beyond the pale

All right. Love songs with Andrea Bocelli. Just a ramble here:

Katherine — “I Have Nothing”. She was a trainwreck. TrainWRECK. She was trying too hard, straining, forcefully strutting in hopes of having SOME impact. At one moment, as she was singing “don’t walk away from me,” a weird, inappropriate smile flashed. So disconnected and contrived. Bizarre. This should be a song all Idol contestants are steered away from, ALWAYS. Whitney Houston set the bar so high, it’s in the stratosphere. I liked her dress, though.

(By the way, I LOVED how, during the rehearsals, David Foster basically told them they all sucked. He was VERY blunt. He pushed them hard. I loved him for that.)

Elliott sang … something. I didn’t know the song. But, oh, he was GOOOOD!! On the downside, his eyes are always frozen somewhat, ah, unattractively. He needs coaching on the way he LOOKS when he sings, just like Clay Aiken did a few years ago. To me, he always looks like he’s reading off a TelePrompter or staring down the barrel of a shotgun. He doesn’t know what do to with his face. But he WAS good!!! And Poorla was a puddle. And Simon laughed at her. As did I.

Kellie — “Unchained Melody.” AGHHHH!!!! Well, all I can say is Pickler, meet Playboy.

Paris — “The Way We Were.” She CAN sing, but she sang this song like a girl. She IS a girl. She just needs to skip on home and live some life. Until then, she won’t be able to sing from her heart. It’s clear she’s never been in love, never really been tested or heartbroken. I mean, she smiled through this entire song. She had no clue. If she’d understood the song, you’d have seen it on her face. Remember Fantasia and “Summertime” a few years ago?

Taylor — “Just Once.” Why is he dressed like he’s got a best man gig after the show? Ick. He seemed out of sorts. I could swear I caught him looking for the exits. And he wasn’t breathing right. Oh, Taylor. Not good.

Chris — “Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman?” Well, he just brought it! He DID. Thank God. He saved the show, really. Good for you, Chris!!

LAWWDY, PEOPLE!!

I just called NFL house and freakin’ NFL player answered the phone!! Um, I recognize his voice. Where the hell was Jeeves to answer the phone??

Oh, and I was an idiot, of course. My voice suddenly squeaked reallyhighandfastandbreathlessandRETARDED!!

HoooRAAAY!!!!

You stay classy, San Diego.

We were in the car, having some kind of generic brand domestic squabble. A brief round of sparring followed by several moments of silence.

Then:

MB: Well?? What’s going on over there??

ME (with great energy): I’m gettin’ mad just THINKING about what you’re thinking about!

He burst out laughing. Squabble over.

So I’m reading something to My Beloved the other day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him DARE to sneak a peak at the book in his lap. WHAT?! Something more captivating than I AMMM??

Total mayhem ensues. Accusations, charges, counter-charges, interrogations.

Finally, he breaks down, confesses, agrees to listen as I finish my, uh, riveting dramatic reading.

And then comes this, said lightly and deftly, the plea bargain of someone who knows me a little TOO well and is accustomed to dealing with the impossible every day:

“Okay. Okay. I’m totally listening to you. And I won’t look at you, which I know you hate. And I won’t look at anything else, which I know you hate. Pro-ceed.”

Dashing off a newsy post here — kinda disjointed. Bear with me!

So you know how, whatever sport you follow, you have your certain favorites, those players who have your diehard support, no matter what may come? There’s just something about them. Maybe it’s that singular way they play. Maybe it’s the way they comport themselves off the field. Or the way they graciously handle winning and losing. Maybe they love their mommas. Or do charity work. Or maybe they look especially saucy in their uniforms. Maybe it’s a combination, but it’s something. They are apart in your mind from other players.

I have several of those in the NFL, in baseball, and in tennis.

And it just so happens that …. in 2 weeks I will be teaching a home school drama class IN THE HOME of one of my NFL favorites. He’s fairly recently retired actually, but he was always one of those players for me.

LAWDY!!! I mean, LAAWWWDDY!!!

I mean, just how many opportunities does this life present to discover that you really ARE one of those people that you secretly fear you could be, given the right circumstances? You know, the ones who fawn and blush and stutter and trip over the famous, making themselves memorable in the most appalling way? I mean, that just might be me and I simply cannot go on living if that is me.

So how did this happen, you ask? Well, Mr. NFL’s wife — the nicest but biggest flake in the world — sent her kid to my drama camp last summer. In September, when the school year started, she called to ask me if I’d teach a home school drama session — for a rather obscene amount of money, frankly. Sure thing, nice ‘n’ flaky NFL wife! I’m there!!

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Months went by. I worked a bit on it, dropped it. Then I DID hear from her, only to learn that it had been postponed. Maybe in April, she says. Okay, I say, just let me know by the beginning of March.

Then I didn’t hear from her and I didn’t hear from her. Again. Then I emailed her. Nothing. I put aside ANY planning I’d even done on the damn thing and kicked myself for not asking for a sizeable deposit up front. I’m one savvy laaady, my friends.

Then out of the blue, about 10 days ago, a phone call. Tracey, she says, we’re so excited to have you start on April 26th!

Um, HUH?? WHA??

(And by the way, you are not “so excited,” you are “so escited.” I thought we made that abundantly clear already.)

So back to my WHA?? I was in no way ready to start on April 26th. I didn’t even know it was still “on,” much less that it was starting on April 26th. I’m not even available April 26th! AND, oh, have I mentioned that I’m thoroughly UNPREPARED?

So I hear her message, which she whispers, actually, and I’m kinda annoyed, both by its content and by the fact I virtually have to lay my head down on my machine just for the privilege of being exasperated. I call her back, fully intent on — oh, showing her! — and telling her what an impossible, rich, NFL flake she is, but instead, end up talking in a sweety-sweet voice that cannot possibly be mine if I’m to remain unkilled by myself AND promising her I can start May 3rd! Ooooh, yeah, Tracey, ya showed her! Ya showed her real good! Nice job being shamelessly seduced by the glow of NFL bling and fame, you drama whore, and by her fluttery whispery voice that made you feel that you and only YOU could teach these poor deprived kids the drama they so desperately need.

And see how I’m diligently preparing right at this moment? Ranting about it, as I am? I guess this seems wise and good to me, you know, because of my overall savviness. Frankly, I’m overcome with slackassery about the whole thing because I’m just waiting for Flaky NFL wife to call up and say, Oh, Tracey, we’ve decided to take Fancy and Cubby and go to the south of France instead. Ta!!

So look, Tracey, old girl, you’d really better getcher pants on about this. Really. You think you perform better under pressure. And …. uh, that’s usually true, but did you even HEAR how you crumbled in the face of fluttery NFL bling and fame?? You were a total pie-face.

The reality is, Tracey, that barring yet another change of plans, in about 2 weeks you’ll be driving your humble, little black car into the lush, ridiculous environs of Rancho Santa Fe, winding around those hills, trying to find their tony, ridiculous mansion.

Which makes me wonder: How do you find a rich person’s mansion? Are the addresses on the front of the mansions? Are they on the street curbs?? I’m sure I won’t even be able to SEE the front of the mansion, so putting the address there is pointless, right?

So, really, where are the addresses??

Sweet Moses. Now I’m freaking out. Where ARE the addresses on rich people’s mansions?? Do you need them or is there some other method of finding them? Will they just have their personal Jeeves on the cul-de-sac waving me in? Look for the tall and angular Jeeves, dahling, with the salt-and-pepper hair, waggling his hanky at you, not that tubby and sweaty Jeeves down the street with the perpetual grimace on his face.

LAWDY!!

I don’t wanna keep a lookout for Jeeveses!!

Seriously, I can’t do it if I can’t find the address and if I can’t find the address that means I’m desperately stupid and if I’m desperately stupid then I certainly can’t find the address OR keep a lookout for Jeeveses and do you see how this all goes ’round in a pathetic little circle?

All right, Tracey. Calm down. Just go there and do your best Maria-von-Trapp-does-drama routine. You’ve sure got the clothes for it. And your car ain’t much better than a bike, that’s for damn sure.

Maybe make up a little ditty for the kiddos, like this:

Let’s stahht at the very beginning
A very good place to stahht
When you read, you begin with A-B-C
When you act, you begin with me-me-me!

Chirren, repeating, pointing to themselves like good little robots:

ME-ME-ME

Tracey von Trapp:

The first 3 things just happen to be — me-me-me!

Chirren, pointing again:

ME-ME-ME!

Tracey von Trapp:

ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-ME-MEEE!!!!

Okay. That’s it.

Perfect!

And I thought I wasn’t prepared.