STORY ALERT* 18-year old Leneshe was raised in and out of homeless shelters by a single mom . She is also possibly the only contestant in Idol history who successfully sang an original song. She's got spunk, a huge voice, is a decent songwriter and is a rags-to-riches story waiting to happen. Welcome to the Top 12, Leneshe.

Two weeks in and I'm already anxious to get to Hollywood. This Tuesday and Wednesday's shows will bring us more audition footage from Jacksonville (where Ryan Seacrest apparently drives a golf cart into a swamp) and to Salt Lake City where the Idol crew goes in search of more Twinkie Mormons in the hometown of David Archuleta. Until then!

American Idol, Year Eight

He didn't make it, but he does have his own cheerleaders

"Does this shit matter anymore?"

This is the question that ran across my brain like a ticker tape as I watched the Golden Globe Awards last Sunday night. I used to eat up awards season like a decadent slice of cake. Watching the stars prance down a red carpet dressed in the world's most expensive designer finery actually got me off at one point in time. At work, pageants like this were seen as the ultimate reward for a D-girl's years of underpaid office toiling. This was supposed to be the dream, man.

Watching the Globes this year, I felt much like I did when I returned to work on September 12, 2001. The world was in such crisis that none of this mattered anymore. How could I possibly care about feeding the Big Man's boundless ego, working toward making films that would get him those kind of nominations and further feeding that ego in the process? When the world is falling to pieces around us, was entertainment even relevant anymore?

Entertainment has always been a distraction from crises. The most successful film in history, Gone With the Wind came out at the dawn of World War II. And in the aftermath of 9/11, reality TV boomed, broad comedies ruled at the box office, and on the FOX network, a little singing contest debuted in June 2002 as a replacement series in the ratings-dead summer season. Eight seasons later, it's still a ratings behemoth.

Oooooh whoa oooooh whoa!! American Idol is back, and just in time to ease the pain of worldwide financial crisis! Save us, Simon Cowell. Help us forget the pain of opening up those credit card bills with 29% juice and notcies of our falling 401(k) balances. Give us a pithy quip. Make fun of people whose lack of talent and utter cluelessness makes them deserve it. Let us say to each other, "Thank God we're not like them!"

But here's the thing. I love American Idol. I love it for exactly what it is-- highly addictive fluff that is the ultimate distraction and does so unapologetically. Idol is crystal meth for anyone who ever starred in their high school musical or sang a solo in church, or brought down the house on karaoke night and ever dared to dream of a life of stardom. Even for just a minute, before coming back to earth. Performer or not, tone-deaf or pitch-perfect, there's something of that in all of us. And that's what keeps the American Idol train running season after season. I mean, let's face it. Idol isn't about the end result anymore. We all know that the winner will release their album maybe six months or a year later before losing their recording contract and beginning the slow fade into oblivion. But now, in the eighth year of the show, the real story and the real entertainment is found on the journey. In journalism, they call it a process story, and Idol is one long, juicy page-turner of a six-month process story.

Pass the cake.

Supposedly, there will be fewer "audition" episodes this year though this week featured performers from only the first two of the eight cities where auditions were held this fall. Tuesday's episode took us to Phoenix while Wednesday night's installment featured Kansas City, which no doubt earned its spot on the audition tour by virtue of producing last year's winner, David Cook. We were also introduced to the new judge, "superstar hitmaker" Kara DioGuardi, who thus far appears to be an intelligent, measured voice on the panel.

In the audition room there were, of course, great surprises and total horror shows. People cried, people stomped, people's relatives quaked with excitement as their loved ones came through the door with golden tickets. Here's who impressed me:

Change100's Top 5 Idols to Watch: Audition Week 1 (Phoenix/Kansas City)

5. Jessica Furney. The redhead from Kansas who lives with her mostly deaf 93-year old grandmother, Furney has a sick voice, but will sadly have to undergo a serious makeover if she wants to make the Top 12. Will a bunch of Idol flackers give her a trendy haircut, strip her of the geek glasses and "suggest" she hit the gym? I don't care what she does, I just want to hear her sing some more.

4. Stevie Wright. Named after Stevie Nicks (and she makes sure to let us know that several times), Wright lived up to her name with her rendition of Etta James' "At Last." Not only did she have the balls to take on a song that difficult, but she slayed it and did so effortlessly.

3. Emily Wynne-Hughes. Wynne-Hughes showed up at the audition with tragic platinum hair streaked with pink and yellow dye but sang the hell out of "Barracuda" to earn her ticket to Hollywood. Now that's a song with a 10 on the difficulty level and she nailed it to the wall.

2. Danny Gokey. Gokey and his best friend Jamal Rogers auditioned for the show together and both got through to Hollywood. A music teacher from Wisconsin, he lost his wife only four weeks before the audition. Seriously, I don't know how he fucking got out of bed let alone traveled hundreds of miles to try out for Idol given those circumstances. Gokey, though, has this throaty, soulful quality to his voice that could adapt across a wide song catalog. I'm not only rooting for him but predict him to go deep.

1. Lil Rounds. Yeah, that's her real name and she's lovin' it. Blessed with the vocal chops of a young Aretha, Rounds' home was recently ravaged by a tornado, forcing her to move her family into Memphis' version of the Redneck Riviera. With the combination of a tragic background story and the talent to potentially lift herself up from it, Rounds is easily the early front-runner.

Honorable Mentions: Deanna Brown (think Grace Slick meets Janis Joplin), Scott MacIntyre (blind dude who tore up Billy Joel's "And So It Goes"), and Von Smith (who did a totally overwrought rendition of "Over the Rainbow" but has one helluva instrument).

Next week will take us to Louisville and Salt Lake City (home of David Archuleta, a Mormon, and lots of other Mormons) before heading to Jacksonville, Puerto Rico, New York City, and San Francisco.

Agree/disagree with my favorites? Leave your thoughts in the comments!

Push Start

"Remember how good you felt afterward the last time," I said to myself as I tied the laces of my running shoes. I sifted through the detritus of my desk in search of a ponytail holder.

"It really wasn't that bad."

"It's only an hour."

"You even made that new mix to listen to."

These are the things I say to myself to talk my way out the door and into the car. With the amount of convincing I take, you'd think I was going to chemotherapy, not the gym. And it's not even one of those depressing, windowless corporate gyms. This one is in a big airy loft in West Hollywood. I'm one of those people, though, whose first instinct upon waking up is to go right back to sleep for another hour. So just getting myself to the point where I back out of the driveway is a bit of a process. My first instinct is not to move.

I park and feed the meter the six quarters it requires to park on the street for ninety minutes. I start walking up the flight of stairs to the loft and, halfway up, realize I left my water bottle in the car. I growl and retrieve it. Up the stairs again.

I talk myself out of the locker room. I put a good song on my iPod. I turn on my heart rate monitor and get on the treadmill. I push "Start." One foot in front of the other.

Ten minutes later I'm talking myself into staying on the treadmill. Then I run that three-minute sprint. My heart races. My face turns purple. A maniacal Stanton Moore drum solo throbs in my ears and pushes me along. When it's over, I walk again, and it's easier now. It gets easier every time. I remind myself to use this moment in the dialogue that will no doubt again take place tomorrow morning.

I recently unfroze a gym membership I'd acquired and used last spring, before the World Series of Poker. I froze it when I left for Las Vegas and with the summer and fall spent in a new location every few weeks or so, I'd let it stay that way. Life on the road is not exactly healthy and with the prospect of spending the bulk of the next 2-3 months at home (interrupted by only two week-long trips) I decided to let it thaw out. To accomplish the things I want to this year it's going to take a lot more energy than I was clocking at in December. I'm not getting any younger, or any thinner either. Time to move.

It's unbelievable the amount of weight-loss crap that corporate America throws at us at this time of year. During the day, I often keep something like CNN, the Food Network, or Discovery Channel on a low boil while I work. You can't go more than two or three commercials in a row without being sold something diet-related. Bowflex. Bally Total Fitness. Nutri-System. Hydroxycut. Even some pill Wynonna Judd is pitching. Then there are the TV shows, like the Biggest Loser and the string of knock-offs it has inspired. Get 'em all while their New Year's Resolutions are still hot.

And of course, the next ad is for the Sourdough Steak Melt at Jack in the Box. Nom nom nom nom nom...

Truth is, I can always eat healthy when I put my mind to it and prepare accordingly. 30-odd years in the fitness capital of America and a few thousand dollars sunk into personal trainers in my early twenties have taught me how to shop for the right ingredients and cook them in a healthy manner. I have a lot of recipes up my sleeve and I actually love seeking new ones out. Even my veggiephobic boyfriend can vouch for the jerk-rubbed chicken and the cajun salmon I can turn out on a Foreman Grill (he never tastes the asparagus, though).

Exercise, though. That's a whole other ball of yarn.

The last time I worked out really regularly (and by that I mean like 4-5 times a week) I was 23 years old and adjusting to my 70-hour work week. I also had a fellow D-girl who I hit the gym with every morning at 6:30, before we both went to work. I'd blow through the L.A. Times and 50 pages of bad screenwriting and the hour on the elliptical would be up. I'd actually be awake and present when I got to my desk, not still trying to blow last night's smoke out of my noggin. After a few months, it was a routine; it was just what I did every day and the responsibility we held to one another to show up those dark mornings definitely helped me keep at it. It was also utterly necessary to keep me energized for those 14 hour days. I would never really enjoy the exercise, but at least I'd trained myself to keep going. Because the more I did it, the easier it got.

Only a week in and history is already repeating itself. Each day I go a little longer, a little faster. Each day it's a few less minutes spent trying to rip off the proverbial band-aid and get out the door. Each day I have a little more pep in my step, more lilt in my voice.

And each day, I see an unexpected person while I'm getting on that treadmill. On Tuesday it was a cast member of Grey's Anatomy. Today, it was a guy Showcase and I went to school with, who is now writing for a popular tween girls' show on the Disney Channel. Oh, and some guy wearing a T-shirt for a band called "Panda Kunts."

Who will it be tomorrow? And will I be there to find out?

Truckin' Welcomes 2009

This afternoon I contemplate the following paradox: Why is it that when one engages in exercise does one acquire more energy than when one spends more time in various relaxing positions (i.e. seated, cross-legged, and vaguely lounging) for most of one's day? Shouldn't it be the other way around?

(Indeed, this is how my warped little brain works)

While contemplating this, or your own paradox, check out the January edition of Truckin', which includes Andrew Moxon's debut, a love story Joe Speaker-style, and some vintage Pauly/Otis hijinks at the hooker bar.

January 2009, Vol. 8, Issue 1

Welcome back to the first issue of the new year.

1. The Mollification the Foul Temptresses by Paul McGuire
The hookers at the Rio were a combination of famished vultures and parched vampires ready to pick apart any carcass. Any john. Any drunk. Anybody in their path. They were evil personified.... More

2. The Orchard by Joe Speaker
I reach for her hand, probing, touching it delicately. We don't form a fist when we come together, nothing like the taut intertwine of fingers you see lovers form, those Gordian knots, unwieldy like a stone fortress. Our fingers hang off each other's loosely, three of mine, two of hers, vice-versa, and they dangle. Spider webs in the wind. Tenuous connection... More

3. Hector by David Peterson
I remember clearly when the cops came and took Hector's mom away. He seemed rather nonplussed by the whole thing as we stood on the curb watching a bedraggled and wild-eyed woman being escorted from her home in cut-off jeans, a loose-fitting white tank top and handcuffs... More

4. Flight #22 to Denial by Sean A. Donahue
Her eyes were black as the night. Her black hair cascaded near her high cheekbones and tanned complexion. Her body wasn't made for sin but for pleasure, and the glasses she wore on her head framed her face perfectly. The only thing that didn't make sense was that it was raining over her head... More

5. Running it Twice by Andrew Moxon
There are, however, certain points of opportunity. Soft places in time, when the cockpit door comes open and we second-timers can take over. That's when things can change. Sometimes, every so often, we walk through that door and start flipping the switches... More

My Morning Jacket at Madison Square Garden, New Year's Eve 2008

I wore my cape to the show. Despite the frigid, fourteen-degree night, I brought it along, its silky sequined fabric rolled up and tucked inside my purse. I bought the cape at a vintage shop in San Francisco when I was up there for the Outside Lands Festival in August and ever since, it had been calling to me from the closet, begging for a proper venue to make its debut. When My Morning Jacket put out a message to their fans encouraging them to go all-out and dress in their New Years finest for the show, I immediately discarded all thoughts of ball gowns, little black dresses and rhinestone jewelry for the cape. If there ever was a proper place for the cape's coming-out party, it was at the MMJ New Year's Show at Madison Square Garden.

Buried in layers of fleece and wool topped with scarves and hats we shuffled off the subway and made our way up five stories from Penn Station. Though Pauly was flooded with memories of Knicks and Rangers games, Phish shows and countless other concerts, it was my first time inside the Garden despite having passed underneath it countless times in a train car. We breezed through security, the deck of New York Yankees playing cards inside my bag earning a good-natured quip from the guard who searched me.

"If this was a Phish show they'd have totally searched us!" said the man with the graying hair.

He was one half of a fiftyish couple who rode with us on the escalators up toward our section. His wife was petite and red-haired and they ended up having the seats directly in front of us. Pauly chatted them up, discovering that they had gone to the String Cheese Incident show on New Year's Eve 2006 while we were down the street at the Fillmore seeing My Morning Jacket. Now they were getting their shot at a MMJ NYE. I donned my cape and we drank Heinekens as we waited for the lights to dim.

My Morning Jacket, 12/31/08 Madison Square Garden

Set I:

Move On Up* (Curtis Mayfield)
Evil Urges*
Off the Record
Gideon
The Way that He Sings> Thank You Too
I'm Amazed
Golden **
Librarian
You're All I Need to Get By *** (Marvin Gaye/Tammi Terrell)
Express Yourself* (Charles Wright)
What a Wonderful Man
Lay Low
Phone Went West
Look at You****
Dondante
Smokin from Shootin>Touch Me I'm Going to Scream Pt. 2
Run Thru
The Wanderer (Dion)
Dancefloors
Magheetah

Set II:

New Year's Countdown
Celebration* (Kool & the Gang)
Get Down on It* (Kool & the Gang)
Wordless Chorus
Highly Suspicious
Cobra
Islands in the Stream*** (Kenny Rogers/Dolly Parton)
Bring it On Home to Me* (Sam Cooke)
Cold Sweat* (James Brown)
Anytime
One Big Holiday

*= with the NYE horns
**= with Will Johnson on pedal steel
***= with Nicole Atkins on vocals
****= Jim James solo acoustic


I always say everything is better with a horn section and this was no exception. I was pumped to see the return of the NYE horns that had added another layer of funk and finesse to MMJ's epic 2006 New Year's show at the Fillmore. After Ella Fitzgerald's version of What are You Doing New Year's Eve played over the loudspeakers, the boys launched into a high-energy opener-- Curtis Mayfield's Move on Up. The title track from their latest album, Evil Urges was next, also with horns (and, as we later discovered, was broadcast on the CNN New Year's Special with Anderson Cooper). Off the Record ended in a trippy extended jam -- that's when we first spotted a gray-haired, ponytailed hippie spinning through the aisles on what must have been a fairly intense acid trip. The rest of the first set was a well-thought-out mix of MMJ tunes new and old. The highlights for me were I'm Amazed, Run Thru, Dancefloors and Dondante-- when Pauly came back from a piss break holding two glasses of champagne topped with strawberries. Do I have a thoughtful boyfriend or what?

After a quick setbreak, the countdown to the new year began. MMJ returned to the stage dressed in white tuxedos with top hats and played Kool & the Gang's Celebration as hundreds of white balloons and thousands of pieces of silver confetti rained on the crowd. I can't think of a more magical way to ring in 2009 than in the greatest city in the world, with the one I love the most in the world, with one of our favorite bands adding the soundtrack.

Pauly got the whole thing on camera:



The second half of the show was compact and cover-heavy.Rather than the 80’s pop tunes that they tried on at the Fillmore after the year rolled over from ’06 to ’07 (George Michael’s Careless Whisper, Lionel Ritchie’s All Night Long ) MMJ went for Motown, soul, and 70’s funk during the first minutes of ’09, covering Kool & the Gang, Sam Cooke and James Brown. Nicole Atkins took lead vocals on two tunes, and utterly shredded the high harmonies with Jim James on You’re All I Need to Get By and Islands in the Stream. One Big Holiday, formerly a favorite opener for the Jacket, closed the show this time, with an explosive, energetic treatment, James whipping his hair maniacally as he tore into his Flying V.

Pauly preferred the ’06 setlist but for me it was a toss-up. As for the venues, MSG certainly turned up the spectacle, but the intimacy of the Fillmore was missed by both of us.

Pauly's video of the closer, One Big Holiday, is already up on Coventry. For a peek at the Jim James/Nicole Atkins duet on You're All I Need to Get By, check it out below: