Silk Willow Talk

In honor of Clay, our first online store at CafePress is featuring this design, among several:

In case you are wondering, “Clack” means “anything Clay that gives a fan a rush”. We needed some outfits for the CD Release Party, so we fashioned some for it!

Direct from ClayNationNews, Clay’s Calendar of Appearances:

 
 
Technorati Tags: Clay Aiken, ATDW, CD release parties, CD release, A Thousand Different Ways, American Idol

< Check out www.claynationnews.com for updates! >

September 19, 2006 will go down as one of the biggest days in ClayNation history, as that is the day Clay Aiken’s new CD, A Thousand Different Ways, will be dropping into stores all over the nation. And all over the nation, there will be much hooping, hollering, clapping and partying as Clay fans from everywhere emerge from hiatus to rejoice their beloved’s own return to the spotlight.

And I will be joining them in their revelry, for I am one of those earnest Clay fans and members of ClayNation who has helped catapult Clay to the top of the charts. I am proud of being a Clay fan and proud of what the fandom has done for its hero.

On September 19, I will be somewhere in a California Virgin MegaStore, joining the excited crowd of mostly middle-aged women and teen girls in toasting the magnificence of Clay, his new look and his new sound. There will be dinner, haiku writing contests, trivia contests and raffles. And lots and lots of “Clack” (read: anything Clay you can get your hands on). And probably a life-size figure of Clay on cardboard. And store speakers dedicated to playing Clay Aiken music non-stop. And a television showing Clay’s performances….on replay.

Yes, I’ve done it all once before (try October 13, 2003 at a Great Mall from 7:00 till midnight, all for Measure of A Man). And I’m sure I’ll keep on doing this whenever and wherever ClayNation chooses to celebrate.

< Please visit www.clayreport.com for Clay Aiken and Idol news, and details on Clay’s Album drop and the Bay Area Release party! >

After the American Idol Season 5 show ended in late May of this year, I excitedly headed for Ticketmaster and got myself 5 tickets for the customary Pop-Tarts concert that followed. Lo and behold the only seats I could get were the $38.50 ones that were on Section 205/Row 13. I figured that just as long as we weren’t at the back of the stage, we were all set. I am basically not your concert-going type, so I did not fuss over our placements. Despite offers from friends and acquaintances to have me transfer my seats over to their area, I declined because I didn’t want to break my 5 seat set, which comprised of family members. Little did I know that $38.50 seating meant being planted at the top of the arena at the farthest possible point from the stage: the distance from here to Timbuktu. Every time I squinted, I was lucky to distinguish actual performance choreography from among the swarm of humanity on the basement level. All in all it was too loud, too cacophonous, too monotonous for me to appreciate, as the performers simply regurgitated the songs they sang from the AI season. If I had been up closer, I would have probably enjoyed it more, as the action up front would have distracted me from the jarring audio that this typical concert emitted. It was apparent that most of San Jose preferred Chris Daughtry over the whole lot. What else can you expect from the West Coast? I for one thought Taylor Hicks was the best, not just because I’m a Soul Patroller, but because he was so spastic that he stood out no matter where you were in the stadium.

Here are some NICE photos of the concert care of huntsville.about.com,

since from where I was, the only photos I could get were these:

And here were the Idols in order of appearance:

• Mandisa: one of the standouts — literally — since I could actually see her fairly well without needing a binocular or telescope. I did not even have to squint. She looked great! Her songs were blah.
  

• Ace Young: He did George Michael proud. I loved his Father Figure rendition replete with chest pulsations, dramatic fall-on-your-knees moments.
  

• Lisa Tucker: Way to go! Piano + vocals ala Elton John with Your Song and Someone Saved My Life Tonight. Why does she remind me of a Mouseketeer? Must be because Mouseketeer = Star Search alumnus.
  

• Paris Bennett: Boring except she’s looking like Destiny’s child and sounding more and more like that.
  

• Bucky Covington/Kellie Pickler: Unfortunately, I.Detest.Country.Music. And You’re The One That I Want from Grease the Musical didn’t bite me either.
  

• Chris Daughtry/Elliott Yamin: Bravo to rock and soul. After a restless slumber through the previous numbers, I managed to get one eye open to take in the ultra loud ensemble of once again rehashed Wanted: Dead or Alive and showtuney Moody’s Mood For Love.
  

• Katharine McPhee: Think was all over the place — she went in and out of the song for some reason. And if I hear Somewhere Over The Rainbow again in any way, shape or form, I will hurl. But the cute little kiddies in ponytails and glitter were sure loving it.
  

• Taylor Hicks: I woke up to Jailhouse Rock, Living For The City, Taking It To The Streets and Do I Make You Proud. Taylor always makes the same old songs fresh with his antics and stage presence. I was afraid his bobblehead-on-a-dirt-road movements would cost him a concussion, but no…he made it through in amazing form! Go Soul Patrol!
  

My burning question is: why don’t they give the idols some new material for the concerts? What’s with this attachment to the songs from the contest, transmitted to both idol CD track and now to pop-tarts concert form? I guess that’s what I get for $38.50.

< Tagged in Technorati as: American Idol concert>

The meanest man in all of TV land is not American Idol’s Simon Cowell nor the semi-dreadful but boring Piers Morgan of America’s Got Talent. These fellows are the Pussycat Dolls compared to the King of All Nasty Mortals on the Reality Channel: Hell’s Kitchen’s Gordon Ramsay, who by the way, is coincidentally British like all the rest of the television curmudgeons out there. What’s with all these imported northern grousers coming to our shores to make a mint off of mocking our aspiring “talents”? There seems to be a trend here. Do Americans really enjoy being lambasted by forked tongues from foreign lands? Is it all the fault of that slick accent that somehow makes any insult sound almost like veiled acceptance?

Simon: “If your lifeguard duties were as good as your singing, a lot of people would be drowning.”
Piers: “I don’t think it’s very easy to arrange car crashes.”
Gordon: “Escort these two ladies please… Back to plastic surgery.”

Simon: “Why are you having a normal conversation with him? This is a dairy farmer dressed as a woman.”
Piers: “We now know that one of the footman at the palace was a Daily Mirror journalist…”
Gordon: “The problem with Yanks is they are wimps.”

My Meanness Ratings?

Simon: amusing, funny
Piers: uncomfortable, as if he’s trying too hard
Gordon: hard-core

At any rate, I do get a kick out of some of those heartless comments uttered by Mr. Ramsay, my favorites being “You Donkey!” (which sounds more like “Yeewww Dunkee!”) and the truly refreshing “Move Your Ass!” (or was that “Mewv Yer Arse!”) It awakens in me some strange glee that I had seemingly relegated to a childhood full of rambunctious mischief, especially when some other poor sucker of a kid would bear the brunt of my misdeeds (I learned the art of finger pointing rather early; that is, the skill of blame deflection). But glee aside, does anyone really believe that the skull and dagger talk is the way to figure out what hopefuls are made of — to filter the cream from the dregs, or as they say, the way to separate the meat from the chaff, the men from the boys? I’m amazed at what the poor blokes on these tv contests have to put up with week after week. All to get a shot at stardom and victory.

Let’s see, that brings to mind some fond memories… there was a time when I once withstood two years of almost daily castigation:

“This bloody piece of @#&*(%#$)% hell better make it to !@&^*(#% tomorrow or else I’ll bloody have a @#*%$&#%!!!!”

from a boss from hell. Funny… he was also, coincidentally, an import.

< Credit: thinkexist.com for the chuckle-worthy citations >

When will they leave the poor guy alone? Is it just my imagination or is Clay the biggest magnet for the worst opportunists out there? There’s now this friend of a neighbor of his mother’s half brother’s stepsister’s long lost cousin who works at Walmart and does the neighborhood pedicures who wants to sue his family for gobs of money and a spot on your Amazon wishlist. This erstwhile friend has penned a book “Out of the Blue – ‘Clay’ it Forward” that she put together from recollections of neighborhood back stories of little Clay and his play group. Great. Another memoir from yet another strange woman who lived down the block. According to her, Clay owes her big because she took in his family after they escaped their abusive father. She writes the book, Clay doesn’t exactly give it the nod, so she sues. Get this: she wants Clay to retract his criticisms, author one of her chapters, sell her book in his concerts for five years, give her over a quarter of a million bucks, then walk her dog, clean out her trash and mow her lawn too. I guess that’s a whole lot better than doing pedicures for the rest of your life.

< Lest you think the lady does pedicures….no she does not. >

When I was much younger, I fancied myself as a possible recording artist. Then again, what youthful starry-eyed tween/teen/young adult has not dreamt of being catapulted into the limelight? Of becoming a singer, actor or model? What kid has not imagined him/herself an aspiring talent at something or other? Other than the occasional audition, where I would predictably croak by the second verse (laryngitis flare up), my only other attempts at furthering my ambitions in the performing arts involved tinkering with a demo tape or two.

Truth be told, those cuts weren’t that bad. Maybe mediocre, but not bad. Just wouldn’t know if Journey fans would appreciate it. Here I am emulating this illustrious band:

Okay, it was something like that.

In the end, I stuck with the predictable career path, the sure-fire way of putting food on the table and asphalt shingles over my head. It’s a good thing, given how deeply I value privacy — something totally lost to the famous. Yes, I’ll stick to my day job and leave my warbling in the closet.