American Idol
Idol Mania
Aug 10th
For six hours I weathered the storm inside Newark’s Prudential Center aka ‘The Rock’. Six hours of mixed emotion, laughter, and fear. Before arriving at The Rock, I met my mom and 40 of her friends. Mostly old high school friends of hers and their assorted families. It was completely out of control. There was so much East Coast Jew floating through the air that I still smell like lox after two showers. They were fantastic women, every one of them. I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by the attention and affection heaped on me from all angles. I ate seafood paella and answered questions about my life between bites.
It’s hard to stay excited about meeting family friends when the common question is, “so what are you going to do out here?” and the only response is either “slowly fail?” or “good question.” We did have a great time, though. By the end of all the intense talking and picture taking (seriously, like probably 100 group pictures) other guests at the restaurant started to wonder aloud if I was a famous. Alas, buying a website rarely makes one famous.
We take our seats fairly close to the stage and get comfortable. It takes about 8 minutes for the first crazy person to spot my mom and get teary on her. The next family is kind of neat, though: two little Jewish girls and their father who had flown from Israel to see Adam. Damn. It is at this point that I notice Mom begins to generate her own gravity and dozens of fans embark on a sort of exuberant-but-slow zombie shuffle in our direction. Taking this as my cue to get the hell out of the area lest they consume me with toothy grins and misplaced praise, I duck under an arm and quickly scan the room for a familiar face. I see a family of 3 that we ate dinner with and desperately try to play it cool about 50 feet from ground zero. Mom has, by this point, become a small black hole.
I hatch a new plan 5 minutes later when someone manages to recognize me. I try to ask her to be subtle and just pretend that we’re old friends but it simply doesn’t work. I’ve been found out. I snap a few pictures, mostly with kids because they can excuse their behavior by virtue of their age. Luckily, the lights begin to dim (and not because they can not longer escape Mom’s gravitational pull) and I am able to escape back to my seat in the darkness.
“AMERICAN. IDOLS. LIVE.” Wow. They really take this thing seriously, hmm?
“NUMBER TEN. MICHAEL. SARVER.”
It’s at this point that I realize heavy drinking is a must. Apparently there’s a bar somewhere above us that is selling Coors Light in plastic bottles. I’m not surprised that they don’t trust us.
Sidling up to the bar, I ask the couple in front of me how the cocktails are. The largest man in the world shrugs his shoulders like I asked him how it feels to be beaten with phonebooks. His wife and I exchange platitudes and impotent rage at The Man until I kindly ask if she might shift to the side so I can summon a bartender.
“I will. But only if you’re an Adam fan.”
I’m torn. Either I tell her how I can’t stand him to watch the sparks fly, or I tell her I’ve been a fan of his for 20 years to watch the sparks fly. I choose the latter.
“I’m his brother. Of course I’m a fan.”
“Bullshit.”
“You know what? Thank you. You’re the first skeptic I’ve met. Now I don’t feel like as big of a tool for namedropping.
“This… no. WHAT? Bullshit. Prove it.”
“Well, that’s my ID on the bar.”
“This… This is the best night EVER! Honey, buy him his drink.”
The largest man in the world snaps his attention from the Yankee game to protest but she shoots him a sidelong glance to which he complies.
“You don’t have to do that. Now I do feel like a tool. I can buy my own fourteen dollar cocktail.”
“No. I insist. Let me buy you a drink. I’m a big fan too.”
Wow. Normal people! They just like him! No crying, gushing, or defecating. Just smiles. We exchange names and go through the whole twenty questions about what it’s like to to live in someone’s shadow. I reply that I’m happy he’s finally gotten out from under mine. It’s been too long. The large one offers me his business card.
“Look, you just moved here. If you ever want a true New Yorker to show you around Manhattan, I can take you to every cool bar in the city.”
His card reads “Stan Muller – Scientist”. I chortle and ask him what exactly it is that he works on for his company (a very well-known producer of health care products). He leans in real close and checks to make sure the coast is clear.
“You uhh…. familiar with KY?”
“Holy shit this is the best night EVER!”
“I’m the co-inventor.”
“On behalf of myself and I imagine Adam as well, thank you for your hard work and dedication.”
In the fervor of our exchange, I fail to notice an altogether too drunk girl and her weak-willed boyfriend getting too close. She starts loudly asking the obvious questions and ruins everything. Now people want pictures again. I wince an apology at my new friends and they silently nod forgiveness as I duck out of the bar and back into the darkness. All in all, I drank for free and managed to completely avoid NUMBER TEN. MICHAEL. SARVER. Pretty good deal if you ask me.
The rest of the evening proceeds as you would expect. I finally surrender to the small clang of emotion rattling around my gut when the crowd goes wild for Adam. It’s fun and I’m proud. I like Muse. Adam sings Muse. All is well. I momentarily forget I’m limited to a four song set and suddenly it’s over. The Top 5 were mostly pretty great. I’m impressed by Matt’s ability to rock the hell out of the piano. Allison is the real deal and I think Kris is pretty cool, too.
And then it’s over. We’re swiftly escorted to safety by security while throngs of people shout at us about how much he means to the world. They’re cover songs, people. Hang in there. I leave the concert with Mom and her best friend from childhood. We stay up until 3am drinking wine and laughing with her two daughters and have a grand old time. All in all it was a pretty fantastic experience. It was great meeting a bunch of wonderful people and hearing stories of Mom’s sordid past. I’m pretty sure I can eat a month’s worth of dinner for free based on all the hospitality the New Jersey women have offered.
I slept on a cot and dreamt of nothing. It was the best sleep in weeks. 3 hours later, Nancy is urging me into waking so that I can go meet the new group of kids I’ll be teaching. The girl who hangs on me is back. She hasn’t learned to respect my bubble over the weekend. The rest of them seem alright. Two more weeks until unemployment!
How (Not) to Get Laid When Your Brother is a National Celebrity
May 28th
Let’s face it: Lambert’s a household name. Yes yes, I know that everyone has seen Highlander and thus Christopher Lambert is already a household name, but I don’t want to be related to an immortal. Besides, I am already related to a glittery alien from planet Fierce.
So millions of women across the globe would attack him with their vaginas if given the chance. The question is, how do I harness this power to satiate my carnal urges?! For starters, I could start by never saying “carnal urges” to any woman ever. How about these, then?
“Baby, this is as much Lambert as you’re gonna get. Care to settle?”
“…thing is, we both do incredible things with our mouths…”
“8pm, Fox. 11pm, Cock. See… because they’re both animals! No? You’re leaving aren’t you.”
“This was a really tough decision. Both of you are incredibly talented, but… Tiffany, you’re going onto the next round!”
“Oh, yea, my brother is Adam Lambert. It’s cool I guess… I dunno. I don’t really watch him. I’ve got my own shit going on, y’know? Like, it’s cool that he can sing and everything, but does he own a website? No. Does he sing and write lame shit on the internet? No. I hope he’s happy being half as successful as I am, I don’t know how I could live like that, y’know?”
“It’s pretty hard to watch him since I have perfect pitch…”
Pick your favorite or make your own!
——–
Yesterday I went on a date and wore a blazer that I had not donned in a while. The date goes well enough. It’s better than lukewarm, anyway. I successfully navigate the minefield that is refusing to mention my relation to the human equivalent to a Flying Ferrari. All is well. Hey look at that, she likes me for me!
I reach for the check and pull my wallet from the breast pocket underused jacket and, of all the possible things, one of my American Idol stage passes from months ago falls onto the table. That was the last time I wore the jacket.
Silence saturates the room. The annoying couple behind me sounds like they’re talking with cotton balls in their mouths.
“I’m… uhhh… I’m a huge fan of Allison,” I say as my face reddens. It was a lose lose situation: either I tell the truth, or I have to lie about being a fanboy.
“OH MY GOD ME TOO!”
Crisis averted. And I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t even know my last name.
“Take it all in, Neil…”
Apr 23rd
Lately I’ve been getting comments from people on here, via email, and real life and they all say the same thing: “Your life has forever changed because of American Idol. Take it all in, Neil! It’s gonna be a wild ride!”
My first reaction is to roll my eyes. I don’t feel any different, it’s just that my only sibling is a nationwide sensation at the moment. Also, why must I “take it all in”? If my life is changed forever, won’t there be taking-in time later on? Can’t I just take it in gradually instead of all at once? Why spoil it, you know?
Lately, though, I’ve begun to wonder. Perhaps my life has changed. Maybe I just don’t realize it which is why I don’t feel any different. So, today I decided to put this whole “your life has changed” premise to the test:
This morning I woke up for work just like normal. Besides a bit of extra drowsiness, I felt no different. Pulling on my clothes and brushing my teeth felt the same, my slightly disproportionate gut didn’t look any smaller, and my new haircut from last weekend still looked dorky. “It’s all in how you carry yourself, Neil,” I told myself. Nodding my head in agreement, I hopped in the car.
And that’s when it began. Cars seemed to part for me. Pedestrians scrambled over themselves to allow me the right of way. They shook their fists in praise of my awesome lineage. Other cars joined them, honking in agreement: Adam is talented, everyone loves him! You are related to Adam, everyone loves you! It’s simple logic, really, and I was suddenly a bit ashamed of having never though this way before. I eased onto the freeway, admiring all the Normal People going about their mundane lives. They will surely never get the opportunity to sit in the 5th row at a taping of the nation’s most popular television program simply because they followed one of the contestants out of the womb three years later! I could scarcely remember what it was like to live that way. So…. ordinary.
Cop car. Shit. I guess nothing’s changed. OR HAS IT?! I repeated my mantra for the day, that fame and glory are a state of mind. I stopped and the police officer followed suit. He approached my passenger side.
“License and registration, please.”
“Of course, officer,” I said while I shot him a cool and collected smile. He has no idea, of course, that I’ve been taking it all in for the whole morning and I am, naturally, a changed man. I continue to smile. The officer shoots me a quizzical stare while double checking the name on my I.D.
“Are you…?”
I didn’t want him to have to embarass himself. We both knew how that sentence was going to end: “…related to Adam Lambert?” Why not save him the trouble?
“Yes. Yes I am. Is there a problem, officer?” I beamed at him. So this is what it’s like, being indirectly famous. Life is good! Soon this cop would be stumbling over himself in apology. He had no idea who the fuck I was. I decided this time I would be merciful.
After a lengthy and frankly uncomfortable Field Sobriety Test, I realized my mistake. Do not finish police officer’s sentences for them. I can guarantee you that the end of their sentence, 99 times out of 100, is “…drunk?” and not “…Adam Lambert’s brother?”
Lesson learned: you are not cool. If complete strangers on the internet assume that your life is radically changing but you aren’t seeing the effects, that’s because your life is not radically changing. It’s not because you somehow managed to be unobservant over the course of the last few months, it’s because you are still lame. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but I’m glad it happened sooner rather than later.
Oh look, the entire internet stopped in to say hello.
Apr 14th
Today I sat around the office pretending to work. Mondays are the worst: you drag your soul kicking and screaming down a windowless hall, towards the same door you see every time you think, “just eight more hours.”
On Saturday you were treating the neighborhood to a raucous, twilit rendition of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys. Yes, that was you drunkenly sauntering down the sidewalks imagining every passing car as bad guys hell-bent on your destruction. Only the power of OLD SCHOOL HIP-HOP can quell them!
Sunday was mostly spent wondering aloud how any of your friends could have let you do such a thing. But then, you remember, they were singing too.
And Monday… that’s when you stuff your soul back into the cage in your chest and soldier through the hall to The Room, desperately fighting off your imagination which is currently filling the hallway with blood like you’re living through The Shining. Okay, that’s a little much, but it isn’t fun. In the middle of my fifth Just-Eight-More-Hours mantra, I noticed my email began to show some peculiar activity: someone left a comment on my website.
This is rare, and rarer still, the comment came from a stranger instead of one of the 20 people that must read this site out of mixed pity and feigned interest. Just then, another comment! And another!
“What the hell? Something… is… happening,” I say to the guy next to me. He just kind of looks past me with the expression I presume two years at this job permanently affixes to your face. My employer unfortunately does not see fit to grant us lowly temps internet access during the day, so my Mantra became a feverish compulsive mutter. “Where the hell are all these people coming from!?”
It didn’t take long to put two and two together, dear (suddenly more numerous) readers, you’re here because you’re fans of Adam. Once I got home I was able to log in.
10,000 visitors in 2 days! Well, whoever linked here from TV Without Pity and the official Idol forums… thank you? I noticed some of you pleading over there for restraint so that you all didn’t scare me off, and to many of you thank you for the kind words.
Obviously, feel free to enjoy what little content I’ve created. If you don’t mind, please keep the “OMG ADAM!!!1″ praise to the “My brother is on Idol” post so I can at least feel like people read the rest of the site because, you know, it’s good or something.
I’ve been getting emails and such so I thought I’d clear things up:
- I can’t relay any messages to Adam.
- I can’t give you his address for fan mail. He receives some already, so I know there are proper channels for this kind of thing.
- That guy on youtube? Adamlambert2009 or whatever? Not him. He’s more subtle than that.
- I haven’t lost my mind at my job. In fact, I’m quitting when Idol is over and moving to New York. There’s a lot more interesting stuff there to write about.
- Any questions?
My brother is on American Idol today
Jan 20th
My brother Adam is going to be on American Idol Season 8. Perhaps I’m biased, but I think he should win.
It’s already a done deal, really. The rest of them should just go home. A-M-E-R-I-C-A-N I-D-O-L contains the word ‘Adam’ first of all, and unless there’s a guy competing this year named Ericn Iol, I really think that he’s got this thing locked up. Plus, the world greets Obama and Adam on the same day. Coincidence? Not a chance.
I encourage all of you (5 people who read this) to watch at 8pm PST on Fox. It’s gonna to be grand. Feel free to add your comments about his performance to this post so I can ride his coattails to e-fame. I’m a social network climber, big deal.