2005-03-09
7:05 p.m.

BEVR: Jynnan Tonnix, Hawaii

Broad's Eye View Report:
Voices for Change BAF Gala, 2-25-05

Well, I'm finally more or less ready to lay my BEVR out for public consumption. It may not be the best manicured one out there, or the juiciest, and frankly may be just a little on the self-centered side, but it's mine and I am just grateful for the fact that Clay Aiken had even the smallest roll...um, role in it...

As carefully as I planned the evening, and as much as I checked and double-checked that everything was in place and functioning, it was inevitable that something would go wrong right off the bat. Halfway there, I suddenly realized that the memory stick for my camera was still in the computer at home. To turn back or not? I'd left a little early to allow for getting-lost time (I was meeting a friend downtown), but did I want to give it all up? Impulsively I pulled into the nearest shopping center, jogged through the parking lot in my sparkly dress and 4 inch heels, and plunked down $40 for a new stick (yeah, me, Miss "I can't afford to go to the benefit"). Proceeded to get back on the highway in the wrong direction, thus losing the rest of my extra time, and finally still managed to pull up to my friend's office building at the stroke of 5:00, where I managed to miss the entrance to the parking garage not once but twice, having to crawl around the block with rush-hour traffic at 10 minutes per pop. Finally located a small municipal parking lot where I begged a quarter off a passing pedestrian for the meter and sprinted to the office building. Only 25 minutes late....still plenty of time.

I follow her down to the Sheraton where it becomes clear that we do indeed have plenty of time, because the line that has formed for registration is not moving, and continues not to move for at least another 45 minutes. Wasn't this supposed to start at 6:00? Oh, well...it's for Clay...we can put up with a lot. My friend offers to take my picture in front of the BAF sign. The camera flashes "Memory Stick Locked". What the heck does THAT mean?? Yeah, it's my camera, but it's never told me that before. Nothing works. I try inserting the stick backwards, forwards, and sideways, check all the settings...Nothing. Did I buy the wrong kind? I'm heartbroken at the thought of no personal Clack, but I know that enough will surface...This is still all for Clay, and I can still put up with a lot. The line finally moves, and we are herded to...another line. Immobile, of course.

Eventually things seem to get organized and we are ushered in to the silent auction area. Mostly a lot of signed posters, CD's magazines and the like. I stay strong. No more spending money. The Kenny smock is on display at the eBay table, and I'm shocked to feel a sting of tears behind my eyelids at the sight of it. I need to get a grip. It's right behind the table, about 4 feet away. It does not appear to have been washed...it's a bit creased and fuzzy. I don't see any auburn hairs of it from here, but the urge to get behind the table and lay my cheek against it is almost unbearable. Just one sniff? No? *sigh*

I go to check whether anyone is bidding on my drawings. They are, which makes me feel a little better, but now I'm just impatient to get to the main event (as I'm sure everyone reading this is as well...). I fiddle with the camera some more but it has not changed its mind. Oh, well...with the number of people who will be in there, what are the chances of getting a good photo anyway? This sure doesn't look anything like the projected 1500 people, though. We check the seating charts to find only 47 tables. Wow. Less than 500 people...And our table appears to be just off to the side from where the VIP tables are bunched close to the stage. This could be good. Assuming he will be front and center we should actually be able to glimpse him even when he's not on stage. Desperately I try the camera one last time, and notice a tiny rectangle on the back of the memory stick. I look closer. The minuscule lettering next to it blessedly says "Lock-unlock"...A hairsbreadth change in position, and the camera is up and running. I grab a few shots of my drawing with Clay's signature on it...seeing it in such close proximity to my own signature makes me unreasonably happy, and I am relieved to know that even though I have to let it go, I have a photo for posterity.

Finally the doors open and we enter the ballroom to find our table. The seats are maybe not quite as good as those in the first few rows of a regular concert, but certainly will be good enough to see him clearly and get recognizable, if not detailed photos. The intimacy of the venue more than makes up for it, though, as will hearing him actually speak. Seeing him perform is one thing, and I am looking forward to it, but something about the idea of actually being there to experience Clay speak of his deeper passions, to maybe glimpse another piece of his soul, will, I know, be priceless. A few minutes later we spot Nick and Jerome milling around close to the side of the stage. And Mary as well, I learn, though, bad Clay fan that I am I'm not really familiar enough with her face to recognize her. They take their seats, which are at a table directly in front of us...about the space of 3 tables away, though due to the configuration, there is actually only one table between us and them. I know the distance is too great for flash to be effective, and the table is pretty well shadowed, so getting photos will be impossible. I am determined not to be one of those intrusive fans in any case. Must not provoke the Aiken.

As I readjust the flash settings, my friend pokes me and lets out a muffled squeal. Suddenly, there he is. With no fanfare he makes his way casually to his seat. The volume rises as a wave of realization spreads throughout the room, but people give him his space. He seems relaxed and happy, chatting with people at his table. Other than Nick, I can't really see who is there. Clay is sitting with his back to the stage and is almost directly in front of me. If not for that other table, the view would be perfect. We eat our salads...there are enoki mushrooms on them, to say nothing of the crushed macadamia nuts in lieu of croutons. I'm assuming Clay has a safer alternative, but he seems to mostly be chowing down on rolls anyway. He's not quite close enough for me to really study his features, but close enough that I can watch him chew and swallow, which suddenly seems unreasonably, unbearably erotic. I suppose I should stop staring...it occurs to me more strongly in this setting than ever how very unnerving it must be to have so many eyes studying your every move, wanting it for themselves, and I make the effort not to keep my eyes fixed on him, but knowing how quickly the mental image will fade, I can't help but try to soak in as much of him as I can. I've seen so many first-hand reports that rhapsodize over his skin. Indeed, at this distance it does appear supernaturally perfect and luminous. I have no doubt it would be as amazing up close. It's no trick of lighting. Is he wearing makeup? I suppose it's possible, but if so it's a brand no one else seems to have discovered. Miss Hawaii, at the next table, is not remotely as beautiful. Nor is anyone else in my line of sight.

At about this point a couple of people start to inch closer to his table for better photographs. He can't possibly be as oblivious as he seems, but his nonchalance emboldens a handful more. Nobody stops them. My resolve not to be one.of.them. is rapidly weakening. I need to be closer, and settle for an inconspicuous spot on the outskirts of the small group, which has now gathered. I give myself only enough time for a couple of quick shots before returning to the table. They are still very dark and grainy. Barely recognizable. Staying in my seat as the crowd continues to surge around his table is an effort in willpower, but I anchor myself my babbling (semi incoherently, I'm sure) to the woman beside me, a stranger, about how beautiful he is. She hugs me in solidarity and I know she understands.

By the time I look back up, Jerome has dispersed the crowd and things are back to normal. The program continues, dinner is served (for those who noticed that Clay sent his back at one point, I suspect that possibly, if his fillet mignon was as perfectly medium-rare as the rest, he may have wanted it a little more completely dead)...I'm pretty much in a haze by this point. I won't go into the details of his speech...I wouldn't be able to quote them anyhow, and I'm sure everyone has read or downloaded it by now...Suffice it to say I find his eloquence staggering. As a public speaker he has the power and conviction to almost make you forget how frickin' gorgeous he is. The speech may have been on the teleprompters, but one has only to see and hear the difference in cadence between the parts he is clearly reading (the letters in his hands) and the body of the speech to know he is speaking from his heart, and while he may have glanced at the teleprompters occasionally, they were only backup, and I have no doubt he would have done as well without them.

Having the Jumbotron there to be able to see all the nuances in expression as he spoke was also a blessing. I'll admit (if no-one actually beats me up over it) to the occasional twinge of cynicism as to whether the public Clay Aiken persona can possibly be a genuine mirror of the man himself. I know the occasional stories and rumors to the contrary almost certainly have little to do with actual fact, but they have sometimes nagged at me nonetheless. And he's not perfect, of course, but his speech, the way his tone and his face soften, almost crumple at times as he reads from the kids' letters telegraphs a genuine and complete love for and commitment to these children and his cause. And while he may have shown some potential as an actor, he's not exactly Oscar-bait yet. So...yeah...this is no performance. This is Clay.

As to the hair...since it seems to have sparked so much controversy...Personally, though I love the spikes, I find Hawaii hair an endlessly appealing alternate look. Actually, I have yet to see a photo of video clip which accurately captures just how lovely it really was (IMO, of course). I love Rock.Stah.Clay with an almighty passion, but this look...grownup, not cutting-edge, larger than, but still real-life humanitarian Clay...this is a man to love on a real-life level.

Then he sang. His voice was incredible...soaring...note-perfect (well, except for whatever that little bobble was that kept him from sustaining the last note of BOTW...but he DID nail the note!)...full, rich and strong. I've never heard him sound better. Of course, the only other live performance I have notched in my bedpost was Albuquerque, which did not have the best of acoustics, but it was just a wall of perfect sound that brought us back to the frenzied Clay-fan level. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail here either...I'm assuming everyone has seen the Clack, and this is getting far longer than I should expect anyone to read. We swooned, we thudded....it was all a blur in the mad see-saw of the compulsion to capture as much as I could in tangible form balanced against just experiencing the glory of him performing in front of me. And, yeah, the camera lens really IS a condom...and having it between Clay and me was just not good.

So I'm left with hazy memories and fuzzy photographs. The memories are here as best as I can describe them. Most of the photos are on my computer, but since my last attempt at posting were pretty much a disaster, I will defer to someone with more talent...Finishing this brings back the feeling of seeing him leave the stage and the almost simultaneous need to see him again, so I'm just going to stop here and hope that there was at least a little in all this rambling that helped convey the experience to all of you who could only be here in spirit.

I missed you!

Jynnan Tonnix

Posted by Nelle, thanks to Ncgurrl for the pic of the Kenny Smock