Make Mine Mike

Don't care about American Idol. In fact, I don't know anything about that show.

Except that David Cook is quite the artist -- ripoff artist, that is. And David Archuleta is the next Michael Jackson -- and I don't mean multi-platinum superstar, but a lying press-manipulator who'll grow up into a man-boy with daddy issues.

No I don't know anything about that show. Besides, it's all bullshit now that Chikezie's gone.

And who needs American Idol, when we've got Santa Monica Idol? There's a couple of teenage girls around the corner who like to sing outside on their raised porch when they get home from school. I imagine they're just trying to get away from mom and dad inside, when they warble such eclectic hits as "In the End" by Linkin Park,"Superman" by Eminem... or any tune the contestants covered last night on A.I.

So maybe these kids do want some feedback. Sitting in our living room with my fiancée, listening to this local concert, I do my best Randy Jackson: "Yo dawg, that wasn't bad, but not the best song choice and a little bit pitchy, awright?" Or Simon Cowell: "Well, it wasn't quite as awful as your last after-school performance, but it still sounds like something one might hear in a cruise ship lounge act."

Adelphia stands up and claps her hands off-beat, then sits and drops one droopy Paula Abdul-like eyelid. "I-- I-- I just love... you are... that was... I just have to say... to get up there and... you!"