2004-05-07
12:45 p.m.

Wednesday's Child

Tuesdays were wonderful. We waited with great anticipation for our weekly hit of Clay. What would he sing? What would he wear? What would he say when he chatted with Ryan? As 8:00 approached, we would kick our loved ones out of the room, cover the couch with a protective sheet, and lay all our phones out within easy reach.

And there would be Clay. No matter how much we thought we knew him, he would never fail to surprise us. To blow us away. To make us fall in love with him. Again and again and again and again and again.

Yes, Tuesday nights were wonderful. We still watch them over and over again and know each performance by heart. We look back with great nostalgia, missing our weekly dates with Clay.

But Wednesday nights are different. How many of us look back fondly on Wednesdays? Which of us wants to relive them? The nerves. The fear that we hadn't voted enough. The godawful group numbers.

No, many of us prefer to leave Wednesday nights forgotten. To put them behind us. To erase the traumatic memories. Wednesday nights were full of swooning and crying and, worst of all, the Clarmen.

But Wednesday nights are as much a part of our history as Tuesdays. We must learn to own them. To embrace them. To obsess over them the way we obsess over everything else in this fandom.

Today is a good day to start because it marks the one-year anniversary of Bee Gees Results Night. What's so special about that, you ask? That particular Wednesday offers us a fascinating synthesis of all that made the AI2 experience what it was.

Let's start by looking at who was left. The cute people had all had their cute little booties booted off. The trendy, fashionable ones were asked to turn in their wardrobe keys. The dancers had danced their way into trivia oblivion. Anyone who looked or acted like any kind ofpopstar we'd ever seen before was gone.

That night, the final four took the stage in what can only be described as a moment of triumph for each and every one of us who was not one of the cool kids in high school. I mean, just look at them. Can't you just see them sitting together in the cafeteria, a tight-knit band of square pegs pretending they don't care that the popular kids don't like them, standing by each other when the football players give Clay a wedgie or the cheerleader laughs when Ruben asks her out, dreaming of the day when they are rich and famous and can exact their revenge by showing up at the high school reunion and bestowing condescending kindness and pity on the poor slobs who used to be popular and now try to suck up to the desirable classmates they had once ridiculed?

These were the four chosen by America.

The stylists and choreographers at AI must have groaned in despair when they saw who was left. They probably scratched their fashionably coiffed heads and wondered what the heck they were going to do with this collection of misfits. And they didn't get it. They didn't understand that America had decided it was about talent, not image, so AI continued to put this wonderfully motley crew through the motions of a typically cheesy AI production number.

And thank god they did. Or else we wouldn't have the glory that is the Bee Gees medley.

To their credit, the final four tried. Josh, Ruben, and Clay did their best impersonation of the Supremes, singing proud and loud that they were just women in love.

They earnestly performed the goofy choreography (which had obviously been adapted to meet the utter lack of dancing ability in this group), even when it put them in awkward and humorous positions like this one, which I call "AI meets Bohemian Rhapsody."

Okay, Ruben does look a little embarrassed to be there (and more than happy to have his face blocked). But Clay was giving it his all, embracing the cheese as only he can, bless his dear heart.

Sadly, one of the best moments was not adequately captured on tape. During "Night Fever," while the camera focuses on Kim, we see a sweet, skinny, stripey arm briefly thrust into the frame, finger exuberantly waving.

Yes, it's just one frame, and it's only an arm, but we know what he was doing. We can fill in the picture. And imagine him in a black shirt and white polyester suit. Oh yea, you know what I'm talking about. Dang that cameraperson for missing it. (BTW, I'll pay good money if anyone finds video from one of the other cameras capturing that dance move in its full seventies glory.)

Luckily, the cameras did not miss The Great KimberMe Snub. You remember this (and if you don't, download the video NOW and watch it). Caldwell was there, trying to get her face on camera, as usual.

Clay enters the audience to sing, and ignoring KimberMe, singing to the woman directly in front of her (I'm sure Caldwell pulled that woman's hair in a jealous rage after it was over). He turns, and the big tease starts to reach out to KimberMe, who grins excitedly. But then, in one of the greatest moment in AI history, our favorite snarky lad pulls away from her and rolls his eyes. Oh yes he did.

It was a thing of beauty. My heart burst in bitchy pride.

But Wednesdays weren't just about fun and cheese and tacky group numbers. That night is also a perfect example of the tension and foreboding with which we met each Wednesday. That night, Clay had more than a little reason to be nervous. He'd just been called "horrible" on national television. No wonder he looked so scared. Our hearts went out to him.

Only someone with a quicksilver temperament like Clay could be silently, blankly staring one moment,

and smirking the next,

switching from dread

to a coy wink

and back again, leaving us, as always, unsettled and confused, fascinated by this man who we could never figure out but could only breathlessly try to keep up with.

We were afraid that night, and so was he.

We shared his relief

and basked in his smile.

And that was what being a Clay fan was all about.

Written by Katynka
Capped by Melissa