I love this picture.

And this picture.

And lots of others, but I only get so much space to upload here on Diaryland.

Yesterday I watched The Clay DVD. After careful consideration and thought, I have concluded that I love Early Clay.

Don�t get me wrong. I love spiky-haired, flatironed Clay. I love hip-thrusting, jersey grabbing Clay. I love the black suit with the purple tie. (I ADORE the silver tie, but I won�t be choosy.) And I love the confidence that comes from a little time and experience. Make no mistake, I am not complaining about Clay�s image.

There�s just no comparison to Atlanta Clay.

When he walked his thirteen-and-a-halves in front of the judges, I was transfixed. The skinny white boy from Raleigh caught my eye. The voice. The glasses. And OH MY GOD the RED HAIR.

When Clay sang Open Arms,

the eighties girl in me was delighted. Overjoyed. I had listened to that song about a million times as a teenager, and still I said, �Move over, Steve Perry.�

My love for Early Clay was confirmed yesterday at approximately 12:46 pm when I watched the Wild Card performance.

Obsession refreshed. The WRIST FLICKS, people. THE WRIST FLICKS.

Gripping the microphone, Clay exudes confidence with each performance, yet standing in front of the judges, he awaits their criticism with humility and a bite of the lip.

I bet he fought to keep his ankles from going all bendy.

So now you know the kind of man I like.

I like a man who is self assured without being arrogant.

I like a man who is attractive, not because he is empirically handsome enough to be seen on the cover of GQ, but because his spirit and soul make him beautiful.

I like a man who is self aware and does what he wants and expresses his feelings despite the reactions of others.

I like a man who can laugh at himself and have fun doing it.

A man like this.

clay before
clay after


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