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Hollywood - Clueless Press International After following the American Idol tour through several different cities, I've run out of anything new to report on the concerts themselves that hasn't been reported already by those pesky mainstream reporters with the fancy, official credentials. I mean, there really isn't much new to say except for the long anticipated, and extremely well received return of my personal favorite, Katharine Hope McPhee which has already received enough coverage. I know, reporters aren't supposed to be biased, but I just can't help myself. So, fire me.
Anyway, I'm walking around looking for a new angle, and rounding the corner by the back entrance of the arena here in Richmond, the perfect subject presents itself in all its magnificent, chrome laden custom painted glory - the buses carrying these idols over the road from city to city. With notebook in hand, I approach the first bus and knock on the door, home-made press credentials at the ready.
As the door swings open, I can tell that I've probably made my first mistake in pursuing this story. The driver has obviously been catching a nap and seems a little put out that I have woken him up, but a quick explanation from me about why I'm there and a well placed C-note (this almost always works) gets me in the bus. He never even glanced at the laminated copy of the American Idol homepage hanging from my neck.
"So, how do you like driving for the tour?", I ask the sleepy driver.
"Not a bad gig at all," he says. "This is the guy's bus, and I'm having a really good time listening to the stories, the group songs, and the jokes."
"Shouldn't you be paying attention to driving?", I ask.
"Hey, I'm a professional," he says. "Besides, as long as they stay behind the yellow line, no rules are being broken here."
"Anything I should know before checking out the rest of the bus?" I ask."No photos, please." he said."OK," I said. After two minutes spent looking around, this made perfect sense to me. "Anything else?"
"Well, you probably don't want to know what that smell is," he replied.
He was right. The combination of socks, perspiration, six different colognes, and something resembling a mix of anchovies, salsa, cheetos and who knows what else had combined into a mixture almost solid and three dimensional. It reminded me of a week long trip with the family cross-country in the Winnebago.
I must say that I was impressed by the accomodations. Carpeting, leather seats, plasma televisions, tables, refrigerators, bathrooms with showers - Wow! I'm going to have to get one of these babies. (If Phord manufactures one, they should call it the Phantastic Phenom.) That said, the interior had that typical frat house look - clothes, shoes, books, DVDs, CDs, magazines, playing cards, pillows, blankets, everything tossed around like a small terrier had been left alone all day and gotten bored. The only thing missing from the frat house look were the piles of empty beer cans.
After a brief look around, I went straight to the one place that can tell you more than anything else about the inhabitants - the bathroom. Right away, I knew this was a men's facility - the toilet seat was up. That, combined with the four inch thick carpeting of towels, the collection of toothbrushes (apparently color-coded) and toothpaste left scattered around the vanity top, the lack of a roll of floss (come on guys), the assortment of uncapped deodorants and colognes fragrancing the air, razors, five different shampoos (one a gray-for-men formula), a hair trimmer (well used), a stopped up sink, and a fan left running let me know all was normal on the men's bus. Ah, the memories this brings back of life with a bunch of guys.
Out the window, I notice that the security staff is beginning to congregate by the arena entrance, so I hustle out with a word of thanks to the driver, who raises his head briefly before resuming a gentle snore.
I stop for a moment for a word with the driver of the women's bus, who incredibly looks well rested, and let her know that I would like to grab a quick look inside at the next stop. She's not too keen on the idea, but I figure a bouquet of flowers and a nice Napa Valley chardonnay (along with the trusty C-note) should soften her up.