American Idol Seattle
I registered early in Seattle as well, but I lost my ticket, which blew my plan of showing up at the venue just in time to get my seat. It also kept me up late the night before, searching the hostel. Luckily, they still had tickets when I arrived at omg early in the morning. I would be the last to audition, and there was no guarantee that they would actually audition everyone. All the more reason not to wait in line, especially when it started pouring rain. The food court nearby was open, just to sell coffee to us hopefuls. I wandered through the building, searching for a semi-private place to warm up, and killing time until the line went away.
Finally I joined the herd and got my seat, and the crowd-shooting began again. Less exciting this time, as my section was half-empty, half-dead, and the camera was hardly ever on us anyway. I waited over 8 hours, aching from sitting and almost too tired to stand, unable to leave the stadium. By the time my turn came close, my iPod was dead, my newly made pals had run out of conversational material, and I honestly just wanted to get it over with. I called my best friend for backup, and she helped me get my head on mostly straight again.
This time I would not be nervous. I was surrounded by anxious, shaking, chattering girls. I refused to be nervous. I was the third-to-last person to perform, out of several thousand. The judge looked fresh, attentive, and encouraging. I congratulated him on staying awake and began my song. I felt a little stiff, but my voice was my own, I was breathing and feeling and into it, and I got to finish the verse and chorus I had prepared. Everyone who sang after me was obviously nervous; I had heard them singing in our seats and in line and I know they could do so much better.
The judge passed on my group, and could have left, but he stayed to offer me feedback. I was pleased like punch. I'm tired of hearing that I have "potential", but this judge managed to convey the idea without using the forbidden word. He said that I have a terrific voice, but I need to work on my stage presence. The latter should surprise no one. I always thought stage presence was this mysterious "it"; either you got it or you don't. I was oh-so-pleasantly surprised to hear this gentleman giving me practical advice on how to improve "it". I particularly liked this metaphor: "You need to take your lampshade off and shine." Hee. For some reason, that makes me think of tube socks, but anyway.
It wasn't until I was walking away that I realized he hadn't offered any criticisms of my voice. After he complemented it, I guess I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in the end I found myself shoeless and fancy free! Seriously, I was on a high after that. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a rejection so much.
Finally I joined the herd and got my seat, and the crowd-shooting began again. Less exciting this time, as my section was half-empty, half-dead, and the camera was hardly ever on us anyway. I waited over 8 hours, aching from sitting and almost too tired to stand, unable to leave the stadium. By the time my turn came close, my iPod was dead, my newly made pals had run out of conversational material, and I honestly just wanted to get it over with. I called my best friend for backup, and she helped me get my head on mostly straight again.
This time I would not be nervous. I was surrounded by anxious, shaking, chattering girls. I refused to be nervous. I was the third-to-last person to perform, out of several thousand. The judge looked fresh, attentive, and encouraging. I congratulated him on staying awake and began my song. I felt a little stiff, but my voice was my own, I was breathing and feeling and into it, and I got to finish the verse and chorus I had prepared. Everyone who sang after me was obviously nervous; I had heard them singing in our seats and in line and I know they could do so much better.
The judge passed on my group, and could have left, but he stayed to offer me feedback. I was pleased like punch. I'm tired of hearing that I have "potential", but this judge managed to convey the idea without using the forbidden word. He said that I have a terrific voice, but I need to work on my stage presence. The latter should surprise no one. I always thought stage presence was this mysterious "it"; either you got it or you don't. I was oh-so-pleasantly surprised to hear this gentleman giving me practical advice on how to improve "it". I particularly liked this metaphor: "You need to take your lampshade off and shine." Hee. For some reason, that makes me think of tube socks, but anyway.
It wasn't until I was walking away that I realized he hadn't offered any criticisms of my voice. After he complemented it, I guess I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but in the end I found myself shoeless and fancy free! Seriously, I was on a high after that. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a rejection so much.