While I am not bemoaning the return of springtime weather, I have to say I hate having to shave my legs with regularity. Not that I have to. I could shun Western grooming expectations and walk around like a neo-naturalist hippie. I choose to have my legs oogle-worthy. Not that they're much of that lately. Spider veins. Thanks mom.
I had such high hopes for this week's Idol. I love Andrew Lloyd Webber. Except for Carly's JC and Syesha's One Rock and Roll Too Many (From Starlight Express, btw, which explains why I'd never heard it. LOL) everyone was a train wreck. Okay, dear David Cook is never a train wreck, but I really wanted to hear him belt out a Judas number from Superstar.
And what happens? The two best performers of the night end up in the bottom three! I think mild-mannered middle America was put off by tats, offended by rock singing about The big J.C. and a sexy PYT African American Syesha.
Jason Castro: secret love child of John Travolta?
I wish I could've found a better picture to show the comparison. Castro looks more like him when he sings, eyes closed, face scrunched, wide smiling mouth. D and I kept expecting him to say "Sandy! Oh, Sandy!"
I have a cold again. WTF is up with me getting sick? Speaking of sick is April vacation over yet?