A pox on me for not live-blogging my American Idol Atlanta trip, but I was simply too busy high-fiving my fifteen thousand new best friends. Here's a picture of us now inside the Georgia Dome ... I'm j-u-s-t left of center there; that sweaty camera-speck wegded between the transsexual Elvis dancers and the beatboxing lumberjack. Between those fellas(?), the sixteen hour workdays and the hundred degree heat, I was simply too tuckered to type, Instead I chose to wash down my evening with a good steak dinner and a highball or two. Is that so wrong? Anyway, I'm now back in my upper sanctum, sifting through my digital stills and wondering where to start. While I figure it all out, please enjoy one of my favorite collaborations, a potent aural antidote to the oversung showtunes coming you way. But don't worry: at no time will I call you Dawg...
1 comment:
As the proud mom of a Dawg and having had to learn how to bark during freshman orientation, we take the term as a sign of well, maybe not respect, but really of understanding.
Dawginess is cool. Even in the heat.
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