Last week (or the week before it, perhaps?) when American Idol’s cameras panned across the audience, I saw a “fanjaya” holding a sign which proclaimed: “Sanjaya is my Papaya”. Love it. It’s delightfully absurd, innit?
Last night, our half-brown wonder achieved what I thought impossible– positive reviews from three judges who are now extra cautious about everything they say, lest they offend young master Malakar’s ardent base of 12-year old girls and grandmothers, since doing so would only mobilize a GOTV effort that the Democrats probably have wet dreams about…and if they don’t, they should.
My papaya (what’s hilarious is I HATE PAPAYAS) crooned “Besame Mucho” and he did it rather well [Thanks, Murad], though I for one could’ve done without his attempts at growing facial hair. But Jennifer Lopez kinda predicted his success, didn’t she? She seemed slightly smitten with our kitten. Speaking of, does anyone remember when J. Lo’s hair and lips were distinctly darker and redder than her extremely bronze skin? No? Just me? Damn. Anyroad, I’d love to tell you what happens to the call centers’ choice, but I remember what it was like to live on the left coast and be salty about such things, so I’ll refrain from dropping spoiler bombs on y’all. 😉 Continue reading
Seen any good plays recently? Yeah, didn’t think so. If you’re like me, you tend to fall asleep during big Broadway production numbers, but small “experimental” theaters leave you cringing with embarrassment or irritation. You know, all that minimalist white (or black) space, with some dudes dressed all in black (or white) rattling off non-sequiters.
