Thu May 22, 8:53 AM ET

By the time you read this nonsense, one of our beloved Idol phenoms will probably have kissed their reality fame au revoir, so we weigh in on the good bad, and Abdul-utely crazy antics on AI years past, par-tick '08. And why is our fave misunderstood couple's PDA comin' to a halt? Plus, Orlando Bloom is so not kidding anybody. Why does he keep trying? Weird La Lohan girlie crap comin' your way, but first, about that overly boyish Idol blowout (much more tomorrow, too): The Archuleta-Cook-off last night was pure American Idol: cheesy as cheddar, more drawn out than the Triassic period and more melodramatic than a tele-novela. We were particularly pleased to find these fine fellas in the finale, though a gal sure woulda been nice. First, Hillary Clinton has to disappear, now Carly, too? Gross, but whatev. 'Course we're obvs partial to the more do-able and stage-dad-free Davey, but Arch-babe could belt out a Disney ballad like nobody's biz, and let's face it, that's a big-ass part of the Biz. But it hasn't just been these two talented lads all season long—believe it or not, there was a bevy of other hopefuls, tho all your ADD-addled minds prolly forgot most of 'em just they forgot their lyrics. Let's take a look back at the sage Idol-isms we learned from somewhat obsessively watching season seven. We'll miss Paula's on-air Abdul-usions twice a week, but we'll be happy to welcome back ! our Tuesday and Wednesday nights f ree from the depths of reality-show ruckus. Other lofty lessons realized: Do: Have a sick brother like David Cook did to win you some sympathy votes. Actually, we sure hope ya don't have a sick sibling, knock on wood, but a tragic backstory works like gangbusters to get the public invested in you, hankie at the ready. Don't: Have an overprotective, puppeteer-like stage parent like D.A. has, the kind who gets eighty-sixed from the set for knocking noggins with the producers. Then again, would Lindsay Lohan be the Lindsay Lohan if not for her stunningly highlighted stage mom running (and some say ruining) her childhood? Do: Add a piece of equipment to your performance. Half of the Top 12 played instruments along with being singers. So when your mamacita tells you to pick up your violin and practice, you'd better damn well listen. Don't: Add or subtract words. Brooke White, Jason Castro, Davey A. all forgot their lyrics or stopped midverse, usually followed by a mighty tsk-tsking from the judges, who really shouldn't be throwing stones...since Paula had too many words to describe performances she never even saw. If the guys on The Hills can follow their scripts, why can't you, Idol peeps? Do: Sing about America, as schmaltzy daring Kristy Lee Cook did...and David Archuleta. Don't: Sing about Jesus, as Carly S. did with "Jesus Christ Superstar." Questioning and doubting the Almighty's tactics in rock opera form, with an Irish brogue no less, doesn't sit too well with nonmusical movie junkies in America's Bible Belt. Do: Create homosexual innuendo, like Ryan and Simon do almost every episode. Get a room (and a new shtick), already. Don't: Actually be gay. David Hernandez said toodles once the world (including Nigel Lithgoe & Co.) found out he used to strip down to his B-day suit at a gay club. And Danny Noriega, the most flamboyantly fun contestant in all of the show's seven years, made it to the top 14 and spawned some campy catchphrases but couldn't catch a break when it came to coming to the finale. As D.N. described on his blog, he dialed up the producers over and over but was told no dice to snagging some Top 2 tickets. Looks like for Fox, acting like a fruit gets laughs, but being one gets ya lost. Say sayonara to the Ivy. Bev Hills' magnificent Matsuhisa sushi joint was the place to be recently—certainly as far as celeb quotient was concerned. The ambiguously blasé duo Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson shared a meal at the four-dollar-sign din din spot; LiLo in a worn-out hoodie and some messy hair, a straggly European look she musta freshly picked up fr! om her French vacay. S.R. and her Lady Lohan just sulked over their cold, raw clams (what, no oysters?), and Sammy paid and fetched the valet while Lindsay sat slumped in her seat and texted. Now, darlings, we here at A.T. are seriously concerned over such developments. Where are the devil-may-care, hickey-equipped nights of frolic and ef you to the paps, we ask? Let's hope such near snitty activities as above don't continue between L 'n' S, or they'll turn into another Heidi and Spencer. What a very hideous thought. Further bummer-esque reporting: L2 finally dragged her ass up and out the back when the car was good and ready for her. What's buggin ya, babes? Maybe spending every wakin' second attached at the hip (if not the lip...certainly not the lip!) wasn't such a good idea after all, n'est-ce pas? Oh, and by the by, Ms. R most certainly did not get anywhere near the vicinity of her constant companion's neck, as she's often done in the past. Clearly, h! oneymoon's over. A mo re curious couple than Samz and Lindz was Orlando Bloom and his beautiful brunet date who also dined at the Japanese joint later on. Bloomie was scruffy (but still a total dreamboat) in a jacket, jeans and white tee. His leggy lady friend was none other than the former Mr. Jessica Simpson's MTV VJ g-f, Vanessa Minnillo. V.M. and O.B. shared smoochies between them back in the day when Nick Lachey was still a married man. And which former flames hang out at such a celeb-friendly posh place unless they want to publicly rekindle any sparks? Consider Nicky and 'Nessa kaput, tho we don't exactly agree with this repairing up. Upon driving up to the restaurant, Orlandy didn't open the car door for Van-babe; he just walked off from his charcoal Audi while she had to exit all ladylike in her minidress by her lonesome. C'mon, Van-hon...if it didn't work out the first time, it ain't gonna work the second. Why don't you step off the dating scene a! nd hitch a ride on Dancing With th e Stars or something? You aren't an actress or a singer, so isn't reality all that's left you can do? I'm sorry, that was unnecessarily mean. I'm just feelin' (extra) bitchy 'cause it's not looking good for Sammy and Lindsay, not to mention poor Owen Wilson. Some of Lance Armstrong's buds like very mucho the idea of him increasing his odd new quality time with Kate Hudson. So I'd ring up Vince Vaughn or somethin' if I were you, O-babe, and get buddy-buddy with it for a while. But don't worry. Kate'll be back. Trust.

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