NO FLIES ON US

Irish eyes are not smiling. Carly's gone and I didn't even acknowledge. I know, I know...I'm terrible, Muriel. Believe me, I was as shocked as the next guy. But my shock wasn't Idol's white trash teenage fan base. Hell no. The minute she belted out those two magic words, "Jesus" and "Christ", she was a goner.

But whatever. This is not an I-can't-believe-it Idol post. I couldn't take in Carly's untimely departure because I was still reeling from the news that my house was infested with sewer flies and I'd need to rip up my basement floors.

S-E-W-E-R flies. Uh-huh. Exactly what you think they are. Flies. That breed in sewers. IN MY HOUSE.

Did I mention we've lived here all of 8 months?

Way back in the halcyon days of new housedom, there were these flies that would flit around and then pop-off after 24 hours of hurling themselves against our screens. We figured they were fruit flies. Except they had no interest in fruit. Hmmmm.....Strange. A quick call to an exterminator and we decided to heed their advice and wait until after the winter to investigate further. Maybe they'd just die off and never return.

Or maybe not.

After an insanely long and drawn out winter from hell, we welcomed April's (global warming) warmth....And The Return of The Flies. Pest control was called. And 45 seconds and $65 dollars later told me we had sewer flies. Also called drain moths, I learned that these non-biting, bacteria carriers are flies that breed in standing sewage. And then I learned that said sewage was, in all likelihood, standing under my dreamhouse.

Next stop: plumber.

I have to say, of all the housing trades, I do like a plumber. Contractors are cocky and I hate being at their mercy. Electricians are a bit odd. Some of them even more than a bit. And gardners, well, it's all such a cliche. Between the gardner, the poolboy, and any other scantilly clad maintenance man, you'd think every one of your neighbours is the next Lady Chatterly. But not plumbers.

So far, I haven't met a plumber I haven't liked. They all seem to be nice, funny, smart. And plumber butt? A total myth. Only plumber butts I see come with low-cut designer jeans attached to 'em. Anyhoo, I've recently learned that plumbers are also the highest paid of the trades. I guess they deserve to be, dealing with other peoples' shit for a living. And with these prices, they'd better be charming.

Anyhoo, Mike the plumber shows up to save my house. And hopefully, my sanity. SEWER FLIES. Hello? What could be grosser?

First came the residential colonscopy. Exatcly what it sounds like: the camera snake. Drain cam - down the drains and through the house. If your lucky. If you're me, it's drain cam down the drains, through the house, under oceans of sludge, and, finally, The Wall. No, not stones or bricks or mortar. A wall of "material". "Debris". Somethin' sticky. And vile.

Next stop: The Drainworks A Team.

They emerged from their trucks like Smith from the Matrix - only instead of black-suited, slick and trim, they were blue-t-shirted, bald and enormous. And they proceeded to rip up my floors, digging trenches in hopes of finding The Blockage. And then they struck gold. Black gold. A geyser. And not in a good way.

I wasn't home when it happened. Thank god. My delicate constitution would've failed me for sure. It had these burly he-men running for cover. And frsh air. 'Cuz 7000 uninsured dollars and thousands of flies later, when they finally found the culprit, my house was a no go zone. You could smell it down the street. My castle had become the pit of hell, with more than a hint of Dead Sea stink. Only difference being there were no anti-aging benefits to the sulphuric soil they removed by the bagfull.

Before you rush into the shower, let me reassure you (and myself): There is a silver lining. Ish. We get new basement floors. And apparently that part of this unwanted reno is covered by insurance. And I found an awesome plumber - Mike and Drainworks if anyone's interested. And next week is Neil Diamond week on Idol, so all is not lost...

You'll forgive me if I didn't give Carly her due. I was up to my eyes in flies.

Ell-eeee-ooooo-t

OK, I'll admit it: Idol, I am still into you.

Last night I was still on the edge. Mariah Carey? Could it get any worse? Uh, yeah, the Idols actually having to sing Mariah Carey songs. And us having to watch. As one sage put it: "this is the side of pop I cannot stand". Brutal. Hideous. And yet, like some sort of train wreck....I had to watch. Did I cringe? Yes. Did it make me a little uncomfortable? Uh - a lot. Loved the luau that was JayJay Castro. And David Cook rocked my world, as he always does (despite what some folks call his Hootie Voice).

Overall, however, it was a snore. I don't get Mimi. I really don't. All's I knew was the hotness had left the building. And it showed.

And then, tonight: redemption. Not just because, at long last, Kristy Lee was (ahem) cooked. Thank heavens for small mercies, as her fan base might say. And not just because the bottom three were the right bottom three. And definitely not because Carly said what we all think - Simon really is hardest on her. She's bringing the A and he wants the A+. I feel badly for her.

But whatev. Tonight, it was all about Elliot Yamin.

LOVE. HIM.

Always have, always will. New teeth, new look, new song. That voice! Awesome. And god bless him and his long silk scarf. I'll bet there were piano keys on the other side. Tonight, he wore his velvet blazer with panache, pulling off what it would take a much taller man to do. And then, the piece de resistance - the palm sign. This is obviously the latest and greatest of shout-outs. "We miss you mom"!?!?!?! Who's we? And when did his mother die? Mere days ago? And here he is, performing and acknowledging and looking to the ceiling....I mean, heavenward... Now THAT's good tv.

Sure, I wondered what a nice Jewish boy like Yaminsky was doing performing so soon. Doesn't he sit shiva? Was it really just days ago? Maybe he's a three-day mourner... I was a little surprised. And yet....he made me cry. As always. And I waited for him to well up too - as always - but it didn't happen. Maybe his tears mirrored his beloved mama, kvelling from the front row. Maybe, now that she's history, he's getting tougher. He's money, baby. No more tears.

Nah...No chance....No matter how much dental work, how shaggy his hair gets, and how cool for school he becomes, he's still the Elliot the Underdog. And he gets my vote everytime.

Not that it counts....

THE BREAK UP

Did you see the shock on his face? How he practically had to blink back tears? How he brushed off Carly's are-you-ok concern? Didja? Didja? Huh? Huh?

It was a bloodbath. A travesty. A real shocker. The booting of Michael Johns. Hot Idol, R.I.P.

Dev-ah-station.

And didja see when Ryan mentioned how they let the loser live last year - in the spirit of charity and Idol giving back and all? And he had that hopeful look for a second? And then...And then he whipped the rug out from under him? N-a-s-t-y.

Now that's good tv.

But really...was it?

Coulda been. Shoulda been. But wasn't. Not for me. 'Cuz I suddenly find myself not giving a rat's ass. Even about the contestants I thought I liked. Am I emotionally invested in any of these cats? Not a one; nay nay nay.

At this point I'm sick of Earnest Archuleta and his lip-licking ways. And Brooke with her knowing nods and sad smiles. I've grown to like Carly, furrowed brow and all. And of course the Crossword Combover is my new fave. But at the end of the day, do I care? Syesha the weak, Kristy Lee Snore, Stoner Boy Dread....

As a wise young virgin once said: "that's it?"

Seems to be. The publicity machine is spinning its wheels (see: return of idols of yesteryear). They've raised a fortune for charity (good for them). And for themselves (that's showbiz). All the power to all the people. But between the butchering of the Beatles and this evening's hideous Ode to Jesus, it's all become a little insufferable. I even found myself stalling for time before turning on and tuning in.

Where are the Elton John days? Stevie Wonder weeks? I thought Barry Manilow would be an annual thing. Wha happened? Sing, sing, sing: doesn't anybody promote themselves anymore?

Is it just me? Has anybody else lost that lovin' feeling for this no-longer-must-see tv? I really believed I was in it for the long haul. But I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong - I'll still PVR. I'll still watch. I'll still have the post mortem chats - for all of 2 minutes. It'll be fun while it lasts.

I never thought I'd say this, but....American Idol, I'm just not that into you.