Yikes. Where to begin?
Yeah, I know it’s been two months since my last update. Let’s just say, it wasn’t all my fault. It all started when some moron from Verizon was doing work in my building, came upon my phone lines on the roof or wherever phone lines like to hang out and cop a smoke and said, “Huh, what are these funny wires here? Oh, and look, I’ve got wire cutters just burning a hole in my hand. NO, bad, bad wire cutters, I must resist thy temptation, no, I can’t just cut these wires because I can’t figure out their greater purpose in life. No, I won’t…oops. Too late.”
Yeah. Six weeks of no Internet. I think I went through some sort of horrific techno DTs. No email, no blogs, no trolling the Benjamin Moore website to decide whether I prefer Avocado Green or Dusty Clay. (If my editor happens to be reading this, I was never there.) I swear I was like Paula Abdul without a meaningless compliment. And speaking of Paula, I am hooked once again. You know what I’m talking about–my great shame spiral, American Idol, sucked me in once again. I swore I wouldn’t do it after living through the snoozefest that was Carrie Underwhelm, er, Underwood. But here I am once again, attached to my TV four nights a week and I’m not even talking DVR. It’s AI, straight up, no chaser.
But, before we get started on Idol chatter, I just want to answer some FAQs.
Is there a third book?
Yes, yes, and definitely yes. I’m working like a madwoman on it right now. It will come out in Fall ’07. No title yet, but I’m working on that, too. (Somehow I don’t think Book #3 is all that riveting.)
Is there going to be a movie?
Not so far. It’s out there, and if some fabulous producer wants to drive a truck up to my house and have Ace Young hand-deliver a few boxes of cash for the rights, you’ll be the first to know. Oh, sorry. I promised we’d talk AI later.
Can you email me?
I wish I could. Truly. Buuuut…I do try to answer people’s posts here. I’m sorry that I’ve gotten so behind. It was due to the whole Verizon Internet fiasco. I’ll try to be better. Bear with me as I head into heavy deadline mode.
Okay, back to my AI addiction. My early favorites on the guys:
1. Taylor Hicks. Yes, I know he moves like Joe Cocker without seizure medication but the dude can sing. And I loved the harmonica.
2. Chris Daughty. What can I say? My rocker chick heart is happy.
3. Elliot Yamin. He sort of reminds of “Mr. Tumnus sings!” but great voice and I dug his headphones t-shirt.
My bottom three:
1. Bobby Bennett. Wow. It’s just…I…wow.
2. David “The Crooner”. I know, he’s cute, and I feel like I’m taking kibble away from a shelter puppy but he butchered a Queen song and for that he must be held accountable.
3. Bucky Covington. Is it just me? I can’t understand a word he says. Maybe if he had subtitles. Last night, I swear he sounded like he’d been hooched up and then shot by Dick Cheney halfway through.
My faves among the girls:
1. Paris Bennett. This Bennett can sing. She reminds me of Gidget Gone Gospel and I love her.
2. Katherine McPhee. Amazing voice. Sort of looks like a pre-Scientologist Katie Holmes. She surprises me every time.
3. Mandisa. The lady can sing–and that’s saaaaang–plus, she put Simon in his place. That’s gotta be worth a few calls, right?
My bottom three:
1. Stevie Scott. Bless her, as we say down south. But starting off with a Josh Groban song isn’t the way into my heart, anyway, so it was going to take a nuclear-powered, Groban-by-way-of-Patti Smith vocal to get me going. And speaking of Patti Smith…
2. Becky O’Donohue. Because the night belongs to very hot girls who boost the ratings.
3. Heather Cox. Actually, I don’t remember anything from her performance. It’s like going, “I know I ate, but yet, I’m still hungry.”
And then there’s Ace. Um, yeah. His name is Ace. And he’s a hippie boy from Boulder. And I honestly wouldn’t care if he sang Kum-ba-yah in pig latin while sucking on helium. He just needs to stand there. Thank you, TV gods.
Meanwhile, the judges were even more cantankerous than usual. I’m waiting for a full-on fist fight to erupt between Simon and Paula. And speaking of Paula, my husband and I now have a new game: every time Paula uses the word “journey,” we pop a chocolate. I think I gained ten pounds last night alone.
So, now that you know I’m just as catty as Simon, I’ll get back to writing book #3. It’s so tempting to say, “Bray, out.” But I won’t.