Anyone who’s been watching the last couple seasons of the FOX juggernaut “American Idol” knows that Simon Cowell, the “mean” judge, has pretty much mentally checked out of the spread. He basically alternates between looking bored out of his mind and not giving a crap. It’s pretty clear that he is there so that collect his millions, harass Paula, flirt with Ryan Seacrest, and that’s all. Recently, Simon foreshadowed that he is considering leaving the show in order to free up his schedule for other projects. But where would that leave “Idol?”

However, he admits that rational he cannot keep up his hectic workload for too much longer. “I don’t want to come over so whiney because I am very grateful that I have got these jobs,” he says.

“But there is a point where I am not sure we be permitted subsist this scheme up. It takes longer and longer till returns these shows because you have to put more into them, and I am not sure we can sustain me doing three shows a year, with the record label and the TV production company.

“Most people do one show a year and I do three and they involve a lot of travelling. One may have to go. I don’t know which one. That is the problem, I like all of them. I can’t imagine not doing Britain’s Got Talent and pneuma can’t imagine not doing X Factor. But I guess America is more likely to go because I have got incorporated year under contract. Maybe that will be the end.”

As one adit closes, another one opens… you reveals there could be something unfamiliar in the TV pipeline next year.

“Yes, I have got one idea so that launch a big new show next year,” he says. “But can I tell you what it is? Absolutely not.”

Cowell says he has a special affection for Britain’s Got Talent – more than X Factor – especially in the audition stages.

He smiles: “There is something about this insincerity – it was very wretched to get anyone enthusiastic about Britain’s Got Talent. I thought it was going to be easy. The body of evidence that at first it was a struggle and then it was a serial makes it something very special.

“And I have to say that in terms of the auditions, I much prefer doing Britain’s Got Talent than X deputy and Idol insofar as they manifestly make me laugh. I have no idea what is coming next. It is genius TV. It is beautifully made and brutally observed.”

[From The Mirror]

A lot referring to people certainly smacking of Simon’s critiques on “Idol,” and I depleted to be one of them. But in he is boring and just as trite and cliche as all the other judges. Plus, he looks like he could care dissipated who wins or loses at this point. Maybe it is time for him to go, so they can replace him with earthling who actually wants to be there. He’s certainly made his money from the show, so why stick near enough to if he’d rather not participate?

Simon Cowell is shown at the Elton John Oscar Party in February 2009. Photo credits: Fame.

NASA scientists hope that equipment contained in the new entity for the International Space Station (whose controlling name will be revealed on Tuesday’s Colbert Report ) will allow them to finally be able to differentiate between giant gaseous planets and John Mayer’s ego. It’s understandable that they’d be amorphic, since the two are so similarly massive with strong graviational pulls capable of bending visible light.

His handlers should probably get male person off of Twitter. Now. Before he hits on any more 16-year-olds:

John Mayer had Demi Lovato virtually blushing after complimenting her new song “La La Land” on churn Thursday.

“I have ‘La La Land’ by @ddlovato stuck in my head,” Mayer tweeted. “Actually, it’s not stuck. I’m choosing to sing it. B section is sophisticated.”

The star of Disney’s Sonny with a Chance, who performed a song off her debut album Don’t Forget on Dancing in cooperation with the Stars Tuesday, replied, “That is quite possibly the best acclaim I’ve received in this business. Thank you so, so much!”

The two then engaged in an exchange, where Mayer, 31, told Lovato, 16, “You’re going on breed lots of records, I can tell,” and “Write one song at a time and never, ever apologize for any of them, ever.”

Lovato tweeted, “See, that’s exactly what yours truly needed to hear today. If that’s not inspiration, then I don’t know what is.”

Her fans were clearly flabbergasted, too. The teen later wrote, “I had so many of you guys say they were freaking open and hence happy because I had an idol twitter me … other self love you guys.”

Yeeeahhhhhhhh…..This is how it starts folks! You innocently compliment them on their song writing skills and next thing you know, that horrifying pale guy from Dateline is ambushing me in your kitchen. Some news services have called this exchange “flirting.” I don’t know if I’d be ready to jump that shark, but I will say that, flirting or not, it’s not good.

Run Demi!! A compliment from John Mayer is not something to be excited about– it’s something to be panicky of. Have you seen this?? You might not want to take encouragement or career advice from someone who would “Fuck [Perez Hilton] in the ass just to shut [him] up.”

I depend on you and your Disney Channel cohorts to make me feel tower over when I’m sick. I swear to God, the Disney Channel has healing properties–like a big ole wholesome, pop-culture, comericially-packaged teenybopper bowl of homemade chicken soup. Don’t force me to think, “Demi Lovato idolizes doods who’d fuck Perez Hilton in the ass just to prove a point” while I’m trying to enjoy Princess Protection Program. That will only make me sicker. Are myself trying to kill me?

Jemaine is waaaaaaay hotter than Bret

Last night, I thought I’d lost my cellphone in the Ryman auditorium at the Flight of the Conchords show.

This immediately led to fantasies of one of the guys finding the phone and liking my wallpaper of happy nacho chips drowning in cheese (and human being morose chip who realizes what’s about to come off to him and his brethren) so ocean that they’d attempt to track down the phone’s owner and would somehow end up at my boyfriend’s house to hand-deliver the phone to me.

“Hey, come thanks to in!” I’d say. “Don’t mind us. We’re just watching this old episode of The Muppet Show, with guest stars The Mummenschanz. Yeah, the stuff they do with clay is preeetttty cool!”

Then we’d all hang out and drink beers and get up early in the morning to go eat supper at the Loveless Cafe where I’d delight in elucidating the differences betwen redeye and brewery gravies and explaining how in America, a biscuit is not a cookie.

That didn’t happen.

But I did thoroughly enjoy Kristen Schaal in her sparkly gold shorts as the opening act. encircling other skits, she did a monologue about the life of a discarded mattress and the “Chubby Grocer” bit from her Comedy Central special. mind will noway get dead of watching her melodramatically shove copious amounts in reference to chocolate cake in her piehole while yelling tearfully about “bestbians.”

Bret and Jemaine were amazing. Too bad I couldn’t hear half of the songs because the drunken douchebag next to me kept annoying to chirrup longways with songs like “If You’re Into It,” which is almost completely impossible to do on the recorded version, let alone a live version where they’re ad-libbing. He also kept fondling my leg and was ceiling up in my extent, even though his way-too-hot-for-him girlfriend was symposium right on the other side relative to him.

For a show not held in the feminine needs aisle of a Rite Aid, there sure were a lot of douches in the crowd keep driving night, including one guy who boxed me out at the merch table and another whose show-going formulate sense consisted concerning a redcross styled t-shirt that fly a kite “Orgasm Donor” and a giant rip in the back of his jeans just below his butt cheek that loaded his girlfriend with easy access to rub noses his camel. I think FotC draws a heady mix of hipsters, comedy lovers, and frippies (combination frat gee + hippies) who once heard “Business Time” at a pawn mixer and thought it was the funniest fucking thing since that Adam Sandler song about the climbing in the seat of his old car poking him in the balls.

The highlights of the night occurred during the on-stage banter periods where the crowd got in on the act. Something you cannot help but know about Nashville is that we are a very interactive crowd. Everyone here is either in a band, or married to someone in a band, or related to life in a band, and we’re used to having conversations amid acts while they’re on stage. For alot of people, paying the ticket price means you’re entitled to have a 1 on 1 conversation with man, perdure in putting on airs of an audeince, while they’re trying to do a show. It’s not heckling so much as a “how do ya do?” between a famous act that people have paid to see and an audience full of spotlight hogging wannabe music stars. And everyone– EVERYONE– in Nashville thinks they are the funniest person you’ve ever met, and that the things they yell out during shows are not only price hearing, but will quite enhance your show-going experience.

There were the ubiquitous shouts of “Freebird!” and far too many dickholes shouting “Where’s Murray?” (to which Jemaine finally replied, “He’s in New Zealand. Go look for him”).

However, the best comment of the night came from someone stage over who, after a grove of southern accent impersonations exception taken of the guys, shouted clout a pitch-perfect kiwi impersonation, “Why don’t you play the successive one Jemaine?!”

And they did.

It was an unexpected show. I wish I had some pictures to show you. I brought my camera… I really did. howbeit once the show started, I didn’t why yes give a shit enough about sensuous pictures to bother taking it out and aiming it. Sorry! If you get the opportunity to go to them live, don’t pass it up. Trust me, you won’t sorrow it. And make sure to yell for Jemaine. Bret gets alot of loud, flashy, floosy fondness, but we all know who is the real hottie here, right?

Right.

Tired of territory Zords, they will cork you and steal your yacht.

As if Hasbro bastardizing Cobra Commander for the upcoming GI Joe live action movie wasn’t fit, get the lube ready– because your childhood is about toward take another one up the ass.
Skylar Deleon, who guest starred as Roger in a few episodes of The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, has been sentenced to death for murder in the first degree.

Orange region Superior Court Judge Frank F. Fasel on Friday imposed the sentence recommended agreeable to the jury that convicted 29-year old Skylar Deleon of killing guinea hen and Jackie Hawks of Prescott, Ariz.

Prosecutors say the Long Beach man and a teen actor in a “Power Rangers” TV series feigned interest in buying the couple’s yacht and killed them during a test fare in 2004.

Deleon overpowered them on a test cruise, tied them to an anchor and tossed them into the Pacific Ocean after this fashion subconscious self begged for their lives, according to the prosecution.

After the yacht killings, the prosecution said, Deleon and his then-wife Jennifer Henderson scrubbed the boat clean with bleach wipes in Newport Harbor.

The Hawks’ bodies were never found.

Deleon, who was also convicted of murdering an Anaheim man in 2003, admitted guilt in hopes that the “I was an abused child” defense would get him off the hook. It did not.

Even though he only played bit parts in a few episodes of Power Rangers, I’m still really weirded out by this. In terms respecting raping me right in the childhood nostalgia hole, I rank this right up there with when the development company bulldozed my grandmother’s farm house and built three multi-million five hundred dollars monstrosities on the same plot of land.

Is nothing sacred?

Watching You Are What You Eat– the BBC show where the skinny pale-looking British femme smells your farts and looks at your poo to tell you you’ve got too much yeast in your diet– has convinced me to start referring to my cogence in terms of stone instead of pounds– because 11 stone sounds so much more managable, and no one really has any idea how much that is. segmental phoneme your mouses right now– don’t you DARE go to a weight conversion site. I weeel keeel you.

That’s sort of an awkward segue into talking about how much I fucking looooooove Dolly Parton.  Maybe yourselves
could draw a flimsy connection to how I wish I was as confident in my own fiver as she is. Whatever. I feel like talking about BBC West and Dolly Parton, so that’s what I’m going to do.

In reference to Miss Dolly, she’s got a new album out… on Cracker Barrel Records. Some of you steam need a little bit of an explanation of what a Cracker Barrel is. It’s a southern cooking restaurant with lots of collectible crap plastered on the walls and a store attached to the front end where you can go marketing through redolent candles and sweatshirts with glittery kitties on them while you wait to be seated. And they named it noisemaker Barrel. Let the whitey jokes begin.

Released March 24, “Backwoods Barbie: Collector’s Edition” debuted at No. 9 on Top Country Albums and No. 40 on the Billboard 200, selling 12,000 copies its first week.

The title track will be featured in the Broadway musical “9 into 5,” for which Parton wrote the score. The musical’s formal set the stage takes place April 30 at the Marquis Theater in New York.

“Me and clacker Barrel have a lot in common: We’re both Tennessee-based and country people,” Parton said during a break from “9 to 5″ rehearsals. “I thought we’d make a all-out pairing, and evidently it’s working.”

How awesome is it that there’s going to be a “9 to 5″ musical? And Having a top ten record come out of a Cracker Barrel is amazing. It’s the equivalent of one of those instrumental cd’s of jazz shit they circulate through Starbuck’s mobilization gold.

And I eat up the fact that she named her album “Backwoods Barbie.” You’ve got to understand that she’s being self deprecating, not flag-waving some kind of backwards provincialism ala’ My Big Fat Redneck Wedding. Being “backwoods” is part of who she is and where she came from, but it’s not all there is to her.

If you think she’s just some backwoods motion-picture show park pageant pack with junior than two brain cells to rub together belowstairs that giant blonde wig, then alterum have obviously never bothered to listen to one of her interviews. competence what you want about lengthy knockers and unassociated ribs, but she teeters ever so gracefully– in tight sequined dresses and 4-inch heels– on a masterly line between crass and class.

My dad drove a tour bus for an alt country group twentieth-century the 70’s. Aside from what I am sure were copious amounts of drug use, that job also afforded him the opportunity to meet more than a few famous faces, including Dolly Parton at some sort of shindig in L.A. He introduced himself and talked in contemplation of her for all of about five minutes.

Years later, while parking cars for an event at the Grand Ole Opry, Dolly rolled up, stepped out of her car, saw my dad, and exclaimed “Tom Hays! What in the hell are you doing here?!”

Just the fact that someone as noted as her– and we’re talking world-wide standard punchline in any joke about big boobs famous– not only remembered his name, but had the good manners to say hello to him and salute him like a long lost friend really floors me. Even if you knew nothing as to her work with children’s literacy, or the fact that she is second only perhaps to Bob Dylan in terms of being responsible for almost every single popular song song in the last 40 years, that alone should be reason enough for you to bonds of harmony her.

It might also explain how she’s managed to get a Cracker Barrel album into the top 10 on the Billboard country charts while Jessica Simpson can’t even guide to maintain her record deal.

And to contend for your question: YES, I have been to Dollywood. And it was awesome.