2004-03-09
ACT OF CONTRITION
I suppose I should fill you in on the latest news regarding the Clay Aiken obsession. I keep insisting that the obsession has died down to the level of mild intrigue. Perhaps I should color code the level of my obsession, sort of like the terror alert level. I guess right now I�m at a solid yellow, which borders on orange depending on whether or not he�s wearing the green M&M shirt.
Lecherous thoughts aside, I�m still completely enamored with that voice and the star quality he possesses. Until recently, I�ve had a difficult time naming my favorite band or musical artist. There�s no question. It�s Clay. Clay, Clay, Clay, Clay, Clay. I could go on for decades describing what it is about this guy that makes me weak in the knees the minute he opens those shell pink lips to sing. Here�s the best way to explain the Clay phenomenon.
The friends I�ve made online who share the Clobsession would not have been caught DEAD listening to the kind of music Clay Aiken records and performs. I�m talking soft rock, easy listening and Christian tunes. (Except for the Christian tunes, this is exactly the kind of music I would be listening to, had I or had I not discovered Clay Aiken. And now I love the Christian tunes, not for the content, but for the passion, conviction and expression that emanates from his vocal chords when he sings them. He sure does love the god and the Jesus.) These women positively SWOON over the songs on his CD, Measure of a Man. They clap and sing along. And I�m pretty sure I saw Kat shaking her bon bon at the Miss America pageant, too.
Last weekend, I attended my FIFTH Clay Aiken concert in Washington, DC, the city to which I�m about to relocate. I�d requested a personal day for Friday, March 5 so I could get to DC the night before and spend the day of the concert beautifying myself and escalating into a complete frenzy. The request was denied, because we had staff development that day. Fortunately, the stars were aligned in my favor. The staff development day workshops were scheduled from 8 am to 1:45 pm with no lunch break. That meant I could take an early flight into BWI and get to the city in plenty of time for the concert.
The timing of my travel couldn�t have been better. The Great Neil Sedaka would have said, "Danielle...you travel...you travel...like Andre Agassi plays tennis...PERFECTION!" My flight was early, the train to DC arrived as I stepped onto the platform, and the metro pulled up as I stepped off the escalator (in my fabulous knee high boots with the spiked heels and pointy toes). Tony was waiting for me in front of the arena, and I made a display of myself while we waited for our friends to arrive.
One by one, our group of lovable misfits arrived. Melissa and I screamed as soon as we saw each other and Tony warned us that it was a bit too early to be tasting blood. Clay hadn�t even hit the stage yet. We took his advice and bounced into the arena. For those of you who have seen Melissa�s and my tah tahs, you know that�s not an exaggeration.
The opening band was midway through their performance when we took our seats. Minutes after they finished, the lights went down. I�m not kidding when I say my heart jumped at that very moment. I hadn�t anticipated this concert with a huge degree of excitement, to be honest. Maybe it was because I�d seen him in concert so many times before, or because I�d actually met the boy in person and sucked him into my body while sporting the biggest shiteating grin on the planet. All I know is, the second the arena went dark, I was thrilled to be alive. I grabbed Melissa with one hand and Tony with the other, scanning the MCI center like a hawk for the first glimpse of a spotlight following a lanky bod.
I�m not going to rehash the entire concert, because frankly, that�s just boring. I�ll just offer the following comments. The. Man. Is. An. Animal. He prowls the stage, looking into the audience for fresh meat. He captivates. He teases. He�s boyish and manly all at once. His voice is an instrument of beauty, and so is his fucking ass. He�s a consummate professional. He never falters, never flounders, in sickness and in health. He�s witty and sexy and funny and gracious and bitchy and dramatic(al). He owns the audience and he knows it. I�m sick to death that the teaching profession won�t have him throughout his career, but there�s no way to deny the man was born to perform. The music world has never seen a performer like Clay Aiken before. In a word, he�s original.
So now I�ll make a confession. I was raised a good Catholic girl, and I know when it�s time to seek absolution for my sins. So here goes:
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It�s been eighteen years since my last confession. I�ve committed a huge number of mortal sins. I took the Lord�s name in vain many, MANY times, I spoke unkindly of others, I had a whopping shitload of sex and, um, I was late to work. But my greatest sin occurred at the Clay Aiken concert in Washington, DC. Clay Aiken was singing and gyrating and pushing his crotch against the backup singer, Angela. Oh yeah, I coveted her at that moment. Tony (who is infinitely more adorable than Clay Aiken can ever hope to be on his best day) was getting his super fantastic...no, not Happy Fun Ball...his super fantastic camera-cell phone ready to take some video of the concert. So Clay was on stage and I should have been looking at him but...oh, this is so hard to admit...I WAS TOTALLY FIXATED ON THE CELL PHONE! There. I said it. I watched a cell phone instead of Clay Aiken. I�m a terrible, terrible fan, and I deserve to be punished.
Any takers?
joeparadox at 8:04 p.m.