If you happen to be a twelve year-old girl or a gay boy — or if you will encounter either of these genotypes sometime today — my sincere condolences. David Archuleta failed to capture the American Idol crown last night, leaving these two groups plenty petulant. As for me personally, I'm shocked, dismayed and even a bit disappointed in the text-messaging might of tweens everywhere.

Despite Archuleta's pervasive Utah schoolboy innocence and general cheek-squeezing cuteness, the Other David (Cook) received a surplus of some 18 million votes, as Ryan (smug) Seacrest informed viewers doggedly, as if this were actually important, or something. (Wait: Doesn't AI tally more votes than most Presidential elections? Oh yeah.)

What happened? Conventional wisdom, of course, designated Archuleta the clear victor — kids are more likely to vote, and vote repeatedly, for talent contests — aren't they?

Sure, at least when the votes are not terminal. Think of the American Idol elimination episodes as political primaries: generally speaking (though less so this year), only the hardcore politicos bother to participate. The majority of voting Americans wait until the vote is truly decisive and cast their determinations in the general election, or in this case, after the final elimination episode.

I wouldn't feel too sorry, though, for Archuleta. AI's final vote is largely inconsequential, considering the frequency with which the American public is known for changing its mind (see Ruben vs. Clay, Jennifer Hudson, George Bush); and accounting for the wide net cast in this mega-vote, which includes vast swaths of people that buy very little music in the first place.

In other words, the previous votes are clearer indicators of purchasing preferences, since they are concentrated among a younger base of music-buying individuals.

Archuleta will clear an easy $500K or more opening for the Jonas Brothers or Jesse McCartney and hawking iTunes downloads of treacly, Backstreet Boys-like ballads to counterpoint with the aforementioned artists' teeny dance-pop ditties. He has the sonic sincerity, he has the looks and he barely says a word — he's the perfect fantasy boyfriend. (And bonus for dads: David Archuleta does not look like a kid that would ever violate your daughter, or even know how, for that matter. Nice and swarmy and safe - perfect parental fodder.)

David Cook, on the other hand, comes off like a weaker imprint of Chris Daughtry — just as Ruben came off as a weaker imprint of Luther Vandross.

Despite the massive television exposure, AI contestants are successful in selling units only when they fill a hole in the established music market: Kelly Clarkson, Clay Aiken and even Carrie Underwood were not simply diluted imitations of other, more established artists. They were packaged and exhibited as unique acts in their own right.

This perception, so broadly consumed by the young, coltish, AE-shopping, retainer-wearing music buying public, will always trump the votes of the summer-homing, suit-wearing, tax-paying but non-music-buying class. After all, when 48 year-old men buy concert tickets, it's normally to take their kids to see a show, not their wives. Which means Archuleta will win the vote that truly counts — not the one made with text messages and autodialers, but the far more stealthy suffrage of Visa, MasterCard and American Express.

I just returned from another superior dinner at Sunny Garden on Farber Road - or as I call it, Nobu Princeton. The food is prepared just as carefully, and presented with equal panache; but the experience comes without the pretense, pestilence and sheer patience required at Nobu's better-known namesake, whether in Malibu or New York.

Therefore, I am providing them the highest praise possible of an ad guy: free space.

You must go, if for nothing else but the wonton soup (delicate and authentic) and the ceviche of sorts the sushi chefs present prior to your main dish. The flavors blend so well, a diner further down the bar asked if he could order a meal-sized portion of the little app.

Visit sunnygarden.net for more info, hours and directions. Of course I have to suggest you dine at one of my clients' restaurants 90% of the week, lunch included - but save that last 10 for Sunny G.

Above: Shrimp Grand Marnier at Nobu Princeton...err, I mean, Sunny Garden.

This is a follow-up report. See the original story here.

Big Daddy Bancroft should have been cryogenically frozen so he could come back to life and engage in a cane battle with Rupert Murdoch. Ad Age reported this morning that a deciding majority of the living Bancrofts (38%) voted to approve Murdoch's $5 billion bid to acquire the company they founded, Dow Jones.

Jones is parent of the Wall Street Journal, Barron's and other financial news properties that WSJ's editorial team widely believes will suffer as a result of the News Corp. Chairman's control.

Stay tuned for further updates, but I suggest you open a subscription to the Financial Times now to beat the rush.

According to this morning's Ad Age Daily, Dow Jones & Co. (parent of the Wall Street Journal, Barron's and other financial properties, has tentatively agreed to a $5 billion acquisition by Rupert Murdoch's News Corp., which has brought us such respected media properties as Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire, World's Scariest Police Chases and Cops.

Yes, folks, this week the jokes in M&A are writing themselves. First the unholy marriage of Applebee's and IHOP, and now the Maestro of MySpace managing one of the world's most respected newspapers.

To be fair, Murdoch already owns a fair number of print publications, among them the venerable New York Post, whose infamous Page Six causes me to question whether I really have to place the newspaper's title in italics after all. TV Guide is his, too, along with the Sun in London. Does anyone notice a pattern here? Murdoch's media empire is profitable (with the exception of ailing TV Guide), but it's also pedestrian.

If the Bancrofts, Dow Jones' controlling family, approve this transaction at their Thursday meeting, what's going to happen to the WSJ? Perhaps, in a show of synergy, they'll start running TV listings, along with a business gossip column. Maybe Tom from MySpace can write a column, too - anything to cut costs, you know.

I'm curious to see where this goes and will keep you, dear readers, updated accordingly. In the meantime, brace yourselves for a newer, edgier Journal. How about a Hannity & Colmes point-counterpoint right on the cover? Of course, Hannity would get twenty column inches to Colmes' two, but hey, if you wanted fair and balanced financial news, you would have read The Economist.

It's all over the news: IHOP has agreed to acquire Applebee's, the troubled behemoth bar and grill franchisor, for $2.1 billion in cash.

Now, I was never a big fan of Applebee's in the first place - I often quip it's the only restaurant that has less cooks on its line than it does microwaves - but with this IHOP deal in the offing, I don't foresee an improvement of the real issue at hand.

I'm not talking about the Singing Geezers, the famously bad interpreters of famously overplayed classic rock ditties featured in Applebee's ads (now on their way out thanks to a recent agency shift); or even the number of locations, which is staggering (1,943 in 49 states, 16 foreign countries and one territory): the crux of the Applebee's crisis is their abysmal food quality.

At such a pivotal era of the company's history, perhaps a little review of the Applebee's philosophy would prove helpful in interpreting the current issues at hand:

Once upon a time, the Applebee's business model worked like a song (yes, maybe even a classic rock song): open outlets in little hamlets that didn't have a "neighborhood bar and grill"; serve clunky, crappy cuisine - and collect the cash. For quite some time, there was lots of it (money and crap, which seem to go hand in hand here); if you're the only game in town, you can pretty much do what you want, and no one is going to complain about the food quality. Time, however, is a cruel mistress, and the same dance of decrepitude that doomed those damn geezer songs allows rivals with slightly superior quality like TGI Friday's (where they actually hand-bread your chicken fingers) and Chili's (progeny of dinner house maven Norman Brinker) to encroach on your territory.

People become more erudite and all of a sudden notice the brown specks on the lettuce and the fajita dough fossilized by one of your 1,468 microwaves on premises. What to do? Call in Tyler Florence, Food Network refugee and ex-restaurateur in need of bagfuls of dough (the green kind) to finance his new dining concept in New York City.

Ty, as we'll call him, their new spokesperson, isn't going to help: as Nation's Restaurant News was quick to observe, the presence of a celebrity chef in a TV spot does not guarantee his spiritual presence in the kitchen of your local outlet. The culinary expertise of a slipshod operation like IHOP, subject of myriad Dateline NBC exposes and even a MySpace titled simply, "ihopsucks", isn't going to help, either.

Applebee's needs an insurgence of money - money that IHOP, which plans to finance the acquisition through guarantees on future royalties and has, according to Bloomberg, about half the market capitalization of Applebee's - simply doesn't have. OSI's (better known as Outback Steakhouse & Co.) private buy-back may have been lead by mere mortals (its founders), but the operation is backed by a major investment firm with the available capital to spruce up ailing Outback locations. What is IHOP going to do to improve food quality and abet modernization of antiquated stores?

For the latter, they're doing nothing, since they're selling all the non-franchised stores. As for the former, I'm almost scared. Food quality at IHOP, a nearly all-franchise operation, is patently horrible outside of the morning daypart (and even then, it's no Brennan's). IHOP has consistently rated in Consumer Reports surveys as one of the poorest family restaurants in operation: last year, they scored only two points higher than Waffle House in the "Family Restaurants" category. Their official press release regarding the acquisition (see the cumbersome ihopapplebeesacquisition.com) may tout IHOP's tremendous "brand revitalization", but I'll tell you what's really inefficient, at least from the perspective of an outside investor: one franchisor that specializes in crappy breakfast, buying another franchisor that specializes in crappy dinner.

Now we can eat crappy food all day long while dueling banjos serenade us with "Sweet Home Alabama" and ol' Ty tries to teach a seventeen year-old line cook how to make breakfast quesadillas with bagged, frozen chicken strips, canned salsa and a really, really powerful microwave (or maybe even all 1,468 at once).

Does this sound attractive to you? Exactly. Does the idea of your "neighborhood bar and grill" being managed by ghetto IHOP seem attractive to you? Exactly. Is this going to encourage you to go in and spend money, which is what IHOP needs you to do to pay for this exercise in arrogance?

Exactly.

Above: IHOP CEO Julia Stewart, who started in the restaurant business as a waitress, is now proverbially spitting on all of our food with the acquisition of insipid bar and grille Applebee's.