'American Idol' Update

It’s 70s night for the final 10 guys tonight. And, in case you missed it, here’s what happened:

MICHAEL JOHNS – (“Go Your Own Way” – Fleetwood Mac) This guy constantly bounces up and down when he sings. I am too distracted to even notice his voice. Randy is ready for him to “just let go!” Paula says he’s “consistent, consistent.” I’m sure the redundancy was necessary in her head. Simon says it was his weakest performance so far. Michael’s response? “Hey, it happens.” Well said, dude.

JASON CASTRO - (“I Just Want To Be Your Everything” – Andy Gibb) Before he sings, he has an extremely awkward interview about interviews. I wonder if this is really necessary. Dreadlocks brings out the guitar for this performance. His voice really doesn’t impress me all that much. I think it’s because I’m too amused by the dorky contestants dancing and clapping in the balcony. I wonder if they know they’re on television. Randy agrees with me: “The vocals just aren’t that great dude.” Paula thinks he’s cute, but she wants him to be more vulnerable. I find that inappropriately amusing. Simon says his song is “schmaltzy.” What?

LUKE MENARD – (I have no idea what this song is. Something about laser beams.) In his interview, we learn that he is in an a capella boy band. His insight on a capella? “It’s not like having a band behind you at all.” Ahahaha. Thanks for that. This guy thinks he is sexy. I think he’s goofy and his pants are the same color as his shirt. Randy says he’s theatrical. Paula has a crush on him and she’s going to “fight” for him. Simon says that he did a horrible job because he doesn’t have any charisma. Ryan calls him “Dawson’s Creek.” Because we all know that Ryan is such a rugged, manly man that he can make references like that.

ROBBIE CARRICO – (“Hot Blooded” – Foreigner) His strategy for this competition: “I be me.” Fantastic! I be me, you be you, we be we, and we all scream for ice cream. I actually like this guy. He’s different. I can’t figure out what he has all over his shirt, though. Randy was “ready to be wowed, but nothing came out.” Please don’t tell me I’m the only one in the world who finds this comment hilarious. Paula says he’s genuine. After all, “Who else can know who you are, but you?” We’ve already established this. He be him, Paula. Weren’t you listening? Simon says the vocal was “OK.”

DANNY NORIEGA – ( “Superstar/Until You Come Back to Me” – The Carpenters) How am I supposed to take this kid seriously? He’s wearing a checkered sweater and pants that are tighter than mine. Randy ‘s a fan of him because he’s a “fun guy.” I just think Randy’s jealous of his hair. Paula tells him he needs to stop over-thinking things. Whatever that means. Simon says he looks terrific on camera. That’s precious.

DAVID HERNANDEZ – (“Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone” – The Temptations) He can “whip out” a back handspring in a leotard like it’s “nobody’s business.” I think I will mind my own business on that one. This guy sounds like someone, but I can’t put my finger on who it is. His performance is pretty lame until he finishes by jumping up and stomping on the stage, reminiscent of a touchdown celebration. Randy said he “put it down” well. Paula makes it clear that his voice “pierces her through the heart.” Simon calls it the best vocal of the night so far. I wonder why David is wearing a dog tag.

JASON YEAGER – (“Long Train Running (Without Love)” – Doobie Brothers) His hair bothers me a lot. It’s all brown except for this one piece of blonde hair that just sticks out in front of his forehead. I’m pretty sure he smiled throughout his entire performance. Randy says it’s “pitchy and karaoke-ish.” Paula wants him to pick “singer songs.” Paula has something stronger than Coca Cola in that cup. Simon says he’s awkward and looks like he’s drunk at a party. I agree with Simon.

CHIKEZIE – (“I Believe” – Donny Hathaway) This guy is entertaining. I really enjoyed this performance. Randy sings his praises and calls him “dog” several times. Paula thinks he’s clever. Simon says he was a million times better than the “horror show” last week. What a sweet thing to say.

DAVID COOK – (“All Right Now” – Free) He’s a self-proclaimed “word nerd.” So am I. Needless to say, his vocabulary doesn’t impress me. But he thinks it does, and I suppose that’s what matters. His performance is good, but I still hate the tight pants. Randy says he’s a “real rocker.” Paula agrees and assures him, “You got it! You got it! You got it!” Again, with the redundancy. Simon says he is believable but lacks charisma. David retorts, but it hurts Simon’s itty bitty feelings.

DAVID ARCHULETA – (“Imagine” – John Lennon) I love this song, but I do not like his version. I don’t care how good his vocals are, the lyrics of this song are too amazing to be downplayed by long, drawn-out, show-offy vocals. Randy disagrees with me. He says David is born to do this. Paula wants to take off his head and “dangle it from her rear-view mirror.” I kid you not. She actually said this. Simon says he’s the “one to beat.” Every 16-year-old girl in America swoons.

The Skinny on Being Fat

This is me. And, according to every "healthy body weight" chart I can find online, I am overweight. One chart even tells me that I would have to lose 12 pounds to be in the "normal" range. Give me a break, people.

I have absolutely had it with society's obsession with thinness. Well, not really thinness. More like emaciation. Beautiful women who aren't a size 0 are told that they have to be, and women who are a size 0 think they have to be a size 00. It never ends.

I know this topic has been run down to the ground, but I have yet to see anyone attempt to find a solution for it. Even trusted medical Web sites are jumping on the bandwagon. A simplified chart listing nothing but height and weight is supposed to tell you how healthy you are. These charts take no account of muscle mass, dietary habits or fitness routines. They just tell you that if you are not categorized under a specific number, you are fat. The end.

I hate to blame the media, but they are certainly not helping the situation. In the fashion industry, a size 6 woman is considered a plus-sized model. For those of you who don't know what a size 6 looks like, I have provided a picture for you on the right. The lovely woman in the biker outfit, according to the clothing Web site where I obtained this picture, wears a size 6. My goodness, she is huge, isn't she? I am also a size 6. Thank goodness I'm not the only one in the big, giant fatty club.

Lately, even fashionable Barbies are mirroring the modeling industry. Sure, Barbie has always been anatomically impossible, but Top Model Barbie is even worse. Next time you're in a retail store, go take a look at Top Model Barbie. Compare her to a regular Barbie doll, and pay special attention to the legs. Let me know if it sickened you as much as it did me.

Speaking of models, Tyra Banks has made a splash recently with her talk show, which encourages women to be proud of who they are, to love what they look like and to "screw the scale!" When I saw that show, I thought: Good for Tyra! Finally, a celebrity standing up and tackling this ridiculous, weight-obsessed epidemic! But then I saw her on "America's Next Top Model" telling a size 2 woman that she needed to lose weight if she wanted to stay in the competition. I understand that the fashion industry is demanding and competitive, but, if anyone has the power and influence to change things, it's Tyra Banks. She didn't practice what she preached, and I was, yet again, bitterly disappointed.

But she's certainly not the only celebrity to be sucked in by the pressures of Hollywood. When Carrie Underwood was on "American Idol," I thought she was fantastic. She could sing, she had a wonderful personality and she was beautiful without being fake. She looked like a normal person, someone like me. Now, she looks like the rest of the emaciated, blonde women in the spotlight. After she dropped the weight, I remember reading in a magazine, "Carrie Underwood went from a healthy size 6 to a stunning size 2!" Does that mean if you're healthy, you can't be stunning? And if you're stunning, you can't be healthy? That's really a shame.

So, in the moment you've all been waiting for, here is my public service announcement: Girls, you do not have to look like America's next top model to be beautiful. If you truly are overweight, there's no shame in HEALTHY diet and exercise. There is also no shame in enjoying some pizza and ice cream every once in a while. If you're not overweight and some stupid chart on the Internet says that you are, then the bicycle lady and I proudly welcome you to the big, giant fatty club.

Shin splints, screamers and adorable workout outfits

At the University of Tennessee, 20,000 undergraduate students and God knows how many graduate students and faculty members all share one gym. Granted, the TRECS is a fantastic facility with all the fitness equipment one could ever dream of. But that's still a lot of people for one gym.

So, as you can imagine, each trip to the gym is an eventful one. Sometimes I have to stand in line for a while for certain weightlifting machines, and sometimes, like on Saturday mornings, the gym looks like a ghost town. Nevertheless, because I am stuck in bed with severe shin splints and have nothing better to do, I will attempt to explain to you what I experience during a typical afternoon visit to the TRECS.

Upon arrival, I am expected to swipe my card and walk through one of those metal bars that turns and counts people. Even though I am the only one entering at that particular time, the obviously bored people behind the desk insist that I show them my card beforehand. This is to ensure that I will not use it to swipe in my imaginary friend.

Next, I head upstairs to the indoor track. After putting my bag in a locker and stretching, I head for the track. As I attempt to run my typical two miles, I am forced to weave in and out of sorority girls who come to the gym dressed like Nike ads. These girls walk three laps around the track then head for Smoothie King. Personally, I don't blame them. If I spent $150 on a workout outfit, I wouldn't want to sweat on it either.

When I finish running, I head downstairs to the weight room. I wait in a line of 10 people so that I can sign out a sweat towel. Then, I run into that person. That person who wants to have a conversation. I have no problem with being friendly, but I do not go to the gym for social hour. When I am at TRECS, I am in my own little world. I want to work out and leave. I have no interest in chatting with anyone about how "cute" my shoes are. Thank you, now leave me alone.

As I make my way to the weight machines, I can hear the grunters. And, even worse, the screamers. Every gym has them. They are those guys lifting free weights who yell as loudly as they can in order to alert everyone in the gym how incredibly buff they are. I, personally, find it a very sad cry for attention.

I take my place at the seated row machine while one of those buff guys snickers when I move the pin from 293,572,938 pounds to 35 pounds for each arm. Yes, I'm 5'2. Yes, I'm small. And, yes, I have extremely wimpy arms. If I scream at the top of my lungs while lifting the 35-pound weights, do you think maybe my arms will get big and muscular?

After fighting for a place on the floor for ab exercises, I return my towel, wait in a long line to sign it out (Seriously, do they think I'm going to steal their sweat towel?), and then make my way outside. On my way to the door, I pass the Smoothie King. The alpha-zeta-omicron-beta-whatevers are still there.

"Give me something to believe in..."

I tried all night not to break down and cry
As the tears rolled down my face
I felt so cold and empty
Like a lost soul out of place

And the mirror, mirror on the wall
Sees my smile it fades again

And give me something to believe in
If there's a Lord above
And give me something to believe in
Oh, Lord arise

Sometimes I wish to God I didn't know now
The things I didn't know then
Road you gotta take me home...


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This has always been one of my favorite Poison songs. Yes, it's more than a little bit depressing. (Those aren't all the lyrics, by the way. Look them up if you don't know the song.) But more than anything, it's real. We live in a world where no two countries can get along, technology takes the place of genuine human interaction and the media are more concerned with Britney Spears than with our soldiers who risk their lives in the Middle East. How often do we find ourselves wondering, "What do we have left to believe in anymore?"

But not all is lost. Some find comfort in a higher power. That's fantastic. But I believe that we can seek refuge within ourselves as well. We have the ability to rearrange our priorities, to find hope in the little things that make life worthwhile and to block out, even if only for a moment, the prevailing negative attitude that exists today.

So, ladies and gentlemen, here is what I believe in:
- Living like there is no tomorrow because, well, maybe there isn't.
- Telling someone how you really feel. A broken heart heals, but regret lasts forever.
- Telling loved ones exactly how much they mean to you because everyone deserves to know he or she is appreciated.
- Dancing in the rain.
- Keeping an open mind, but not so open that your brain falls out.
- Taking chances because, one of these days, it just might pay off.
- Eating dessert first every once in a while.
- Never wishing a day away because life is too short to waste a single moment.
- Standing up for yourself because, if you don't, no one else will either.
- Dancing like no one's watching and singing like no one's listening because if people have a problem with it, they're obviously jealous of your glowing confidence.
- Random phone calls just to say hello.
- Giving people a chance because the most unlikely person could turn out to be the best friend you've ever known.
- Wearing pajamas in public.
- Crying if you feel like crying.
- Wishing on stars.
- Telling it like it is. Political correctness and watered-down truths accomplish nothing.
- Hugs.
- Laughing out loud.
- Sleeping in.
- Not being afraid to say no.

"Give me something to believe in..."? There you go, Bret Michaels.

amber marie.