This is embarrassing. I wasn't too accurate yesterday in my assessment of David Cook's chances on American Idol. Even tonight I was thinking he was going to lose, which would have left David Archeleta as the winner. But that wasn't to be, and it was the best outcome.
Not that it matters too much to me personally. Both will have recording contracts, red carpet treatment, brunch at the finest hotels. And I'll still be sitting here in my underpants, occasionally looking out the window, watching for my ship to come in. I keep saying if I sit here long enough, singing in the shower on bath day, Clive Davis will come to my door.
As it is, actually, is I don't sing well. I'm like Frank Sinatra in that I have lost my range with age. The big difference between me and Frank is that my range was already very limited. A few octaves lower than dog whistles and a few octaves higher than a low rumble. Middle C. That was the one note I could hit. And now even that's gone. My singing is essentially that one day, Mondays, when I shower.
I like to sing the song "Supper Time," an old church song. I don't know if you know it, but I have expansive gestures for it, especially two parts. It goes, "When I was but a boy in days of childhood, I used to play till evening shadows come." Then the next line has my hand going back and forth in about a three foot alternating wave: "Then winding down an old familiar pathway." And the next line has me miming big elephant ears, each two foot wide: "I heard my mother call at set of sun." Of course the chorus is so familiar it need not be quoted.
As for David Cook, a Kansas City boy, yea! Kansas City! The Plaza! Westport! Crown Center! Other things, what's that big farmers' market, City Market!
