Well, there you have it. Yet another young dreamer has been dragged out of the glowing Idol Thunderdome and sent packing. We're down to four now, which means we've only three weeks left! Just six episodes. Phew.

There's not too much to say about last night that isn't elimination related. Harry Connick came out and crooned one of his croons and everyone sort of looked at their watches. There were two, count 'em two, group numbers, both involving old-timey Rat Pack songs and lots of black and lottssssssss of obnoxious posing with fedoras. (Fedorae?) Of course they gave one to Michael Lynche. Well, rather, I'm sure he demanded one. I'm sure he pissed and whined to Estelle the wardrobe lady until she was like "OK, OK, fine. Jesus. Take the fucking hat. Oh, and don't forget your wallet chain." (But she was silly to worry, because Big Mike would never forget his wallet chain.) So he was all over the place with this dumb hat atilt, taking us all on an unwanted trip to Europe with George Rekers Swaggertown. Everyone crossed their fingers and squeezed their eyes shut and wept tears of religious ecstasy and plead with the blessed goddess Shakti that she might send him home, because we were so very tired, so very very tired, America.

But alas, our prayers went unanswered. We came awfully close! Mike was there in the bottom two with Aaron Kelly, but it was not meant to be. You must have thus gleaned by now that it was, in fact, Aaron Kelly who was sent prancing off into that good night. Ah our little deerbaby, the spike-haired wiggler who filled moms with a certain kind of homey joy, whose entire face was the same pallid brown color. (Somebody get him some rouge! Too late now, I guess. Ah well.) Were we shocked?

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Actually, yes, we were! Or I was. I thought the kid might have the oompfah to weasel his way into the Top Three. I mean, Barbra Streisand Casey James was wayyyy worse on Tuesday night. Wait, is that his name? Oh, no, no, sorry. It's Carlton Jangos. So yeah. Cassie Jingles was much, much worse than Aaron Kelly, and yet... I guess some people just have a lusty thrusty in their loins for ol' Corman Jeffers that Aaron Kelly just does not engender. Tweens might get the tingle-wingles from the lad, but that's about it. And that does not a third or fourth place finish make, I guess. So goodbye teen dream! Go join Tim Urban in that white waiting room, where you'll sit and awkwardly try not to stare until the the tour begins.

And the rest of them. What do we say about the rest of them? They are two contenders and two redshirts. It's Calvin then Mike or Mike then Captain. Phil Dweezy guaranteed himself a spot in the finale this week, and while Crystal hasn't been effusively praised of late, I think she's still got the momentum to propel her past those two dopes. Next week is "Songs from the Cinema" or some bullshit, so they can basically pick anything, which means Crystal can rock out with her crystal cock out. Big Mike will probably trot out some big sweeper — "My Heart Will Go On," one hopes — and Dweezy will jam on something nice. So this will probably leave Carly to go home. Then after that... Big Mike. Gotta be Big Mike. Which will be pleasing to watch. But the sheer fact that he will have made it to the Final Three? That will still enrage me. I mean, he did technically already get voted off. Had he not had that save, he'd have been gone weeks ago. Remember that, Mike! Remember that when you're strutting around in your fedora and wallet chain and commanding us to check you out on iTunes and other such nonsense. Remember that.

And you remember this too, Aaron Kelly. Remember it years from now. When you have turned on a program on the wall's TV panel and it is the early evening of a warm day in Bernal Hill and Kyle isn't home yet. And it's "I Love the '10s" or some sort of show and they show your Idol season ("Was it the worst one ever?") and there you are briefly, a small child in that curious adult world, a sprig among trees. And you will feel sad and you will feel old (where do one's twenties go?) but you will also feel happy to have done it, all those years ago. You will remember it fondly. And the avocados will be ripe and you will think about making a salad for dinner and you will pour a glass of Soave and stare out the french doors to the little garden and there will be a small bird singing in the lemon tree and it will make you smile. And you will stand there for a while until you hear the key in the door and you turn to say hello to Kyle as he takes off his shoes, shakes off the day, and you are home together, moving forward, pressing on. Remember this then. When you are zooming through the star-filled universe, tiny, but known.