Adam Lambert adjusts his attitude, as well as his look, for Motown Week -- showing Smokey Robinson more respect than he showed Randy Travis (not to mention Johnny Cash), while using his signature falsetto on "The Tracks of My Tears."

Will America love him even more without nail polish?

"I have six words for you -- one of the best performances of the night," gushes Kara, who may not be able to count but has apparently mastered the art of damning with faint praise without even meaning to.

It's been five minutes or so and I've already forgotten what Megan Joy sang, which Simon would say is Not a Good Sign for the singer, who's supposed to be over the flu but really doesn't sound it.

Kara seems to think she should've sung something else, anyway. She suggests "My Guy," which might not be the most sensitive thing to say to someone who since the competition began has dropped her last name -- seems like only yesterday it was Corkery -- because it happened to belong to her ex-husband.

Blind "singer-songwriter" Scott Macintyre, who last week teased viewers by promising that he'd sooner or later step away from the piano, tells Ryan he'll be sticking with the instrument  for Motown week and that he's "going to find other ways to take risks."

The solution? Designated dancers.

Paula, aware that she may have gone too far last week in urging Scott to get away from the piano, is quick to praise what the rest agree was a so-so performance of "You Can't Hurry Love." Apparently Paula just needs to see movement, even it's just by the backup singers.

"You are one of the front-runners in this competition," Simon tells Matt Giraud, taking pains to put into standard English what Randy seemed to be saying a few moments earlier.

Which is that, no matter what you may have read elsewhere, the judges have not made up their minds. No, indeed. Not with weeks and weeks to go.

Sure, they still seem convinced a boy will win -- though it's going to be a long night of Motown, and they could still change their minds, on that, too. But, hey, maybe that boy doesn't have to be named Adam. Or Danny.

Got that? Hope so.

"If we were all perfect, we wouldn't need this show."

That's Texan Michael Sarver, who may have mistaken "American Idol" for church.

But, hey, it's country week, and that's the way they talk during country week. (Well, OK, maybe not Adam Lambert. Who really had better steer clear of Nashville, where they're probably setting up that "Ring of Fire" for him right now, since it's unlikely everyone down there's as nice as Randy Travis.)

Some other contestant back-talk during the theme night that's hardly ever as bad as some of us fear it will be:

"I've known this song since I was 8 years old," Allison Iraheta, responding to Simon's suggestion that she might've been thinking too hard about the words and not bothering to explain that eight years is, yes, exactly half the time she's been alive.

 "Simon, it's Lil!"  Lil Rounds responding to Simon's insistence on addressing her formally, by what he's apparently convinced is her full name: "Little."

 "We can move it closer," Scott Macintyre, responding to Paula's suggestion that the piano might be separating him from the audience. (Simon actually defended the sight-impaired singer, suggesting that the piano was good enough for Billy Joel and Elton John. And won bonus points for not mentioning Ray Charles.)

"Don't worry -- if I'm back here next week, there'll be a little more dirty," Alexis Grace, responding to generalized judicial disappointment about the lack of edge displayed in her "Jolene."

"I...need to clean it up," Danny Gokey, whose take on "Jesus, Take the Wheel" was many things, but not dirty. At least not in the way Alexis means. Everyone is right about that jacket, though.

 Cough, cough. Cough. That's Megan Joy, who got brownie points all around for performing while ill. "You should have flu every week," said Simon, no doubt meaning it in the nicest possible way. 

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I usually avert my eyes this early in the season, but last night for whatever reason - the economy? the cold? the lingering affects of watching Paris Hilton search for a new best friend - I found myself looking forward to the big comfy idol couch. I liked the new judge, Kara DioGuardi. She seemed cool, kind of smart, seemed to make everybody like themselves a little bit more. (And apparently, I am not alone as her website has crashed this morning!) I liked that there wasn't too much of the cringe horrible stupidness. I felt that familiar Idol realization, stuning as ever, when sincerely nice people give up their dreams to pursue this and then cannot sing at all. Idol delusion lives, an incurable human condition. I liked thinking about how parents can do their kids a disservice sometimes by encouraging them randomly. And there was the usual shock when the people you think can't sing actually can sing, according to the judges (tattoo pink haired girl, I didn't quite get that.) Blind hipster boy at the end is a keeper. And was that really a glimpse of Brian Dunkelman at the beginning? Long live the Dunk!

Can it really be time, once again, for American Idol? Have we stopped shaking in our Uggs from the Great Clash of the Davids in 2008? Are we recovered, yet, from last year's insanity stew of three judges who seem to drift further and further from what we know as reality? Do we have the strength to sit through the unfunny fake-bad people yet again?

Heck, yes!

Writers for both the Inquirer and Daily News will be watching the early Idol episodes, starting tonight. And they'll be back soon to blog on the whole craptacular spectacle just as soon as the show starts to get interesting.

Please check back in a few weeks - and join the conversation!

Buzz Aldrin was just here for National Geographic, talking about a show called "Live From the Moon," but the afternoon's most endearing celeb is Georgia, one of the 22 fighting dogs rescued from Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vicks' kennels.

Georgia is in Beverly Hills to promote the two-hour Sept. 5 season premiere of National Geo's "Dogtown," which will focus  on the rehabilitation of Vick's dogs.

She may have been trained to fight, but she's been sleeping peacefully at the feet of trainer John Garcia, sporting a pink collar and leash, occasionally getting up to be petted and adored.

"We're working very intensively on some of her dog issues, and she's doing very well," said Garcia, who said the pit bull is "impressing me very day."

"She did have some food-guarding issues and other issues we knew we had to address right away" when she arrived at the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary in southern Utah," Garcia said, insisting that his mellow charge has become a "diva."

"She's totally a California girl," said Garcia, who's sharing his  Beverly Hilton room with the dog, who was most likely used to breed other fighters, her teeth removed so she wouldn't be able to bite her former handlers.

After the session, I'll admit to having joined the throngs who gathered to take turns scratching Georgia behind the ears, rubbing her tummy, patting her head.

And while I know that I've many times referred to this event as the world's largest celebrity petting zoo, I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've actually done any actual petting.