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| The Soaring Career of Kelly Clarkson |
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My friend only wants one thing for Christmas. Well, one person. He
wants Kelly Clarkson, first-year winner of the screamingly popular
American Idol. He wrote me an email the other night extolling, as
always, Kelly Clarkson’s virtues and begging that I figure out a way to
satisfy this one wish. He wished for a Kelly Clarkson Christmas.
Granted, the girl has got gifts. Consider such songs as those my pal plays incessantly, songs such as Since You Been Gone Kelly Clarkson and “Before Your Love/A Moment Like This” (both of which have some mildly decent metaphors).
She sings them with a moderately skilled range, appeals to a great number of listeners (and viewers) in a semi-sexy semi-cutesy fashion, and has a clarity and familiarity of song lyrics that even this old lady can appreciate at some level.
But my young friend is serious about having Kelly Clarkson as a friend. He just wants to hang out with her, drink coffee, go on hikes…and you know, I can see them as hitting it off quite well in this respect.
Kelly seems active, engaged, dynamic, willing to go on those mountain treks one day or cut out Christmas decorations another or futz about in the orchid garden another.
But I can’t be cliché and give him lyrics of songs by Kelly Clarkson. And besides, he belongs to one of those MP3 download clubs. I could do the next obvious thing and give him a poster, or better, a life-sized Clarkson stand-up cardboard cutout. Or a mug or potholder or keychain. I just hope he doesn't adopt the latest Kelly Clarkson hairstyles. And I have heard about the stars who are accessible for such odd requests—along the lines of the baseball star who promises to hit a homer for the kid in the hospital—as making a quick video greeting or phone message, but my friend doesn’t have any debilitating illness or disturbing brain damage, really, so Kelly might likely ignore my letters and requests. And a one-time private concert won’t do, for my spoiled friend says, no, he wants her singing here every day, delighting in her laughs, sharing her soul. I understand his obsession (which is, don’t worry, quite tongue-in-cheek innocuous). I have obsessions of my own—some of which involve, marginally, the most recent American Idol finalist, Beau Bice.
But my friend’s rejection of the gardening tools, Anne Rice books, and pounds of chocolate as inferior gifts, along with his adamancy about getting Kelly Clarkson here in all their stead is driving me bonkers!
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