Before a tour, or during the first few concerts of one, we have people lamenting and complaining that this isn’t right, or that isn’t the way it should be, or Clay could do this and that differently or, better still, change it altogether. There’s always someone who wants things to be different.
This happens every time.
How about forming a committee, coming to a decision and then presenting it to Clay. Only there’s a problem here because committees are famous for only one thing - wasting everyone’s time. Most of us have sat in on a committee meeting in our time, haven’t we? Has anything ever been decided? I mean, set in writing with everyone happy over it? Somebody has an idea, sets it on the table for discussion and everybody else finds things to pick at. As the witty - and astute - Will Rogers once said “ Other than traffic, there is nothing that has held this country back as much as committees.”
So let’s say that Clay, the democratic being that he is, decides to pitch his own plans in the round file and find out what the fans want, each one individually. But what do they want? I mean, I know what I want, but my friend who I talked with earlier today wants something else. I’ve been in this situation before - trying to get my three kids to agree what they wanted to do on our ‘ family day Sunday’ we tried to hold on occasion when they were still at home. Dad and I would come up with suggestions and even invite suggestions from them. There would always be a fight, of course.
But we’re all adults here, not adults trying to deal with children ( nor committees ). So maybe we could agree to elect one person to decide what Clay’s to do. We’re all used to the democratic system, right? So let’s be democratic. That should make everyone happy. So who should we vote for? Well, we have an executive banker somewhere in our little club. She makes sensible decisions about lending money, so she can surely make the right decision here. But then Samie might not like the idea because she doesn’t like bankers as she didn’t get her car loan approved. But she teaches kindergarten so always has to come up with clever innovative ways to keep the kids interested . Maybe her. No? Why? Because what does she know about singing? Okay, then, how about Lilly. She’s an opera singer. And as Clay can sing anythin..... No? You’re afraid she’d make him do opera all night? Well then, we have Olivia over here. She used to write drama for television. Bet she could get some great material going for Clay. Not her because we don’t want music not drama? Okay, how about my idea? Why not let Clay decide?
People. Please remember your own words throughout the years. Pretty much everyone, after the initial shock of whatever Clay’s decided to do to entertain us has worn off, have all pretty much agreed on one thing. That the tour was ‘ the best ever”. “The most fun”. And he was gorgeous and sexy throughout, whenever he wasn’t being a dork, that is, and not everyone agreed on his choice of hair and jeans. But other than that... you know. Please remember that we all, whether we were fortunate enough to be able to attend or not, had a good time.
Think about it. Think about what Clay’s really all about. Think about how innovative he really is, and without much input from us. Because with all the negatives and all the doubts, there really is one truism in all this, and that is that Clay is unique in one respect. He can make you do one certain thing, even sometimes against your will. He can make you like something you really don't want to like.
This man takes a child's drawing and shows you the Monet underneath. Or maybe more like a Picasso, because his mind seems to think in abstract. The first show is the outline, and each successive show he fills it in. A blue stroke over here, a splash of red there. And by the end of the tour, there's a masterpiece, incredibly complex. A treasure to be hung on your feature wall and treasured forever more.
This happens every time.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Three Ladies
I call them “ The Whisperer “, “ The Radiance “ and “ The One In The Middle “.
The Whisperer was in the store today.
She comes in from time to time. Like the lily - so elegant, so pale, almost translucent. Pure and ethereal and ageless. Tall and straight, with a neat blond braid down her back and long, slim fingers clutching the same three bags year after year, moving slowly yet with purpose, firm of step. If I greet her, as I sometimes do, her pale blue eyes look through me, a deep V forming at the bridge of her nose as if she’s trying to place me, or more likely, trying to find me a place in her world. She doesn’t reply. Merely turns away and continues to walk on, round the aisles looking here, gazing there, never stopping, for she has places to go, things that must be done. Now and again she starts to whisper as if in conversation with someone in her own world. That conversation may last for a moment only, or it can become quite animated, a discussion of world events or what to buy grandmother for her birthday, I cannot tell. But always in a whisper. She doesn’t bother anyone, so we let her be. We consider her part of the family, here in our store. If she should never come back, she would be missed.
Then we have the Radiance.
She doesn’t come in often, but she has been a regular for years as well. Always a lady with a mission, passing with purpose down the aisles, rushing for she carries more than her full load, working full time, yet with a crowded social life and a child with a severe handicap. But for all that she’s in a hurry, she always has time to stop and show me what she’s bought. And to ask for my news. This is not a social nicety. She means it. She wants to know. And she listens with focused attention, with a radiant smile if my news is good, with a glistening of tears, reaching out to touch my hand in compassion if it is not. She lives a life too full, yet she has time for mine. She appears beautiful and young; it is only when you get to know her you see past it to her sadness and what her true age is. She carries it with acceptance and without rancor and with that light within, shining out into the world and touching all who come within her sphere.
I don’t know anything at all about the third lady, other than she wrote a letter, and Clay ran with it on stage.
I can only imagine her. But I think she’s no different from me or pretty much anyone else in this world. We do what we can, and we live our own lives, most of the time minding our own business, but when we think we can help someone in some way, we react. We are merely muddling through, and on occasion reaching out with the best of intentions to help those whom we know and love. We are the ‘ middle ‘ people. We have a grasp of the realities of this world, but we’re not always certain which handle is the best one to grab. So sometimes we get it right and sometimes we don’t. That’s life. We shrug and move on. Unlike the Whisperer and the Radiance.
Both of them were born to the same world as the rest of us. One of them rejected it, and one of them accepted it with her whole being. Both of them saw exactly what this world is, and they reacted according to their natures.
And so be it for the rest of us.
The Whisperer was in the store today.
She comes in from time to time. Like the lily - so elegant, so pale, almost translucent. Pure and ethereal and ageless. Tall and straight, with a neat blond braid down her back and long, slim fingers clutching the same three bags year after year, moving slowly yet with purpose, firm of step. If I greet her, as I sometimes do, her pale blue eyes look through me, a deep V forming at the bridge of her nose as if she’s trying to place me, or more likely, trying to find me a place in her world. She doesn’t reply. Merely turns away and continues to walk on, round the aisles looking here, gazing there, never stopping, for she has places to go, things that must be done. Now and again she starts to whisper as if in conversation with someone in her own world. That conversation may last for a moment only, or it can become quite animated, a discussion of world events or what to buy grandmother for her birthday, I cannot tell. But always in a whisper. She doesn’t bother anyone, so we let her be. We consider her part of the family, here in our store. If she should never come back, she would be missed.
Then we have the Radiance.
She doesn’t come in often, but she has been a regular for years as well. Always a lady with a mission, passing with purpose down the aisles, rushing for she carries more than her full load, working full time, yet with a crowded social life and a child with a severe handicap. But for all that she’s in a hurry, she always has time to stop and show me what she’s bought. And to ask for my news. This is not a social nicety. She means it. She wants to know. And she listens with focused attention, with a radiant smile if my news is good, with a glistening of tears, reaching out to touch my hand in compassion if it is not. She lives a life too full, yet she has time for mine. She appears beautiful and young; it is only when you get to know her you see past it to her sadness and what her true age is. She carries it with acceptance and without rancor and with that light within, shining out into the world and touching all who come within her sphere.
I don’t know anything at all about the third lady, other than she wrote a letter, and Clay ran with it on stage.
I can only imagine her. But I think she’s no different from me or pretty much anyone else in this world. We do what we can, and we live our own lives, most of the time minding our own business, but when we think we can help someone in some way, we react. We are merely muddling through, and on occasion reaching out with the best of intentions to help those whom we know and love. We are the ‘ middle ‘ people. We have a grasp of the realities of this world, but we’re not always certain which handle is the best one to grab. So sometimes we get it right and sometimes we don’t. That’s life. We shrug and move on. Unlike the Whisperer and the Radiance.
Both of them were born to the same world as the rest of us. One of them rejected it, and one of them accepted it with her whole being. Both of them saw exactly what this world is, and they reacted according to their natures.
And so be it for the rest of us.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
A Matter of Time
That’s what life is: a progression of events, to which we give the name “time”.
No one knows what time really is, but we know what it does for us. It gives us a past. One we can look back at, examine, remember, and smile or cry, depending on what it means to us.
We live in blocks of time, divided into seconds, minutes, hours, days and years. In an average lifetime ( assuming 74 years ) we live 27,010 days, 648,610 hours, 38,920,152 minutes, and about 2, 295 million seconds.
Let’s break it down to something more tangible: the time we spend doing things in any one year. We spend, on average:
168,265 minutes a year sleeping
77,015 minutes a year working
36,865 minutes doing housework
28,470 minutes travelling to and from work
25,185 minutes eating
19,345 minutes looking after ourselves ( washing, dressing, etc)
355,145 minutes doing other things - caring for others, going to doctors, hairdressers, concerts, reading, relaxing, talking to friends, etc.
We have lots and lots of time aside from the necessaries, as you see, to do with what we want.
So then. Think about your age. Now look back in time. What memories have you got? What do you like to remember? What have you accomplished? What are you proud of, and what do you wish you had done with all that spare time? I don’t know about you, but when I took my own advice and looked back at my memories, I had a bit of a shock.
I do have many memories, many wonderful vignettes. The wonder of discovering that I loved someone, and always would. The moment I held my first child and the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I looked into her wide and trusting eyes. Further back, there’s a lingering memory of my first communion and the fear that I wouldn’t know what to do, even though we’d practiced a hundred times. I’ll always remember how excited the children were when dad came home and pulled a squirming bundle out of his pocket and they couldn’t decide if it was a kitten or an infinitely tiny pup. ( it was a puppy, our darling Wags, a Pomeranian ) Flashes of music and a cute boy asking me to dance at a wedding while my dad enticed the crowd to the floor with a rousing polka. The memory of burying my father, and smiling as I remembered how happy he’d made people with his music. The more-than satisfaction of the ethnic dinner I planned for 50 people - and did it all myself - and it was a resounding success. My trips to Britain and conversing with the ghosts of the past. Then there are the small wisps of satisfaction. Seeing Riverdance, for real, on stage. Hearing Beethovan’s 9th symphony for the first time ever. Opening a 1st grader’s valentine card, still sticky with glue and glitter, that said “ I lufe yu “.
Memories to keep forever. So many my cup runneth over.
And so few I wonder what I did with all that time. How much of it slipped right through my fingers and ran like a river into the past, to be lost forever to me.
Time.
We count our lives in time. We march to it’s beat and we lose it even as we reach it.
I saw something infinitely sad about it all. I saw that while I did do many things that I can look back at with satisfaction, I also saw that many of those lost minutes were something I could have done nothing much about. Except live them as they presented themselves.
Minutes that were spent doing the same things over and over, because they had to be done. Cooking meals. Washing up. Picking up after the family. Making medical appointments. Working at my job, and the coming from and going to of same. And as I look to the future, I don’t see that so much has changed or can change. The children are gone, but I still worry about them, and do things for them that I can. The job is still around, but I don’t have to run home to make meals and take someone to hockey practice. Certain things are gone, but we have added problems of health and other irritants. Life going on. Everything has changed but nothing has changed. And the times worth remembering are really very few - and very far between.My life is still one rather ordinary and somewhat boring succession of doing the same things, over and over and over. One minute at a time. One hour at a time. One week at a time and one year at a time.
So? When was the fun going to start? When was I going to be able to fill my time with such interesting things that all my past and all my future, even second, minute, week and year would be worth remembering? Was it even possible? I know the odd person lives such a life, but only one person in several million is born to such wealth of constant stimulation. The rest of us take our memories where we can get them, few and far between.
So it was with this mindset that I discovered a skinny lad on a show I was only watching out of boredom. Because I had to fill those minutes somehow. I need not attempt to describe what happened to me that evening, because pretty much everyone reading this blog will know those feelings as well.
He more than filled that time for me. And has left me with many funny and beautiful memories, and with many funny and beautiful friends as well, all those with me on this incredible journey. And it looks like it’s not about to end any time soon.
This is the thing, people. Our families and friends are there for us at all times, but they can only do so much to fill our days with interesting and happy moments. They have their own lives and are living them - much the same way I live mine - in suspended time - waiting for the next good thing to happen that they can remember with a smile and a warm feeling inside. They could not fill my days with that stimulation I so craved. But someone did. A skinny kid I've never even met.
I've found a way to make many of those 355,145 minutes of free time doing something I find incredibly interesting and fun. And what memories I’m collecting along the way !!
No one knows what time really is, but we know what it does for us. It gives us a past. One we can look back at, examine, remember, and smile or cry, depending on what it means to us.
We live in blocks of time, divided into seconds, minutes, hours, days and years. In an average lifetime ( assuming 74 years ) we live 27,010 days, 648,610 hours, 38,920,152 minutes, and about 2, 295 million seconds.
Let’s break it down to something more tangible: the time we spend doing things in any one year. We spend, on average:
168,265 minutes a year sleeping
77,015 minutes a year working
36,865 minutes doing housework
28,470 minutes travelling to and from work
25,185 minutes eating
19,345 minutes looking after ourselves ( washing, dressing, etc)
355,145 minutes doing other things - caring for others, going to doctors, hairdressers, concerts, reading, relaxing, talking to friends, etc.
We have lots and lots of time aside from the necessaries, as you see, to do with what we want.
So then. Think about your age. Now look back in time. What memories have you got? What do you like to remember? What have you accomplished? What are you proud of, and what do you wish you had done with all that spare time? I don’t know about you, but when I took my own advice and looked back at my memories, I had a bit of a shock.
I do have many memories, many wonderful vignettes. The wonder of discovering that I loved someone, and always would. The moment I held my first child and the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I looked into her wide and trusting eyes. Further back, there’s a lingering memory of my first communion and the fear that I wouldn’t know what to do, even though we’d practiced a hundred times. I’ll always remember how excited the children were when dad came home and pulled a squirming bundle out of his pocket and they couldn’t decide if it was a kitten or an infinitely tiny pup. ( it was a puppy, our darling Wags, a Pomeranian ) Flashes of music and a cute boy asking me to dance at a wedding while my dad enticed the crowd to the floor with a rousing polka. The memory of burying my father, and smiling as I remembered how happy he’d made people with his music. The more-than satisfaction of the ethnic dinner I planned for 50 people - and did it all myself - and it was a resounding success. My trips to Britain and conversing with the ghosts of the past. Then there are the small wisps of satisfaction. Seeing Riverdance, for real, on stage. Hearing Beethovan’s 9th symphony for the first time ever. Opening a 1st grader’s valentine card, still sticky with glue and glitter, that said “ I lufe yu “.
Memories to keep forever. So many my cup runneth over.
And so few I wonder what I did with all that time. How much of it slipped right through my fingers and ran like a river into the past, to be lost forever to me.
Time.
We count our lives in time. We march to it’s beat and we lose it even as we reach it.
I saw something infinitely sad about it all. I saw that while I did do many things that I can look back at with satisfaction, I also saw that many of those lost minutes were something I could have done nothing much about. Except live them as they presented themselves.
Minutes that were spent doing the same things over and over, because they had to be done. Cooking meals. Washing up. Picking up after the family. Making medical appointments. Working at my job, and the coming from and going to of same. And as I look to the future, I don’t see that so much has changed or can change. The children are gone, but I still worry about them, and do things for them that I can. The job is still around, but I don’t have to run home to make meals and take someone to hockey practice. Certain things are gone, but we have added problems of health and other irritants. Life going on. Everything has changed but nothing has changed. And the times worth remembering are really very few - and very far between.My life is still one rather ordinary and somewhat boring succession of doing the same things, over and over and over. One minute at a time. One hour at a time. One week at a time and one year at a time.
So? When was the fun going to start? When was I going to be able to fill my time with such interesting things that all my past and all my future, even second, minute, week and year would be worth remembering? Was it even possible? I know the odd person lives such a life, but only one person in several million is born to such wealth of constant stimulation. The rest of us take our memories where we can get them, few and far between.
So it was with this mindset that I discovered a skinny lad on a show I was only watching out of boredom. Because I had to fill those minutes somehow. I need not attempt to describe what happened to me that evening, because pretty much everyone reading this blog will know those feelings as well.
He more than filled that time for me. And has left me with many funny and beautiful memories, and with many funny and beautiful friends as well, all those with me on this incredible journey. And it looks like it’s not about to end any time soon.
This is the thing, people. Our families and friends are there for us at all times, but they can only do so much to fill our days with interesting and happy moments. They have their own lives and are living them - much the same way I live mine - in suspended time - waiting for the next good thing to happen that they can remember with a smile and a warm feeling inside. They could not fill my days with that stimulation I so craved. But someone did. A skinny kid I've never even met.
I've found a way to make many of those 355,145 minutes of free time doing something I find incredibly interesting and fun. And what memories I’m collecting along the way !!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The Ten Commandments - or- A Letter To the Camera Police
#1 We are the Clay Nation. Clay Aiken is ours. Thou shalt not mess with him. Nor with us.
#2 We shall maketh as many images as we please. This is Law in our Nation.
#3 In the Nation of Clay, there is but one Law. “ Thou shalt deal in clack, only in clack and in nothing but clack”.
#4 The Nation keepeth holy the seventh day, and every other day Clay may be in concert. To mess with this shall surely provoke thunder and lightning upon thy head.
#5 Honor those who provide the clack.
# 6 Members of the Nation of Clay are meek and mild mannered and given to loving their fellow man. Unless thou attempteth to take away their clack. Get my point?
#7 Do not assume thou mayst tell the Clay Nation what to do. They march to their own drummer ( whomever Clay has hired this year ) and are faithful to their own Law. ( referst, thou, to commandment # 2) Who art thou that thou shouldst tamper with this? After all, we’re right and thou art - well, wrong.
# 8 The Claymates are not given to that heinous crime that be known as theft . They takest only what is rightfully theirs, after having battled mightily for years, and finally won. Theirs are the spoils of war. This is surely as it should be.
#9 Thou mayst be assured that no Claymate would ever lie. Unless the truth interferes with their gathering of clack.
#10 Claymates covet one thing only. The clack, without which they cannot exist. Give it to them and thou shalt be lauded in the Nation of Clay. Else, thou must, in turn, prepareth thyself for battle.
#2 We shall maketh as many images as we please. This is Law in our Nation.
#3 In the Nation of Clay, there is but one Law. “ Thou shalt deal in clack, only in clack and in nothing but clack”.
#4 The Nation keepeth holy the seventh day, and every other day Clay may be in concert. To mess with this shall surely provoke thunder and lightning upon thy head.
#5 Honor those who provide the clack.
# 6 Members of the Nation of Clay are meek and mild mannered and given to loving their fellow man. Unless thou attempteth to take away their clack. Get my point?
#7 Do not assume thou mayst tell the Clay Nation what to do. They march to their own drummer ( whomever Clay has hired this year ) and are faithful to their own Law. ( referst, thou, to commandment # 2) Who art thou that thou shouldst tamper with this? After all, we’re right and thou art - well, wrong.
# 8 The Claymates are not given to that heinous crime that be known as theft . They takest only what is rightfully theirs, after having battled mightily for years, and finally won. Theirs are the spoils of war. This is surely as it should be.
#9 Thou mayst be assured that no Claymate would ever lie. Unless the truth interferes with their gathering of clack.
#10 Claymates covet one thing only. The clack, without which they cannot exist. Give it to them and thou shalt be lauded in the Nation of Clay. Else, thou must, in turn, prepareth thyself for battle.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Climate Change
The other day a friend emailed me a copy of an article written about the musical with Clay Aiken as the centerpiece that’s now playing off-Broadway, and asked what I thought about it all.
So, seeing as she actually wanted my opinion, I did what I always do when someone expects me to exercise a part of me that doesn’t see much activity: I stared out the window for awhile.
I watched the heat waves shimmering off the hood of a car that had just parked across the street, and wondered why it was so hot. You see, where I live it does not get particularly warm at all. Nor very cold. We live in a moderate climate, the mountains to the back of us protecting us from the harsh winds of winter in Canada and trapping the warm breezes off the Pacific in summer. If you happen to be Canadian, as I am, this is the perfect place to reside. Near idyllic temperatures year round. Never too hot. Never too cold. Pretty much perfect, if you don’t mind that it never stops raining. Except for the past few years. It’s been cold when it should have been warm. It’s been dry when it should have rained. It is now hot in a way I don’t remember it ever being before.
So I stared out the window and listened to the silence brought on by the heat - people were laying low, as was I - and thought of this strange weather we’ve been experiencing, and how the rest of North America seemed to be affected as well in various ways. I wiped the perspiration off my brow, and pulled a sticking blouse away from my chest and went to get my 20th glass of water so far today out of the fridge. I stood with the fridge door open allowing the coolness to wash over me and thought how the climate is changing.
The world is changing. Nothing seems to be the way I have learned to expect. Something is stirring.
The musical is but a small blip on the weather map.
When, in the past, would someone have expected to make money out of a show about a singer who isn’t on top of the game? I admit I know little of New York and what sort of shows are successful there. But I imagine that a producer many have only two choices. Either come up with something using an internationally known star or perhaps a best selling novel as a premise, or come up with a unique slant. A musical using Clay Aiken as the unique slant? How could it work?
He’s not an internationally known star. He hasn’t sold millions upon millions of CDs and played to sold out audiences across the world. He doesn’t even always fill every concert hall in his home country when he goes on tour. His own label had so little faith that they made sure he didn’t win American Idol when all indications were that he should have. They don’t know what to do with him to this day. According to them he should be back home in Raleigh teaching school, having had his 15 minutes.
Yet he’s still out there, and somebody has put together a musical with him as the draw. And what is really strange - the media is giving it - and by extension, Mr. Aiken - their full attention. A virtual flood of it.
Someone questioned Clay Aiken’s sexuality and the blizzards raged for months.
Clay Aiken falls asleep on a plane and it hits the media like a tornado.
Clay Aiken loses his passport and it hits the media like a thunderstorm.
Clay Aiken does a spot on American Idol - what was it? 3 minutes? 2 &1/2? 4? And completely overshadows a mega star like Prince. He wasn’t even introduced. He just walked on stage and the winds blew for a week.
Clay Aiken hasn’t even had a mega hit record yet. On the weather map plotted by Clive Davis to guide his money making stars through the eddy currents of public desire, Aiken’s route probably isn’t even considered. Yet all Clay has to do is stick his head out his window in the morning, and the weather inexplicably changes.
Four years ago only a handful of boards lauded the talents of a certain Mr. Aiken. The media actively ignored him.
Yes, the climate is changing, I thought as I poured the cool, satisfying water into a glass and drank it.
So, seeing as she actually wanted my opinion, I did what I always do when someone expects me to exercise a part of me that doesn’t see much activity: I stared out the window for awhile.
I watched the heat waves shimmering off the hood of a car that had just parked across the street, and wondered why it was so hot. You see, where I live it does not get particularly warm at all. Nor very cold. We live in a moderate climate, the mountains to the back of us protecting us from the harsh winds of winter in Canada and trapping the warm breezes off the Pacific in summer. If you happen to be Canadian, as I am, this is the perfect place to reside. Near idyllic temperatures year round. Never too hot. Never too cold. Pretty much perfect, if you don’t mind that it never stops raining. Except for the past few years. It’s been cold when it should have been warm. It’s been dry when it should have rained. It is now hot in a way I don’t remember it ever being before.
So I stared out the window and listened to the silence brought on by the heat - people were laying low, as was I - and thought of this strange weather we’ve been experiencing, and how the rest of North America seemed to be affected as well in various ways. I wiped the perspiration off my brow, and pulled a sticking blouse away from my chest and went to get my 20th glass of water so far today out of the fridge. I stood with the fridge door open allowing the coolness to wash over me and thought how the climate is changing.
The world is changing. Nothing seems to be the way I have learned to expect. Something is stirring.
The musical is but a small blip on the weather map.
When, in the past, would someone have expected to make money out of a show about a singer who isn’t on top of the game? I admit I know little of New York and what sort of shows are successful there. But I imagine that a producer many have only two choices. Either come up with something using an internationally known star or perhaps a best selling novel as a premise, or come up with a unique slant. A musical using Clay Aiken as the unique slant? How could it work?
He’s not an internationally known star. He hasn’t sold millions upon millions of CDs and played to sold out audiences across the world. He doesn’t even always fill every concert hall in his home country when he goes on tour. His own label had so little faith that they made sure he didn’t win American Idol when all indications were that he should have. They don’t know what to do with him to this day. According to them he should be back home in Raleigh teaching school, having had his 15 minutes.
Yet he’s still out there, and somebody has put together a musical with him as the draw. And what is really strange - the media is giving it - and by extension, Mr. Aiken - their full attention. A virtual flood of it.
Someone questioned Clay Aiken’s sexuality and the blizzards raged for months.
Clay Aiken falls asleep on a plane and it hits the media like a tornado.
Clay Aiken loses his passport and it hits the media like a thunderstorm.
Clay Aiken does a spot on American Idol - what was it? 3 minutes? 2 &1/2? 4? And completely overshadows a mega star like Prince. He wasn’t even introduced. He just walked on stage and the winds blew for a week.
Clay Aiken hasn’t even had a mega hit record yet. On the weather map plotted by Clive Davis to guide his money making stars through the eddy currents of public desire, Aiken’s route probably isn’t even considered. Yet all Clay has to do is stick his head out his window in the morning, and the weather inexplicably changes.
Four years ago only a handful of boards lauded the talents of a certain Mr. Aiken. The media actively ignored him.
Yes, the climate is changing, I thought as I poured the cool, satisfying water into a glass and drank it.
Friday, July 13, 2007
The Plight of the Children
Why do you weep, my child, my son
what brings the tear to your eye
when all is yours within your reach
that should not make you cry
I’ve given you health and happiness
and wealth beyond the fold
I’ve given you all you could wish for
I’ve given you a voice of gold
I’ve given you a stage from which to speak
though it cannot be done in a day
yours is the passion and the dream
they'll help to light your way
yours is the future to make what you will
the dice you’ve already rolled
now it’s up to you to gird your loins
and run with the number you hold
Take heed, my son, the way is long
so rough, with thorns, so wild
but in the end you shall prevail
trust Me now, my child
why do you weep, my child, my son
what brings that tear to your eye
you are My soldier here on earth
you are My samurai
**********************************
Clay, dear, this is just a reminder. You are here for a greater purpose than that of entertainer. We, your avid fans were aware of it, I believe, even before you were. Gladys Knight saw immediately what we had seen the first time you appeared on our television sets.
But surely by now you, too, are aware that you are being led. At each turn it seems as if it were somehow meant to happen that way, and it always leads to another turn, and another.
We don't expect you not to hurt for those the world ignores, indeed, if you did not, you would not be the man you are. We would not be your fans, and I would not be writing this.
But you are who you are, and we shall stand and fight with you for as long as you need us. This was promised to you just before the finals night of American Idol. It stands as true today as it did then.
So cry for you must, be angry if you will - but do know this - we know it will take you some time yet to reach superstar status - yet this is where you need to go - and you know why.
Because North America, for some reason, insists on making royalty out of the top dogs in the entertainment industry. These people, the entertainment giants are who are listened to, and you know it. So bide your time, work hard, get that mega CD going - the one you need - and when you are on top, they will listen.
Until then you will cry and you will be angry. But remember, please - this entire scenario is greater than all of us. There's a Plan out there. Go where it takes you, for Someone is truly in charge here.
what brings the tear to your eye
when all is yours within your reach
that should not make you cry
I’ve given you health and happiness
and wealth beyond the fold
I’ve given you all you could wish for
I’ve given you a voice of gold
I’ve given you a stage from which to speak
though it cannot be done in a day
yours is the passion and the dream
they'll help to light your way
yours is the future to make what you will
the dice you’ve already rolled
now it’s up to you to gird your loins
and run with the number you hold
Take heed, my son, the way is long
so rough, with thorns, so wild
but in the end you shall prevail
trust Me now, my child
why do you weep, my child, my son
what brings that tear to your eye
you are My soldier here on earth
you are My samurai
**********************************
Clay, dear, this is just a reminder. You are here for a greater purpose than that of entertainer. We, your avid fans were aware of it, I believe, even before you were. Gladys Knight saw immediately what we had seen the first time you appeared on our television sets.
But surely by now you, too, are aware that you are being led. At each turn it seems as if it were somehow meant to happen that way, and it always leads to another turn, and another.
We don't expect you not to hurt for those the world ignores, indeed, if you did not, you would not be the man you are. We would not be your fans, and I would not be writing this.
But you are who you are, and we shall stand and fight with you for as long as you need us. This was promised to you just before the finals night of American Idol. It stands as true today as it did then.
So cry for you must, be angry if you will - but do know this - we know it will take you some time yet to reach superstar status - yet this is where you need to go - and you know why.
Because North America, for some reason, insists on making royalty out of the top dogs in the entertainment industry. These people, the entertainment giants are who are listened to, and you know it. So bide your time, work hard, get that mega CD going - the one you need - and when you are on top, they will listen.
Until then you will cry and you will be angry. But remember, please - this entire scenario is greater than all of us. There's a Plan out there. Go where it takes you, for Someone is truly in charge here.
Now You Know -or- Three Birds With One Stone
I couldn’t help but hear - well, I sort of heard - you asking the fans in the concert hall the other night to be quiet because you couldn’t even hear yourself speak. It was kinda noisy, wasn’t it - how come you can’t keep control of your class? I mean, being a teacher and all....
Of course you couldn’t possibly hear what really goes on in that bedlam your fans indulge in at every given opportunity, but do you ever wonder what it is, exactly, that they’re talking about? I mean, wouldn’t you like to know what they’re saying about you while you’re trying to get through a concert? I would. And so I set about doing a little checking. The best way to learn what goes on would have been to be sitting smack dab in the middle seat at one or two ( or 6 ) of your concerts, but alas I could not be there in person. So I did the next best thing. I scanned the boards.
I found one board so talkative that trying to keep up refreshing the pages was about to give my hard drive terminal heart failure, so I moved on. You think you only have 3000 fans? Well, the evidence is that you must have at least 3000 more, because that board was steaming with activity!
So I tried somewhere else. But everyone must have moved with me, because all 3000 were there as well. I know this for a fact, because of the racket. Have you any idea how it sounds when 3000 people chatter all at the same time? Silly question. Sorry. But if I were to find out what the conversations really were, I had to settle somewhere, so I give my hard drive a hug and a drink of water to cool it down and I settled in with the empty water glass to the wall. You can hear really well that way, did you know that?
So what were they talking about, do you think? I assumed it would be about your concert: Of course it would be. I mean, these boards are all dedicated to you, and it was a concert night after all. I scanned a couple of pages to find out what they were saying about what you singing tonight - how did you look - what were you wearing - which hairpiece did you have on - you know - the really important stuff.
“ I have to get my laundry out of the dryer.” said one.
“ Do you have tickets to Bon Jovi?” asked another. “ That Jon is SO cute “ twittered a third.
‘Hey everybody!” an enthusiastic voice piped in. “ My daughter just had twins!”
“Are you doing laundry, too?”
I switched boards. And got the same 3000 I guess. And just as talkative.
“ Hi everyone. I just got here. Have I missed much?” came from someone obviously late to the party.
You don’t need to know about the next several pages, because it’s repetition, everybody saying “hi” to the last one in and passing them drinks and popcorn. Then finally somebody says.
“ Whooo - hoooo!!!! He’s wearing a blue shirt and white pants! With a leather jacket! “
This caused pretty much the entire 3000 to thud ( loudly and with feeling ) for awhile until another report came in to inform us all that the first report was erroneous and that you were wearing a pink shirt and a WHITE jacket, and that you had on jeans. Which brought on a few memories of concerts past and created a reverberation heard throughout cyberspace as more people thudded.
“ When is your concert?” someone ( recovered from the flight to the floor ) asked someone else.
Oh goody! I’d found a board where they took discussing you seriously.
For a minute anyhow, until they realized they had to pack soon. That got many of the 3000 discussing what one should take with them, and remembering past trips ( not necessarily to a tete - a - tete with Clay Aiken ).
Somebody went off to get some more popcorn while somebody else went to answer their phone while someone else took a bathroom break and I thought it was time to switch boards again.
“He’s singing WY. OOOoooh I LOVE listening to him sing that song.”
“Yeah. The VOX !”
Oh goody. I’m going to hear about the concert now.
“ That was Carol O’Connor, wasn’t it?”
“ Who’s the Carol O’Connor chick?”
“ I’m going to feed the cat. He’s yowling, poor thing.”
“ Carroll O’Connor. There’re two Ls and two Rs in Carroll. It’s a guy. He was Archie Bunker in All In The Family in the 70s”
“ What do you think we can do to make Clay like cats? “
“Never heard of it. I’m only 14.”
I switched boards.
Dead silence. Not a peep. Why? I looked at the last entry. Five minutes ago - and no one had said anything since. Then I found the final entry.
“ SEXY!!! BACK!!!! “
That explained it. They’d all thudded the big one.
I left them in peace and proceeded on my way.
And so it went. And I think I’ve killed three birds with one stone here. About how many fans you really have, what they’re really on about, and what you can do about it.
The evidence tells us that there are at least 3000 more fans out there, all of them talking at once of course, and sometimes even about you. But they can be quiet too. And I’ve just told you how to accomplish that.
So now you know. Any questions?
Of course you couldn’t possibly hear what really goes on in that bedlam your fans indulge in at every given opportunity, but do you ever wonder what it is, exactly, that they’re talking about? I mean, wouldn’t you like to know what they’re saying about you while you’re trying to get through a concert? I would. And so I set about doing a little checking. The best way to learn what goes on would have been to be sitting smack dab in the middle seat at one or two ( or 6 ) of your concerts, but alas I could not be there in person. So I did the next best thing. I scanned the boards.
I found one board so talkative that trying to keep up refreshing the pages was about to give my hard drive terminal heart failure, so I moved on. You think you only have 3000 fans? Well, the evidence is that you must have at least 3000 more, because that board was steaming with activity!
So I tried somewhere else. But everyone must have moved with me, because all 3000 were there as well. I know this for a fact, because of the racket. Have you any idea how it sounds when 3000 people chatter all at the same time? Silly question. Sorry. But if I were to find out what the conversations really were, I had to settle somewhere, so I give my hard drive a hug and a drink of water to cool it down and I settled in with the empty water glass to the wall. You can hear really well that way, did you know that?
So what were they talking about, do you think? I assumed it would be about your concert: Of course it would be. I mean, these boards are all dedicated to you, and it was a concert night after all. I scanned a couple of pages to find out what they were saying about what you singing tonight - how did you look - what were you wearing - which hairpiece did you have on - you know - the really important stuff.
“ I have to get my laundry out of the dryer.” said one.
“ Do you have tickets to Bon Jovi?” asked another. “ That Jon is SO cute “ twittered a third.
‘Hey everybody!” an enthusiastic voice piped in. “ My daughter just had twins!”
“Are you doing laundry, too?”
I switched boards. And got the same 3000 I guess. And just as talkative.
“ Hi everyone. I just got here. Have I missed much?” came from someone obviously late to the party.
You don’t need to know about the next several pages, because it’s repetition, everybody saying “hi” to the last one in and passing them drinks and popcorn. Then finally somebody says.
“ Whooo - hoooo!!!! He’s wearing a blue shirt and white pants! With a leather jacket! “
This caused pretty much the entire 3000 to thud ( loudly and with feeling ) for awhile until another report came in to inform us all that the first report was erroneous and that you were wearing a pink shirt and a WHITE jacket, and that you had on jeans. Which brought on a few memories of concerts past and created a reverberation heard throughout cyberspace as more people thudded.
“ When is your concert?” someone ( recovered from the flight to the floor ) asked someone else.
Oh goody! I’d found a board where they took discussing you seriously.
For a minute anyhow, until they realized they had to pack soon. That got many of the 3000 discussing what one should take with them, and remembering past trips ( not necessarily to a tete - a - tete with Clay Aiken ).
Somebody went off to get some more popcorn while somebody else went to answer their phone while someone else took a bathroom break and I thought it was time to switch boards again.
“He’s singing WY. OOOoooh I LOVE listening to him sing that song.”
“Yeah. The VOX !”
Oh goody. I’m going to hear about the concert now.
“ That was Carol O’Connor, wasn’t it?”
“ Who’s the Carol O’Connor chick?”
“ I’m going to feed the cat. He’s yowling, poor thing.”
“ Carroll O’Connor. There’re two Ls and two Rs in Carroll. It’s a guy. He was Archie Bunker in All In The Family in the 70s”
“ What do you think we can do to make Clay like cats? “
“Never heard of it. I’m only 14.”
I switched boards.
Dead silence. Not a peep. Why? I looked at the last entry. Five minutes ago - and no one had said anything since. Then I found the final entry.
“ SEXY!!! BACK!!!! “
That explained it. They’d all thudded the big one.
I left them in peace and proceeded on my way.
And so it went. And I think I’ve killed three birds with one stone here. About how many fans you really have, what they’re really on about, and what you can do about it.
The evidence tells us that there are at least 3000 more fans out there, all of them talking at once of course, and sometimes even about you. But they can be quiet too. And I’ve just told you how to accomplish that.
So now you know. Any questions?
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