This week, American Idol aired more auditions.
About the only interesting thing from the San Diego auditions was a woman who had auditioned two years ago and had had some visa problems that prevented her from moving on, even though they'd passed her through. While Simon said she wasn't as good this time, all three gave her a thumbs-up.
Aside from her Irish accent, she's interesting because of a sleeve tattoo on her left arm. Her husband (or boyfriend, I'm not sure which) has tattoos all over his face! Ew!
Some people I know call facial tattoos "welfare tattoos," because you could never get a normal job once you have one. The sleeve tattoo, though, was very nice, and I think only adds to the beauty of the woman who auditioned.
Wednesday was Charleston, with the usual assortment of clueless people. One girl thought she should be a shoo-in just because her name was Aretha, as in Aretha Franklin, but unfortunately, she did not sound like her namesake. She did, however, feel it was necessary to argue for several minutes.
A couple people had touching stories but their singing didn't live up to it. A few of the people they passed through, if they make it, will surely go quickly because they're fairly forgettable. As Simon told a number of them, "You're not as good as you think you are."
There was a refreshing brother and sister, who had a great sense of humor. Both of them were large, and the guy was dressed in a quirky way, with a man's tie around his head. I actually thought they would be horrible, but they were surprisingly good. Don't know if they'll make it beyond Hollywood, but at least they're entertaining.
For much of this week, I've been cleaning in anticipation of my landlord coming through with a township official for the annual health inspection. When I told my mom about the extra cleaning, she said she was sure it was unnecessary, because she was certain the health inspector would be happy with our place.
Still, I wanted to do a thorough cleaning, just to be certain. Plus, I hadn't had a chance to do so since we got back from our honeymoon, what with the craziness of the holiday season.
When my landlord and the inspector turned up on the front step, the inspector asked, "Do you have breakfast ready?" Yeah, right. After skipping all my normal exercise for the week to clean and organize the place, I'm going to bring you an omelet? Fortunately, I could tell he was joking, or I might have beaned him with the Dust Buster.
I led him around the place, starting first in the basement. As soon as we were out of earshot of the landlord, he asked me if he was a good landlord and if I'd had any problems with him. I told him that he was a good landlord and made repairs when necessary.
The inspector checked the basement inside and out. Then we went up to the first floor, where he made a cursory check of the kitchen before we headed upstairs to the second floor. He asked how many outlets were in the bedroom and in my office. I told him two each, which seemed to make him happy.
Then he walked into the bathroom and took a quick look, seemingly satisfied.
Meanwhile, the landlord put new batteries in all my smoke detectors and checked them, discovering they all worked. At the beeping noise, the inspector said, "That's what we want to hear."
Our doggie, Una, was in the bedroom behind the baby gate, so that she couldn't bother them. The inspector seemed to like dogs, though, and found it amusing when she barked at him. He called her by name, and she seemed a little confused, then began wagging her tail. "He knows my name! He must be OK."
The health inspector signed the paper giving our landlord a pass, and they headed out. So now that's taken care of, and we can enjoy the fruits of all the cleaning and organizing. I have to admit, there's something comforting about a house where everything is in its place.
Dogs are easily disarmed if you call them by name.