underwhelming Australian Idol wildcards

Apologies for not posting last night. Being Father’s Day meant I missed the first performance as the Carlton game was on Fox Sports. Then Jasper decided to projectile vomit all.over.his.room, down the hall and into the bathroom (as Chef carried him there). Delightful. He’s fine by the way.

After a pretty full-on day that started at5.30 with Jasper thrusting a Thomas the Effing Engine in my face “I want toot toot”, was quickly followed by making pancake batter, throwing on a load of washing and having a shower. The pancakes were onhold as Chef got pressies of clothes, chocolates, a DVD and the compulsory gorgeous cards saying ‘your the funest dad eva’. Then we decided we should go to breakfast at the place he had the interview at last week. So after calling my dad to wish him well and check-up on his ribs, we were all dressed and in the car by 8.15 in the a.m.

Breakfast was an intense hour of Jasper running off squealing down the street while the big boys played with the Effing Engines we’d taken along for Jasper to play with. Apart from that? Seriously good food (I had corn fritters with just the right amount of bitey guacamole, a little dollop of sour cream, roasted tomatoes and sweet chilli; Chef had a the big brekkie of everything; Oscar – the most scrumptious ricotta pancakes; Felix – poached eggs and bacon; Jasper – sourdough toast and jam) and a chance to meet the owner who was there with his five daughters and the other owner who dropped in, both who seemed seriously impressed we had made the effort to come in as a family and experience the place. They also did a fantastic chai and Chef’s coffee (they roast their own blend onsite) was the right hit of bitter and creamy. I had a blood orange juice as well which came in a fancy glass which was kinda quirky and endeared the place to me even more. I so hope the outcome is what we’re both hoping for with all our might. Chef’s got another meeting with them at some stage this week.

From there we called in on Chef’s Dad to wish him happy Father’s Day. They were off to the Swans match so it was short and sweet. Then it was home for Felix to get changed for the Auskick Gala Day and to try and throw together some things to fill in the three hours of football for those of us not running around kicking the ball. I was quite proud of myself actually because I did some thinking on the spot and threw some mesclun mix, cherry tomatoes and cucumber into a container, grabbed a bottle of wine and my current addiction – the honey mustard dressing. Then there was a quick stop at Woollies for a bbq chook and some nibblies. When we got there I just tore the chicken up into the salad mix, tossed through some dressing and served it on Turkish bread – delicious and so much more successful that soccer gala day a few weeks back when we took um nothing. It was a fantastic afternoon as a family we became friends with a few years back and then didn’t see for ages because hello, everyone working and breeding makes time disappear. They were really appreciative of the food and P and I just sat with babes in arms (their fourth child and third daughter is 2 months older than Grover) and caught up on all the various incidents and events over the last 18 months. Lovely.

But all that time in the sun does actually wear you out. So home we went. The boys ate snacks I prepared all afternoon as they watched the footy and I threw together a dinner of the 7-hour lamb leftovers tossed through pasta. Delicious.

As I put Grover down I could feel the tension leaving my shoulders and (stupidly) thought, ‘two down’. It was about 20 minutes later the vomitfest began. So by the time it came to sit on the lounge with my laptop it was just too hard.

As some sort of reward for scooping up vomit, Grover slept until 2.13am. You know what that means don’t you – we are slowly moving to that stage of only one feed a night. I’m trying not to think about the fact that by the end of this week Jasper was sleeping through the night and had been doing one feed a night from around 5 weeks. But at the time I celebrated and gave thanks for it for the true remarkable wonderment that it was so there you have it. Of course I didn’t go to bed until midnight. Idiot.

So onto all things Australian Idol…
I was pretty underwhelmed with all the performances last night. Everyone seemed to be singing songs with lyrics talking about second chances which I thought was kinda lame.
Mark De Costa’s rendition of Evie sort of guaranteed he’d get through. I didn’t like his performance during the week, it was just a lame Johnny Diesel, but last night – and indeed tonight – he at least tried to make the song his own and did a fair job of it too. He was the second audience pick for the Top 12 so there you have it.

TiNatalie Gauci-Arena came onstage in some sort of body-hugging knit, stockings that weren’t sheer and weren’t opaque enough and red boots. I have no idea how well she sang because I was just wondering what kind of mirror she stood in front of to think, ‘yeah this is flattering and suitable’. All she needed was a fag in the corner of her mouth shouting ‘Brit-neeee get ovah ere nowwwww before I belt ya’. And of course, the balladrear is through as the judges pick, which I don’t get because Husny was unique and had an edge. TiNatalie will be doing the RSL circuit within five years. (And again tonight with the not opaque enough stockings. Love, you’ve got thick thighs. Accept it, cover ’em up and move on.)

Carl Riseley is through and I am so pleased. He could so easily have gone the way of Dave Andrews and let his nerves destroy him, but he held in there.

Daniel Misfud. I have mixed feelings about this guy. I really loved him during the auditions, then he seemed to get cocky and then came the high hair and I was pretty over him. I thought his song choice last night was boring and predictable, but he scored the most audience votes so what do I know.

The train wreck of Dave Andrews just kept on rolling through. At least he didn’t sing another John Farnham song I guess. He really is a case study in what happens when nerves get the better of you.

You see this is where it clearly comes down to a formula. Jack Bynres is to male singers what TiNatalie Gauci-Arena is to female ones. It was already guy-heavy, so TiNatalie got through.

She tried. She cried. She failed. NEXT!

Husny Thalib was the enigma of the competition. Pirate Boy was compelling in his own way, but the song he chose for wilcard night was a bit lame and he toned his performance down so much it seemed his boots were actually nailed to the floor and his arm strapped to his body. He would have been great to see for a few more weeks but that’s that.

So, the Top Twelve are:
Mark Da Costa – the rocker

Carl Riseley – trumpeter intent on bringing back the big band and bring it on I say

Daniel Misfud – the male TiNatalie from the balladrear brigade

Ben McKenzie – the next Ben Kweller

Jacob Butler – the brit pop lover

Marty Simpson – the surfie dude channeling Jack Johnson and John Butler Trio

Matt Corby – another surfie dude but more in the Jeff Buckley camp

Brianna Carpenter – crazy, kooky, Bjork and Jeff Buckley blender. She is my absolute favourite.

Tarisai Vushe – the big note hitter praising the Lord every step of the way.

Natalie Gauci – our very own new Tina Arena.

Lana Krost – who’ll be in the competition for as long as WA feel the need to keep voting for her or the rest of the voting populace feels sorry for her. Then she’ll go back to musical theatre playing Cosette and other poorly younglings dying of consumption.

Holly Weinert – she’s loud and she can sing. Will be interesting to watch.

And the greatest crime of the competition so far – the non-inclusion of this person:
Cheray Doughty. I wonder what happens if we start a ‘Bring Cheray back’ movement and keep voting for her?

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