Whipped Into a Frenzy

My mom and I went to a concert last Saturday night. No. Correction. We went to two concerts last Saturday night. First, there was the American Idols Live Concert. The one where the audience sat comfortably in their seats, chatted distractedly with their neighbors, and clapped politely at the end of each of the finalists' songs. And then. Drum roll please. There was the Adam Lambert Concert. The one where all the chicks from 13 to 113 (and the boys too) were on their feet, screaming at the top of their lungs, throwing random articles of clothing onto the stage, and just generally going berserk. I've never seen anything like it. I didn't watch American Idol Season 8 because, well, you're looking at it. Blogging got the better of T.V.-watching this past winter/spring. But my mom watched faithfully because of one reason and one reason only. The Glambert himself. And now I can see why. This guy is one very exciting, very talented, very, shall we say, scintillating performer. And I'm here to say that he just might be here to stay. Only time will tell. But he did score the Rolling Stone cover. And (don't get too jealous now) my mom and I did, two hours and four very sore feet later, score his autograph. He's not bad-looking up close I will tell you. Not bad at all. Here, why don't you be the judge. (Sorry for the broken link, but I think it will still get you there.)