Lecherous Broads For Clay Aiken!
Lecherous Broads for Clay Aiken!


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2003-09-02
8:57 p.m.

BEVR: Lurker Louise/Anaheim

Broad's Eye View Report: Lurker Louise/Anaheim

Okay, it's time. I finally admit it. I've never posted, but have been lurking among you for months on end. When I first found you I kind of looked on sideways with just one eye, then two squinty ones, before I had the nerve to gaze straight on and wide-eyed. Most of you Broads have made me laugh out loud in a room all by myself, and some of you are OH SO BAD that you have made me blush BIG TIME! Sometimes I have even had to turn my eyes away. I have always been this shy, conservative and reserved type. Suffice it to say, you have been a mighty and sustaining force for this semi-old, semi-broad who has had to wait until the VERY LAST CONCERT. I can't believe I'm doing this (it is soooooo not like me), but I feel as though I know you all now. So, with fear and trepidation befitting someone like myself, here goes...

The frenzy for me began right away. I have never been good with patience, and this time was no exception. From the last night of American Idol till my Anaheim concert date was 102 days. Repeat, just for emphasis---ONE HUNDRED AND TWO DAYS! I would have been fine if a very unexpected withdrawal hadn't set in. I have been blessed with the best of husbands (Mr. MtL----Married to Lurker) for over 30 years when all of a sudden this Clay Aiken person, this boy with a still indefinable, amazing and uniquely powerful/tender voice (how does he pull that off at the exact same time?) combined with a seemingly innocent paradoxically angelic/sensual countenance complete with WWJD bracelet, would rattle incessantly around in my brain. Like never before in the history of myself, I was pitifully smitten. I could not get enough of him.

It was time to delicately confess this to Mr. MtL. Ever so gently, over breakfast one morning---

me---"I have got to see him!"

hubby---eyes fixated on newspaper, "See who?"

me---"Get me tickets, okay? I have to see him in person. I want to be close.

Make sure we're close."

hubby---"See who? Go where? Get tickets for what? Close to who?"

It was like talking to someone from another planet. Where has he been? I gave the man a chance to fill in the gaps and prove how connected we are, but he missed what I consider to be his grandest opportunity to date. Mr. MtL doesn't really understand but has been forgiven all the same. Within four days I had in hand floor seats within very close proximity to the stage AND he had his secretary download all the old songs floating around out there in cyberspace to help me with The Wait. He is SO forgiven that I just ignored him when he asked if he had to go to the concert, too.

With seventy two days to go, Rolling Stone was on the stands and for the first time ever was now gracing several rooms in my home. Wanting Mr. MtL to start to grasp some things about my new found and most uncharacteristic (well, except for maybe food) obsession, I asked him to read the article, which he did.

me---"So, what do you think?"

hubby---"He bites his toenails."

me---"Is that ALL you got out of that whole piece?"

hubby---"Do you suppose he eats his boogers, too?"

That was INCREDIBLY not funny. HUGE article and hubby focuses on one minor, most unnecessary, little thing. What is wrong with him? He definitely deserved the silent treatment about to unfold. I actually think he was begging for it, so I only gave him what he wanted. It grew into a few days when he cautiously approached me to tell me he had run into Clay out and about in Los Angeles. He ignored my dirty look so as to continue, "He is such a nice, polite young man." I was not amused.

The next morning I discovered an AUTOGRAPHED Rolling Stone cover that was framed and hanging on my bathroom wall. Mr. MtL said, "I told you I ran into Clay." The inscription was personally made out to me with the following words--- "I was only joking about my toenails. All My Love, Clay Aiken." Since it was in my husband's handwriting, I knew it was going to be an especially long remaining sixty eight days. You see, Mr.MtL has been this jock type his whole life. He's a Bob Dylan and Tom Waits kind of guy, too. Though not without his own brand of tenderness and sensitivity, this whole Clay thing has been a shock to his system.

If it wasn't for you Broads, I would have had to go it TOTALLY alone! Because of you, I don't think I hardly missed a thing. Newspaper articles. Links to radio interviews and videos. Infectious slumber party giddiness. Heads up information regarding television appearances. The helpful and patient kindness of Broad Nelle. Tony's DVDs. Hysterically witty posts (well, with maybe an exception or two, but I think I remember someone once saying that nothing was so wrong that it couldn't be fixed or ignored). Extremely enthusiastic BEVRs every step of the way. Thank you! Thank you! You kept my one hundred and two days from being the wilderness experience I expected.

Skanky, snarky, snarly and yowza began to find their way into my every day vocabulary. Whether or not I always use them in the right context remains a whole other thing. I confess that what scared me the most about myself was that I was now tuning into MTV. Got over that. Eventually it gave me so much pleasure to watch what Gladys Knight described as a mystery---magical and pure---plopped in the middle of so much garbage. When Paula Abdul casually interjected the word sexy, I actually NO KIDDING thought I was the only other person alive who had even noticed. Now there were two of us! Was I ever wrong about THAT!!! But, I digress. At any rate, the music industry does not know what to do with Mr. Aiken. As a force to be reckoned with, they will have to stumble all over themselves to figure it out. Wait! They already are! Every now and then life just happens good.

With fifty days left, I decided to sort of split screen in my mind the Charlotte and Atlanta auditions with the AH and TRL spots on the TITN video shoot. It reminded me that I needed to get a phone call into that Matthew Rolston Rolling Stone photographer guy to have him do my family Christmas card picture for this year. It could happen.

There were forty four days to go when The Ranch was born. Goodness gracious! Mr. MtL has evidently lost his sense of adventure somewhere along the way. I wasn't even allowed to apply for a position. Jealousy can be so ugly. Never mind that the only ones left open were pretty innocuous, which would have been fine with my bashful self.

Then August 1 arrived. It was THE FIRST OFFICIAL Friday, if you get my drift. Within the twinkling of an eye, I lost my computer privileges only to find myself on an airplane the next day to get me out of the house for a week. Since I didn't want hubby to think his intervention efforts were anything short of a major over reaction, I didn't bring any CD's or DVD's, didn't search out hotel computers (in front of him), stopped begging to switch our banking over to Wachovia, and refrained from any Clay talk all together.

A word of warning while away from home, when sneaking with utmost dignity into a hotel computer access room as hubby is on the golf course, check to see if the Main Page is going to have sound as it did FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME EVER at the inauguration of Voice Day. You haven't lived until you've sat among can-hear-a-pin-drop hotel employees at their only public computer where everyone can see the screen. When BOTW started blasting out the speakers, it about knocked me off my chair. Far as I could tell, not so much as one sign of recognition around that office! Where are those millions of Clay voters when you need them? Grateful it was only Voice Day, with sweating palms, I tried to catch up on several days' worth as fast as possible. It's just a fact that I didn't leave with near the dignity as I arrived. Couldn't suppress my silly expression till well into the night, either. Just a warning. That's all it is.

Twenty days left and what does Mr. MtL decide to do? He decides it would be fun to start waking up humming "Somewhere Out There" every morning as he shaved, followed by the added treat of belting out the words in the shower. Trust me, he is no Clay. I wondered to myself how long he had been planning this and exactly what he hoped to accomplish but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking. Sometimes when someone wants to be a jerk you just have to let him. The jock in him must have been feeling a little competitive since this was also the day that about five Clay song snippets came out over the Internet. Controversy abounds over the "bad" word for whom I can only hope those with a problem have since found relief by maybe consuming a little more bran. As for me, they were new and new was a good thing.

With twelve days to go, I chose to take advantage of the fact that I have my very own real life gorgeous and talented young man to spend time with. I gave birth to him almost 24 years ago. He still lets me hang out with him from time to time, so this was a day he took me to lunch. I guess we were all caught up, because there wasn't a whole lot of conversation taking place. I decided to break the silence with a question...

me--- "Honey, have I ever explained to you what a BEVR is?"

son---after he picked his fork up off the floor and replaced it with a clean one, I could tell I must not have and that he wanted to know but just couldn't speak. That his eyes never left mine said it all. He isn't always so attentive when we are together, so I enthusiastically continued...

me--- "They are the funniest things ever. I've told your sister about them a short while ago, but I thought you might want to know, too."

son--- again, not a peep. I think he had something in his eyes that were making them water, but since he was looking at me so intently, I knew he wanted me to go on. He is so cute!

me--- "I think I want to share my BEVR with everyone, but I am a little afraid. The whole idea can be very intimidating."

son---his mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

me--- "Well? What do you think? Have any words of wisdom or encouragement?"

Somehow the subject got changed. Next thing I knew I was dropped off at home and talking on the phone with my daughter later that night. She said her brother had dropped by for a brief visit after lunch.

me---"Did he tell you what a nice time we had together today?"

daughter---"He asked if I've spent any time with you lately and if you're okay."

me---"That is so sweet! Did he tell you the difficulty I'm having with my BEVR?"

daughter---"Yes, yes he did. And he is also wondering if mom as we have always known her is gone forever. I told him that as long as Clay was around, yep, pretty much!"

me--- "I giggled all through lunch, so I hope it all made sense to him. Anything else?"

daughter--- "He asked me if I think you know what you're talking about when you say that word."

me--- "Oh really. And what might you have told him?"

daughter--- "I said, 'Yes, I ding dang think she does.'"

Entertainment Weekly is out in L.A. with three days to go. Mr. MtL reminded me that he is tight with Clay. He wanted to know if I'd like to have him get mine autographed. It must be a hard lesson because he still hasn't learned that enough time has passed between the two of us that it's not as easy for him to be as cute as it used to be. He is currently seriously deluded. He doesn't seem to mind.

Less than a day remains. I can hardly believe it. The time went by so slowly. If there's any silver lining the past 102 days, its that my computer is upstairs and my refrigerator is downstairs. Atkins has nothing on Aiken! It's true, I've lost 40 pounds! Finally found an exercise that suits me. To think that my bagging, sagging, wrinkled self will be especially lovely for such a special night! Thanks to previous BEVRs, I have been forewarned that Clay really connects with his audience. Since I'll be down close, do you think I'll get one of those eye-thingies when he notices?

BUT, what to wear? I had to sleep on it, if you could call it that. Three thirty in the morning I woke up in this menopausal sweat worried Clay would have ZERO voice left at the end of his grueling schedule, with COREY filling in for him. Found myself feeling a little depressed for the first time. Then, with the hospital, allergies and possible infection talk in recent days, maybe he'd be too sick to perform---- complicated by collective fan germs from multiple hugs and hand touches across America. Or, maybe Ruben finally tied Clay's tie for him way too tight, having been previously unsuccessful at hiring his bodyguard to bump him off. I love to worry. And it gave me something to do as Mr. MtL slept like a baby. Except for the snoring part. Sitting up in the dark, it made me wonder aloud if Clay snores. After another 45 minutes of it, I also wondered how attractive Clay's future wife will find it.

"Rise and shine. We're goin' to church, then tonight I get to take you to see Mr. Bitchen." I was never more aware that we grew up in the sixties than at that very moment. I guess Mr. MtL was finally awake. Have I mentioned that The Wait has been long and torturous? If he's going to be that way, going braless is now under serious consideration. And I don't mean for just the concert. I'm talkin' church, too, baby!

With all the time I had to plan for August 31, you'd a thunk I could've come up with someone better to go with than an eye-rolling husband. It was just starting to dawn on me that I would have no BEVR Broadfriend euphoria to impart. Too late now. We were on our way. I had made it clear to Mr. MtL that I had no desire to allow notorious L.A. traffic or any other unforeseen obstacle make me late for this concert. Problem solved. We decided to spend the day in Anaheim in between church and Clay. So you know, going braless to Knott's Berry Farm had never been on my list of things to do. While there, I found it very, uh---surreal---to be standing in line with mostly all senior citizens in excited anticipation of digging into their famous Knott's fried chicken dinner KNOWING that in a very short while I would be lost in a sea of full body screamers----not really sure in which group I best fit. Upon leaving Knotts for The Pond I asked Mr. MtL to tuck in his shirt, but only in the front. I guess I just answered my own question.

Arrived an hour early. Had some people-watching to do. We were going to go right in to take our seats, but heard some screams on the adjacent side of the building. Of course I had to check out what that was all about. Buses. I saw buses. Even at 6:30 PM, Clay had not gotten off his yet. Would I (A) rather people-watch from my seat for the next hour as planned, or (B) stand on the curb with a bunch people I swore I'd never be like? Never had done anything like that before in my life, but there I stood having embraced Plan (B) with reckless abandon, ready to fight with anyone who might have the audacity to stand in front of me. I was at that spot on the curb FIRST, you know! That little plot of real estate had my name on it for as long as it was going to take.

And it took a good while. We all had to wait for temporary railing to be put in place to hold back the crowd. What is wrong with us that someone can't walk from a bus to a building without the potential of getting mauled??? I felt like I was at the zoo waiting to see some rare species' grand unveiling. And maybe I was. The only problem is that when Clay emerged from the bus, Jerome walked so perfectly by his side that he completely blocked my view. All I could see was the fluff on the top of his hair over Jerome's shoulder. Oh well, there was still time to people-watch inside. The lights dimmed at exactly 7:30 PM. This final performance was starting on time.

A half hour into the show, I turned to Mr. MtL to see how he was doing. Our faces were inches apart, eyes locked. The two of us have become impressively adept at unspoken communication so I knew he understood that I was deeply grateful for the wonderful seats and the broker prices he paid to make this night happen. I also understood that he only looked moderately constipated. Could things be going any better? I think not. We were having a GREAT time!

I purposely hadn't shared any of the bootleg videos of the tour with hubby. So, right after Kim Locke finished and the stage started fogging up simultaneously with video and thunderous screaming, he deadpans, "I think this might be him." YA THINK??? Then he handed me some small binoculars he had hidden deep inside my oversized purse. "We're on the right side of the stage, and I understand your boy spends much of his time on the left. Don't want you to miss anything." How did he know that? My captivation began to shift away from the stage. But, no. I couldn't let it. We'll have to talk, but later. I was going to be busy for a while.

Up HE ascends singing the song I have grown as weary hearing as he's probably grown singing. Consummate professionals, you couldn't tell by watching either of us. THIS was different. THIS time it was in person. THIS is what I had been waiting for. To hear the power and the range up close for myself. It was like when you wake up from a sound sleep, when words spoken are distinctly loud and clear as if in a tunnel, with no distracting noise. Time stood still. I couldn't hear the crowd. Only him. Okay, that I had some forty days over the Internet to watch and listen and practice tuning out all the screaming might have had something to do with it.

Clay not only sounded as wonderful as I had hoped, but he was handsome, gorgeous, adorable. Whew! I was so relieved no one had been making it up. That would have stunk! Chills, tingles, hot flash, face-breaking grin, fully riveted---I felt every last ounce of Christian maturity I ever thought I had drain right on out of my body. It might take years to regain, but I'll worry about that tomorrow. Right now, I simply adore this boy, sans any serious lechery. Please don't hate me for that. Fervent and passionate appreciation ought to count for something!

Kudos to the rest of the ensemble. They're living their dream, too. I enjoyed every one of them and give them all the credit in the world. What a summer they've had! Not intending to ignore anyone BUT my eyes and ears were pretty much in attendance for the singular purpose of experiencing Mr. Aiken. That's what I said one hundred and two days ago, and I still meant it.

I loved the banter and playful interaction happening on the stage. They all seemed to genuinely like one another, and they all seemed especially "up" for this last performance---ready to celebrate the end of an amazing experience. Clay's mom and younger brother were in the crowd (and in need of Jerome's services as well). There were lots of public thanks extended to those behind the scenes, albeit the same behind-the-scenes crew that for a joke lowered the disco ball so low during the BeeGee's segment that Clay and Co. could have bumped their heads on it. It was about this time that the lighting guy in the catwalk above them dumped a bag of all the panties that had been thrown on stage over the last two months. The startled faces were priceless, and clean-up took a little longer than usual. Since it was a taste of what was to come in the way of a solo tour, my favorite moments were naturally when Clay was on stage by himself. Can You Feel the Love Tonight was performed with more sensual sweetness than a person should be allowed to have. Seems only fair, though, since he invented it. Patent pending. Moving across the stage with his left foot at 10 o'clock and his right foot at 2 o'clock only adds to the element of innocent pure genius. For whatever MAGICAL looks like, I knew I was witnessing it.

Invisible. Nothing compared to seeing it in person. There simply are no words. Would YOWZA work right about now? I'll just say that Clay could not have sounded any better or performed it any better. You would think that would have been enough to satisfy me, but he only did it once. Was I the only one there who wanted to yell out for him to do it again, please? Would that have been so wrong? Mercy! Have I mentioned that I had to wait ONE HUNDRED AND TWO DAYS? Anyway, there was a more intensified sensual sweetness going on at this point. That would probably be the Christian definition of what I was watching. At any rate, I think he has a never-ending supply. He didn't use it all up during CYFTLT, that's for sure. HRH. I love that. It fits him perfectly. Invisible AGAIN PLEASE will always have seemed a reasonable request to me, but it wasn't going to happen. It left me waxing philosophical, though. Did anyone else wonder if the team jerseys worn across America were in any way a quiet statement that even though all eyes were now on him, he is still the same person? Still not Ferris Bueller, but Ferris Bueller's friend?

I didn't think the night could get any better, but on the way home Mr. MtL volunteered, "I think Bob Dylan's Standing In The Doorway would be a good song for Clay. Or maybe even Mama, You've Been On My Mind." Higher praise does not exist from hubby than to think someone could do justice to a Dylan song. Somewhere during the show, macho eye-rolling came to a screeching halt. What's more, he compared Clay to Elvis. Shhhhh! Hubby thinks he's the first to notice this. Since I know what that feels like, I will leave him alone with that thought. Much to even his chagrin, we have to wait FORTY FOUR DAYS until the CD comes out. This whole business of waiting is going to kill me!

Ya have to admit it, cuz it's true. There is only one part of Clay Aiken's body here on this site that hasn't been reverentially dissected and carefully analyzed. In fact, it hasn't really been examined at all! That would be his right wrist and just exactly why he wears that bracelet. To say it represents his "faith" is way too vague, don't ya think? Means too many things to too many people. I want to know what it means to Clay. As a young man who was living a life of purpose before any of us knew his name, it might be the most alluring part of him yet. Maybe even worth looking into. It could even have something to do with the reason he sparkles. And he does, indeed, sparkle. I saw it for myself. Funny as the whole Good Clay/Bad Clay thread has been, I strongly suspect that at the end of the day, Good Clay is what's real. Don't think he can help it. He's been bought for a price, and knows it. I am not referring to RCA or any other such worldly management team here, either!

"Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven." Matt. 5:16

The Summer of Clay will be forever etched in my memory. Now that he will be able to distance himself from American Idol, his real life career is about to start. No way he's a flash in the pan. No way! Even hubby agrees. We will support him in everything he does and are prepared to cut him all the slack he needs for any mistakes he will undoubtedly make both personally and professionally along the way. But, before that happens----if I could thank Clay for anything (obvious vocal talent aside) it would be for showing me what guts, perseverance, humility, guilelessness, confidence, gratitude, a teachable spirit, conviction, selflessness, humor, graciousness and pure joy tangibly looks like on a person. I have people like that in my friendships, but they must have been too close to see. No more! Through my life's sorrows and disappointments, some hardness of heart had been taking root. NO MORE! I feel like I have had a miraculous non-invasive surgery to reconnect the internal wiring I once thought I was forced to accept as forever short-circuited. When you all talk about your Clay-induced goofy grins, I can totally relate. What a gift! For years now there has been no one---that's NO ONE---worth my time and money on the pop music scene. Clay's story is an isolated treasure in this upside-down world. We are each blessed to have been paying attention, having caught it from the very beginning.

Lurker Louise/Anaheim

Bus #0

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