I will warn you: this is a TV-heavy post. What can I say, I’ve been home sick for two days. Would you rather I write solely about the latest Vanity Fair and Us Weekly?
(Okay, so maybe you would. But here’s the TV thing anyway.)
First: I blame my friend Leigh entirely for the fact that I now have an interest in Cheerleader Nation. God help me, it’s like the best Mades and Camp Jim all rolled into one. What is this (my?) fascination with cheerleaders? Maybe it has to do with the whole high school thing, where they were these distant, exotic creatures, so far from anything else. And now, with these shows, we get to see what that life is actually like. Or maybe it’s just all the tumbling, who knows? Whatever the reason, now it’s on my season pass, and you know what that means: something else has to go. Hmmm. Have to think on that one. I did stop watching Project Runway (but only because it ended) but still, that counts. Right?
Oh, I’m so pathetic I can’t even stand it. So I might as well just lose myself in said pathetic-ness entirely, by talking about Idol, and the show last night. First of all, regular readers of this space know about my love love LOVE of Barry Manilow, so as soon as I saw he was the guest, helping the singers with their songs, I was gone. I know it’s now kitschy-cool to like Barry, with his number one album and AI connections, but how many people can claim to have loved him forever AND went to see him in concert way back in, like, 1994? Yep, that’s right. I still think we had a serious spiritual connection once I got moved up to the front row due to my overwhelming enthusiasm. (Okay, now I’ve gone from pathetic to downright embarrassing.) But I digress.
Barry aside, the best part of the show, for me, was Mandisa. She just brought the house down. I liked Kelly Pickler, as well, if only because she forced Barry to admit he’d never heard Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight.” I have to say, I was SHOCKED. Look for some vintage Patsy on Barry’s next album, mark my words.
Whenever I personally hear Patsy Cline, I think of my friend Kelly, who was my first roomate once I moved out of my parents’ house. I bought a Patsy Cline CD soon after I moved in, and I was listening to it all the time, but Kelly would just sigh and shake her head. “That’s drinking and crying in your beer music!” she’d say, when I was blasting it while cleaning, offended that I’d listen to “Crazy” while dusting. And you know what, she was kind of right. Context is important, in music and in everything. But on the same note (so to speak) a good song is a good song no matter where or when you hear it. Such is the power of music….
….and speaking of music (ahem) I realized while in my stomach-virus haze that my book comes out in (gulp) a little over two weeks. In fact, if past experience is any judge, it may turn up in some stores even before then. I feel like I should be doing something to get ready, like, I don’t know, yoga or lots of wonderful deeds to increase my good karma or maybe just taking deep, calming breaths. Instead, I’m watching entirely too much TV, worshipping Barry Manilow and wondering where the time has gone. It seems like only yesterday that I finished the first draft of Just Listen, when really it was almost a year ago. Whew! Time flies. And keeps flying. Guess it’s best to just grab tight, and hold on….