Tonight's Idol Observation

Ryan Seacrest, quit trying to be a stand-up comic. You're not Don Rickles, you're a pretty face, so there's no reason to attempt "jokes" about Simon's anatomy. Introduce the contestants, recite their phone numbers, and then shut up. Thank you.

Vodka, chicken fingers and American Idol

Vodka and chicken fingers are not exactly a heart-healthy meal, especially for a pudgy middle-aged woman, like me, who missed her workout. However, I'm in a mood and it's what I want when I watch American Idol, and I am too sensitive, darling and compassionate to deny someone as adorably poignant as me anything. On the way home, I stopped at a popular dine-in/carry-out place.

At least it used to be popular. Tonight it was damn empty. There was just me, waiting for my yummy fingers, and (I suspect) a long-married couple sitting together, eating their meals in silence. Last time I was there, around Christmas, it was bustling. I couldn't read the menu specials board for the people milling around. Not tonight.

Worse, I can tell they're paring back. No more free chips for us to enjoy while we wait (which is OK, because I really didn't like them), no more bakery for dessert (just ice cream). It makes me sad.

I know I haven't been there in nearly two months because I'm economizing. Perhaps others in the neighborhood feel the same way. All this fiscal self-restraint must be hell on small businesses. I hope the stimulus package stimulates consumers in time.

In A Mood

First I held him lightly and we started to dance.
Then I held him tightly, what a dreamy romance!
And I said "Hey, baby, it's a quarter to three,
There's a mess of moonlight, won't-cha share it with me?"
"Well," he answered, "Baby, don't-cha know that it's rude to keep my two lips waitin' when they're in the mood?"

NO! That's "In THE Mood!" I'm in A mood. A pissy, melancholy, discontented mood … not the good, old-fashioned, sugar-coated horniness that Patty, Maxine and Laverne sang about. (Though I'm sure a nice carnal interlude would do me a world of good.)

I didn't work out today … my hair feels all thick and frizzy … I'll probably never have sex again … I'm short on my self-monitored "allowance" for the rest of the month ... I miss my best friend … I'm worried that Highball the dog lived out his life traumatized by what he witnessed on Valentine's Day 80 years ago ... to paraphrase Crash Davis in Bull Durham, "I'm dealing with a lot of shit."

Mostly hormones, I suspect.

Don't screw with me, though. I may bite you. Or cry. Right now, I could go either way.

Tuesday Tunes #18

Tell us your biggest musical regret.

Not treating my vinyl with more respect and tender loving care. I have cartons of old LPs and 45s in my closet, but they are virtually unplayable. Yet I can't part with them. I know that, as delivery systems for sound, downloads are superior. But records! You could fall in love with a record! Cover art, liner notes ... stacking LPs on the spindle ... I miss 'em.

To play along yourself, click here.