Simon says that it was inspiring, and that he's happy to see her emotion, and they all know she feels strongly about the song -- which, they've now seen her sing it at least twice, so I believe that she was being real just now, from Simon of all people -- and she tells Ryan that having her Dad there was like "thank the Lord" and she just lost it. Which, yes, I totally believe all of that because she always gets crazy about her Dad. We've seen it a million times.
The thing is I was trying to play Marry-Fuck-Kill with Fox News and I decided that I would eff Hannity, obvs, and kill O'Reilly, and marry Glenn Beck. And I sort of defied everybody to come up with a better set of choices, and they couldn't. I've always wanted to marry Glenn Beck, because I believe he would be a fantastic husband. Brilliant, manipulative, into marketing, willing to whore out for a buck. The kind of guy who will be mean to the landscapers if I don't have it in me. A team player. Just what I'm looking for, like, a slightly broken Buddy Garrity-type high school Vice Principal who thinks that cars matter. The kind of guy that wants a boat so bad he dreams about it. This is my West Texas upbringing talking: I want a man who's happy to suck barbecue sauce off his fingers even in front of the Queen of England, just to give me something to bitch about on the ride home. And everybody's all, "But he would cry! He would cry and stomp his feet and make strange meaningless graphs!" To which I say, "Let him try that shit at home."
...So I guess what I'm saying is I'm officially in love with fuckin' Crystal Bowersox. (Marry Anderson Cooper, make a soothing Merrill Bainbridge-type love to Rachel Maddow, kill Bono. And Janeanne Garofalo.) Which is great, because she just won. We got six weeks left, but come on. That was the clutchest play of all time, and I don't even think she meant to do it.
So yeah. God, remember Casey being dumb with the Fleetwood Mac song? And Lee, he did pretty good with his cover of Adam Duritz covering "The Boxer." And Tim was off in Tim Land doing his Tim business and wanting to make out with you, while Aaron was singing the song he literally backflipped out of the womb singing. Siobhan gave yet another fucked-up sounding performance, Mike is a big old fake with an untrustworthy singing face, and then Crystal -- in rehearsal -- smiled tenderly at the camera when she nailed the last line, but clenched it live.
Alicia comes out wearing yards of fabric draped stupidly and tells us about how IGB is going to be at least seventeen hours long tomorrow, and we're out, and you know what that means: Time for the Annual IGB Rant, to which I always look forward but which always feels like driving stick when you're used to driving automatic.