2005-09-04 - 7:29 p.m.
"WELL, I NEVER SAID HE COULDN’T SING"
or
MR. EE COMES...AROUND IN NEW ENGLAND
(Eeyore/Pam butting in here [nice ass!]. Hee. And he’d only got as far as the title. *ahem* Mr. Ee is a little embarrassed about showing up wearing just his SOC in public, and I’m an old pro, having exposed my BEVR, ohhhh, too many times to count, so I’ll be jumping in every now and again, y’know, in case he needs propping up.)
WHY THE H*LL DID I AGREE TO THIS?
Let’s get this straight. I’m spending mumbletythousand dollars, flying clear across the country, staying with people I’ve never even met, driving through several states under what I now see is a mistaken assumption that the other people there actually know how to drive alongside me, lying to my friends and family about attending a wedding in Boston, JUST so I can go to two Clay Aiken concerts?!? Did I mention that I despise Clay Aiken? Not that I think he’s a rotten person or even a horrible singer or anything. I just don’t like what he’s done to my wife. She seems a little…obsessed with him. He’s not even good-looking! Yet, there she is, getting on the computer every night, chatting with her friends, writing skits about Lord knows what, giving our address to virtual strangers so they can send her magazines and CDs, clicking on pictures then closing them quickly whenever I come into the room. She has more pictures of him than me!
And why? I’m over here, cooking dinners, jumping through hoops, doing handstands, telling jokes, and basically anything else I can think of to get her attention. And all he has to do is sing? Something’s not sitting right. I’ve got to find out what all the fuss is about. Hmmm…Maybe she’s not really a Clay fan after all, but is actually carrying on a relationship with a secret boyfriend. That does it. I’m putting my foot down. No more trips unless I accompany her. If she really has nothing to hide, she won’t mind.
(And I didn’t.)
So that’s how I ended up in New England. But first, we had to stop in Seattle to stay overnight with her friend Mare and her husband. I’m a little nervous because how does she know that one of them isn’t an axe murderer? It’s not like axe murderers wear a t-shirt announcing who they are or anything.
Okay, now that I’ve met them, I’m thinking they’re very likely not axe murderers. Okay, definitely not. But still you can’t be too careful.
Right out of the gate, Mr. Mare just laughed and laughed at my predicament. He threatened to play some Clay music “to get me in the mood.” He told me that they call videos “Clack,” and that’s what our wives were downloading as we spoke. It was from the Toronto show that had just ended an hour or so before. I never knew any of this. I must say, for all her obsession, my wife has never forced me to listen to Clay’s music or watch his videos. I’ve heard his two CDs maybe one time apiece when she thought I was sleeping in the car, and I also heard that stalker song on the radio a lot. Oh, and she also snuck him singing Unchained Melody onto my mp3 player, since I don’t know how to load it up myself. Truth be told, it’s one of my favourite songs of all time, and his rendition wasn’t really that bad and I never skipped over it or anything.
(I also open up the porn e-mails his friends send him, since he doesn’t know how to do that either. I’m really a very good wife.)
OH GOOD GOD! THERE’S MORE OF THEM!
I always said to my wife that just because you know 1000 other crazy people, it doesn’t make you any less crazy. She always insisted that she really was less crazy, and that I was going to meet some very “enthusiastic” fans this weekend. I can’t imagine anyone being more enthusiastic than someone who hides pictures and magazines in a bottom drawer and who listens to music on an mp3 player so that no one else can hear it.
Who knew that Clay Aiken had a calendar? Or keychains? Or posters and refrigerator magnets? I thought he had only two CDs, and yet some of these women had stacks and stacks of them that they shuffle through their car stereos. That seems to be all the music that some of his fans listen to anymore.
Oops. It seems like I’m skipping ahead a little. I still have to meet the rest of my traveling party.
We met another friend, Sheri, at the airport, and all flew to New Jersey, where MLK met us. Again, neither seemed to be axe murderers. But I didn’t know I had to stay at MLK’s house. I’ve never even met her before! And when I did meet her, she showed me a picture that she had taken with Clay at something called a Meet-N-Greet. She had several copies of various sizes. Other than that, she seemed really nice.
(I swear on my kids’ lives that I told him that we’d be staying with MLK, but I probably told him around the time that I was reminding him for the third time that the garbage really really needed to be taken out that night so that I wouldn’t have to do it again when I was already dressed for work the next morning, so that’s why he didn’t hear me.)
MLK had Clack and a wide-screen tv. She also had beer. That really helped.
We watched some appearance from Good Morning America, and four grown women squealed like teenage girls, something to do with his jeans and his short hair. He sang Suspicious Minds, which is another of my favourite songs, and I have to admit it was pretty good. I didn’t really need to see it twice, though. Then we watched something called “Montages” and most of them had Clay making moves on some back-up singer over and over again. I swear I saw the same scene 25 times. I had a couple more beer and that helped. I was really starting to feel like the girlfriend who insists on going to “Boys Night Out” with her boyfriend just to make sure he’s really not at a strip club. And then she feels out of place because she sees that nothing is going on, her boyfriend feels torn between entertaining his girlfriend and his buddies, and his buddies feel like they’re being spied on. So I tried my best to sit on the sidelines and let them enjoy themselves.
(Don’t feel sorry for him; believe me, this will change. Plus, I was the one serving the beer.)
Anyway, then Pejay came over and we all had some really good east coast Italian food (Yes, I also made up his plate for him), and the women went into the computer room and watched more Clack and also “caught up on the Boards.” I took my beer and watched sports on the other tv. Mr. MLK came home then and he told me that he’d been to the concert and it wasn’t that bad. He said the Christmas one was even better, and asked me if I’d be going to that. Apparently, Clay’s going to come to Vancouver for that show, but I really just need to get through the next couple of days first.
ON THE ROADS, OH GOOD GOD, SO MANY ROADS
On the map, it looks like New Jersey is maybe 100 miles or so from New Hampshire, so we were expecting about a three hour drive, tops. Then we find out it’s really 300 miles, and should take five hours or so. That was before we got lost. Twice.
We were on the road for seven hours.
Seven hours of h*ll, to be more accurate. Apparently, tailgating is not only the preferred style of driving on the east coast; it may even be the law (although we never got a ticket for NOT tailgating). I thought Vancouver drivers were aggressive, but they’d be eaten alive on the east coast. Don’t you dare leave two car lengths between your car and the one in front of you, because someone’s sure to take it by zipping in then slamming on their brakes. They may not even want to be in your lane, they just want to see if they can fit in the space you left. Sometimes, if you’re really lucky, two cars will zip in to fill up those two car lengths in quick succession. I’m sure there’s a name for it – Double Dose of Death or something. Maybe they keep track of the points they earn and redeem them for prizes. Hmmm, I wonder how many MLK earned for those quick freeway exits from the left lane?
(It’s okay, MLK, as you were listening to Clack the whole time, which can apparently be very distracting. *sigh* I wouldn’t know. Well, we did listen to one CD of JBT Clack on the drive, which turned out to be a mistake, as the Mister would have been even more impressed with Mr. Aiken’s awesome setlist if he’d experienced it in all its glory live in concert for the first time. Oh well.)
We checked into our suite at the Bates Motel, and tidied up the bathroom so that it was sufficiently fit for human use. We did have a nice view of Lake Winnapesaukee, and were told by one of the groundskeepers that Journey stayed at the same place last weekend and spent most of their time out on jetskis (like we thought they’d actually have stayed in their rooms? Puh-leeze). Our friends checked in on the other side of the hotel, across the street, where they had a view of the tour buses, ouch! don’t pinch me, all right already! a view of the TOUR BUSES!!! The best thing about our hotel was that the pre-concert dinner pub and the venue were within easy walking distance. I immediately ordered two beers when we arrived at the Clackhouse party, where we sat with some people from, you got it, Vancouver. Couldn’t we just have invited them over for lunch?
We walked to the concert venue, and a lot of people were milling around before it started. We saw something called “fried dough” and then we ran into Carol (FL) and thanked her for our tickets. Then, my wife saw some other women, and dragged me over to see them. She begged them to pose for a picture with me. I complied, but had no idea who they were. They were very very attractive and when my wife thanked them for the picture, they turned and thanked ME for bringing her to the concert. I thought they were just some other crazy fans.
(And I thought I was a decent photographer. But how’s this for a connection? I hug on hubby, he hugs on Q & A, then Q & A hug on Clay. QED, Quid Pro Quo, Carpe Diem, I hugged on Clay. At the very least, he was wearing a smidge of my DNA along with his glasses and leather jacket that night.)
I’m a much better photographer. To wit:
(Yikes! It's almost like he knows what I've written about him in!)
CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE CONCERT NOW? I’M SICK OF TYPING
I really don’t get what the fuss is about this guy. He’s just a regular geeky guy. Skinny, red hair, big ears, really big feet. (Yes, I know what that means.) But grown women were SCREAMING over every move he made. And others were looking at him with the biggest puppy-dog eyes I ever saw, like he’s the second coming. I hope I never see my wife look at him that way.
(I probably have looked a little stunned once or twice, when I’ve had better seats, I won’t deny it. But I really just like to dance and have fun at Clay concerts, and leave the sobbing and swooning to others. Plus? When hubby and boyfriend are in the same room? Hubby trumps boyfriend – it’s not a com.pe.ti.tion, but it’s also no contest. I guess I was worried for nothing.)
I really enjoyed a lot of the songs, especially the Motown stuff. That whole section had a lot of energy, and everyone had a chance to shine. Clay’s back-up singers were superb, and they looked awfully familiar. I also enjoyed Suspicious Minds again, but had to shake my head laughing at some of the Elvis moves. Believe me, I’m not laughing at Clay’s attempts to dance – he actually did better than I thought he would – but laughing at the reactions of the audience. He moved his hips maybe six inches! (I’m thinking more along the lines of eight and a quarter. *g* )
I heard about Clay coming in to the audience to pick a “miserable man” so I made sure to stand (HIDE!) behind my wife as he surveyed the audience. Fortunately, he came down the other side of the stage.
We met Kelly in NY at the intermission, and she gave my wife some gifts from the Broadfest, including a Blow Pop, and no, I didn’t believe it was a symbol of “being 12 years old” like she tried to explain. I’m not stupid. I know my wife doesn’t think of doing things like that to Clay, but I’m sure others do. We were able to sit with Kelly, Pejay, and Sheri after intermission, which was nice, since a couple of idiots in front of our old seats held up signs every time Clay so much as glanced in our general direction.
On the whole, I didn’t like the second set as much as the first, but I did enjoy some of the individual song choices. Mandy is probably one of my favourite songs of all time, and he definitely sang it really well. (Interjecting the correct terminology – the man sang the crap out of it.) I also enjoyed that Whitney Houston song the one girl sang. That was unbelievable. And I swear I know her from somewhere….
Clay was pretty funny when he was just talking to the audience about stuff, and I really enjoyed his conversation with that Terri woman. You can tell it really made her day, and he seemed to genuinely like her as well. I can’t imagine Justin Timberlake or Usher or anyone else his age appreciating his fans the same way that Clay does. I still feel sorry for him that so many of his fans are quite a bit older than him, but he takes it all in stride. Plus you guys are willing and able to travel all over the place to see him perform.
As Saturday nights go, it wasn’t bad. The show was actually pretty enjoyable, and I even got sex afterwards, something my wife says she’s never done after a Clay concert before. (Technically, I’ve never had sex with another person after a Clay concert before, but no one really needed to know that, did they?)
It was raining the next morning when we met our friends, along with Karen Nyeee and Mr. Nyeee, for breakfast. Mr. Nyeee was a very friendly person, easy to talk to, but I wasn’t about to give up my mascot status to him! (Yes, I’d moved up from out-of-place-girlfriend status to official mascot after my proclamation that “I came to crucify, but I’ve been healed instead!”)
IS IT GOING TO BE THE EXACT SAME SHOW IN BOSTON?
I really can’t believe that we were going to the exact same show two days in a row. I mean, it was good, but it wasn’t that good. A few things changed, I guess:
Mr. Nyeee joined me in the beer garden at intermission.
Clay wasn’t wearing glasses, and he coughed instead of sneezed on-stage.
He sang a couple of songs that were suggested by audience members, but I really thought this interrupted the flow of the show.
We stayed at a much nicer hotel. My wife even took a picture of the street sign:
I took a picture of my wife with a different guy before the show:
At least I recognized this guy as the drummer, who was amazing by the way, like all the other musicians. We had a really good view of him for this show. And that other guy, Nick, also got called on stage. What does he do again? (Funny, that’s the same thing Clay said.)
(I don’t get to many shows, since, well, no need to open up that can of worms again, but I have seen Nick on stage twice now, and I’ve also had two admonitions from Clay NOT to look at his rear end. It’s like he’s speaking directly to me, but I still haven’t figured out exactly what he’s trying to say. My working theory involves Nick and I teaming up our nice a$$es and somehow taking out Bob & Linda – but by f*rting, squishing, or bumping? Time will tell.)
I was propositioned by two women after the show while my wife was in the washroom. TWO WOMEN! I’m gonna tell all my buddies to hang out after the Vancouver show if they wanna get lucky. I don’t know how he does it, but he really works you guys up just by singing and moving his hips once or twice. Too bad most of Clay’s fans are old and ugly.
HAHA! I’m just kidding. Check out these old Broads:
And I got to go home with one of them! Lucky me!
(I don’t know where to put this, but just in case anyone thought they were the worst photographer in the world, you will have to pry that title out of my cold, dead hands. As if the Q&A Sandwich picture weren’t proof enough already, check out this beauty from New Hampshire:
*sigh* At least I know when to quit.)
We did take some time for sightseeing around Boston the next day, as my wife wanted to work on her digital photography skills. I don’t know what she was trying to prove, but she seemed to have some kind of a theme going. Something to do with American History, I think.
We did get to tour the inside of Paul Revere’s house:
Then we went to the Old North Church. Here’s its very large pipe organ. Did you know it took two years before it achieved its full glory?:
And we saw the statue of Paul Revere on his (male!) horse:
But my wife seemed more intrigued by the nearby fountain:
She also wanted to be sure to get a picture of the grave marking of one of her ancestors: (this is true!)
I just wanted a pint:
I STILL DON’T GET IT, BUT AT LEAST I “GET IT” NOW
I don’t know how Clay Aiken has so much power over so many seemingly normal women. Ninety percent of the women I met last weekend are smart, educated, professional women, and most are married or otherwise in relationships. I think it’s ridiculous that you guys all spend so much time on the computer. I think it’s even more ridiculous that you all took a chance to meet up with one another when you’d only previously met “on-line.” You’ve traveled to distant places, and have allowed virtual strangers to give you rides and even share your beds. That is absolutely insane. I’m still mad when I think about it.
But.
Now that you really do all know each other, I can see a lot of laughter and friendship and fun times that will draw you together again and again. I’ve invited every single “Broad” I met this weekend to come to our house for the Christmas tour in Vancouver. That’s a sincere invitation.
So I still don’t “get” what it is about Clay that has this power over all of you. His voice, his personality, his looks, the combination, I have no idea, as it all seems fairly average to me. But I do “get” and even appreciate that he seems to have brought joy and happiness to so many of you. All that I witnessed in that regard was way above average. Like totally off the scale. And how can I begrudge that kind of happiness to anyone?
I’m still undecided on whether I’m going to the Christmas show, so don’t push it.
As told by Mr. Ee, with editorial assistance from his very own Alison Glock**, Eeyore/Pam
**Not to be confused with the real Alison Glock, who’s slow-danced with the real Clay Aiken…or so she says
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