I don’t know if I ever mentioned this before, (but I know I definitely will again,) but I keep a list of my crushes. (Don’t worry–Mr. X is #1 on it.) Very high up on it is Nick Lachey, whom I’ve loved since the first second I saw his dimples on a long ago Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. (Oh, so Happy Anniversary to us, Nick! Unless that sounds kind-of stalker-esque.)

I'm so goony, I took this one off the TV!  What am I--15???  And it's not even the juiciest one!

I'm so goony, I took this one off the TV! What am I--15??? And it's not even the juiciest one!

Anyhow, a couple of years later, I saw him sitting a few rows in front of me on a plane back to L.A. from NY, and spent the next six hours planning my path to talk to him once we got off. (I would never bother anyone on the actual plane, then have to sit there stressing over it for the rest of the ride.) (OMG–how many parenthetical comments have I had so far???)

When we got off, I kind-of ran up to him, huffing and puffing because of my heavy carry-on (I got a wheelie right after that! No lie), with absolute dry-mouth from the effort…and nerves. He turned-out to be the nicest guy ever! Really adorable, too. And he laughed at absolutely everything I said! (And trust me, I said a lot.) He told me, “You’re the funniest girl I’ve ever met!,” and I was left with a wonderful memory, and impression, of a celebrity I already loved.

His hosting job on this week’s unbelievably bad NBC limited series, The Sing-Off, did nothing to dissuade me from my original assessment of him. He’s as charming and gorgeous as ever. His suit, however, on the first show, was a fashion disaster. The cut of the coat may as well have been a giant post-it note saying, “Here’re my family jewels!” Oh lordy, lordy.

The premise of The Sing-Off is that eight a cappella groups perform and get critiqued by the celebrity judges, just like all the other American Idol-wannbe shows. And then they cut them down each night until they have a winner, and I would venture to guess, no viewers left. Except maybe Nick’s family and me.

So, I love Nick and hate his lamentable wardrobe. And after three critiques from the diverse music business judges, my mouth was hanging open. When the vapid Nicole Scherzinger was talking at one point, I asked Mr. X to guess what I was wishing my job was at that moment. He took a stab at “Sniper?” That’s when I had to sit down and write this.

I was going for “SNL writer” because all I’d have to do is transcribe the judges’ actual dialog. (This is copywritten, so don’t think of using this idea yourself.) I don’t mean these as racial stereotypes, which SNL would, but rather musical genre stereotypes. Ben Folds, who helms a kind-of punk rock group, had incredibly insightful comments as to the harmonies and soprano notes and blending voices and joyousness. The exotic Nicole, who’s the only Pussycat Doll anyone knows, sounded like a club chick with statements like, “First of all, I want to say how cool is it that you can rock out to just voices?” (Actual quote!) Lastly comes Shawn Stockman, of the a cappella-esque soul group Boys II Men. Though he gave some insight, most of his contributions began with multiple “Wow”s.

Mr. X had to check-out after three performances. (He had already begged me to speed through the whole thing, but I like to give people a whole lot of chances.) And I’m sad to say, even my beloved Nick Lachey couldn’t save the show for me. Not even in his revealing pants. Shame.


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