Oh, just have to say that one-hour-and-forty-five minute buildup to Rhonetta Johnson's audition last night on "American Idol" was not appreciated. Comparing the unexceptionally bad Rhonetta to the likes of the glorious Mary Roach was like comparing apricot jam to Vegemite. Rhonetta Johnson had one wonderful moment, when she waved away the drink that Paula offered her, but, besides that, was routinely forgettable. More memorable was the poor thing in the pink cowboy hat. Or the white Michael Jackson. Or us drinking Pinot Grigio and checking email whilst fast-forwarding through Simon's birthday party. Please, people, get it together.