Week 0--Conclusion, a.k.a. Concession Speech
Well, welcome all, dear ones. Here it is, the end of LJ Idol--Exhibit A, and clauderainsrm has asked me to give the closing remarks. To write the final page, as it were. God knows why he chose me; I am not, after all, a man known for his aptness on such occasions. In fact, it seems such a doubtful proposition to entrust this momentous responsibility to one like myself that we might question if our illustrious host had not other, more pressing concerns on his mind...and indeed, as some of you have no doubt noticed, one of the celebratory bottles of Kentucky bourbon, so kindly provided by our beverage committee, has gone missing, and not twenty minutes ago clauderainsrm was inquiring where he might find a clean glass and a bit of a private spot. But it is the impure mind that countenances suspicion, and I have no desire to add impurity to the list of accusations already leveled against me.
Who would have thought we'd have made it this long? A full...er, how many weeks has it been? Well, it's been a while, certainly. And what an upset! Who could have predicted that outcome? Long weeks we lasted, waiting with the barest thread of patience as results were tallied, seeing champions rise, then fall, then rise again unexpectedly, bringing forth new and amazing words for us to enjoy, only to be cruelly cut out of the game by mere mathematics, plunging forward, dizzy, cheering, until that amazing last week, when the final prize was claimed by...who was it again? I'm sorry, I fear I've enjoyed my martini a bit too much by now, and the name escapes me. But I think we can all agree her last entry was fully deserving of its place. Or his entry, whichever it was. Again, my thanks to the beverage committee.
As for myself, we all know what happened. I assure you, none were more surprised than I that I lasted so long. I am most grateful for the kind help you've all given me this season. And now, after this long, hard road we've walked, laughing together, crying in each other's arms, we are brothers and sisters. So you hardly need any introduction to me; we know each other intimately, and as you all have surely come to know and love about me, I am a man possessed by the Imp Of The Perverse, driven to subvert any and all commands I am given, and to insist on doing the opposite of what I am instructed to do. This comes as a surprise to no one, I am sure.
What's that?
Ah, yes, for the benefit of those at the back near the bar--and don't think the rest of us don't notice you there!!--vaudy has pointed out that not only do I do the opposite, I generally do so in the most obvious and transparent way possible. To this I can only bow and acknowledge my guilt, for surely that failing is near the top of the list of accusations I mentioned. Cleverness, on the other hand, is most definitely not.
Ah, yes, you with the glass of what appears to be a most excellent chardonnay, you were saying?
You wish me to account for my talents and abilities? But certainly everyone here would be bored by such a thing...ah, but to indulge someone as fine as you, I am one who claims to be a writer, and writes but sparingly. As I believe I mentioned, I am a slave of the Imp Of The Perverse. These LJ Idol runs are most of all a ruse to distract the Imp's attentions, in order that I might get a little work done. I'm sure many gathered here are intimately familiar with the way that work remains undone until there is a deadline breathing down one's neck, so the appeal of this competition needs no further explanation.
And you, with the...is that a screwdriver? A mimosa? Who started making those? I must say, the beverage committee has outdone themselves this time...you wish me to explain what it is I write? Or no, a thousand apologies, you’re asking me what the heck was I writing this season? One less charitable than I might take offense at such a question, but am a gentle soul willing, indeed eager to turn the other cheek, for it was a mystery to me as well. To put it bluntly: I have no idea what I will write. Or was: what I was writing. Dear me, now I’m getting past and present tense mixed up, these martinis are good. Certainly, I wanted to finish the saga of poor Mary the Modest Math Major, rather than leave her languishing on her date. Which of course, since the season is now ended, I already did. I think. Again, one more round of applause for the beverage committee, shall we?
So, in conclusion, let me say...goodnight. No, seriously, at the start of this season I looked forward to the writing, even as I also felt a sense of dread that sometimes swelled into panic. But all of that is behind me now, a fantastic past to be proud of, for all of us. Surely we are better for having joined in this grand game, and we look forward to our individual futures, having known the joy of shared creation, which can only make us stronger, veni vidi vici, and has the bartender gone home yet? I think I need a refill...
Who would have thought we'd have made it this long? A full...er, how many weeks has it been? Well, it's been a while, certainly. And what an upset! Who could have predicted that outcome? Long weeks we lasted, waiting with the barest thread of patience as results were tallied, seeing champions rise, then fall, then rise again unexpectedly, bringing forth new and amazing words for us to enjoy, only to be cruelly cut out of the game by mere mathematics, plunging forward, dizzy, cheering, until that amazing last week, when the final prize was claimed by...who was it again? I'm sorry, I fear I've enjoyed my martini a bit too much by now, and the name escapes me. But I think we can all agree her last entry was fully deserving of its place. Or his entry, whichever it was. Again, my thanks to the beverage committee.
As for myself, we all know what happened. I assure you, none were more surprised than I that I lasted so long. I am most grateful for the kind help you've all given me this season. And now, after this long, hard road we've walked, laughing together, crying in each other's arms, we are brothers and sisters. So you hardly need any introduction to me; we know each other intimately, and as you all have surely come to know and love about me, I am a man possessed by the Imp Of The Perverse, driven to subvert any and all commands I am given, and to insist on doing the opposite of what I am instructed to do. This comes as a surprise to no one, I am sure.
What's that?
Ah, yes, for the benefit of those at the back near the bar--and don't think the rest of us don't notice you there!!--vaudy has pointed out that not only do I do the opposite, I generally do so in the most obvious and transparent way possible. To this I can only bow and acknowledge my guilt, for surely that failing is near the top of the list of accusations I mentioned. Cleverness, on the other hand, is most definitely not.
Ah, yes, you with the glass of what appears to be a most excellent chardonnay, you were saying?
You wish me to account for my talents and abilities? But certainly everyone here would be bored by such a thing...ah, but to indulge someone as fine as you, I am one who claims to be a writer, and writes but sparingly. As I believe I mentioned, I am a slave of the Imp Of The Perverse. These LJ Idol runs are most of all a ruse to distract the Imp's attentions, in order that I might get a little work done. I'm sure many gathered here are intimately familiar with the way that work remains undone until there is a deadline breathing down one's neck, so the appeal of this competition needs no further explanation.
And you, with the...is that a screwdriver? A mimosa? Who started making those? I must say, the beverage committee has outdone themselves this time...you wish me to explain what it is I write? Or no, a thousand apologies, you’re asking me what the heck was I writing this season? One less charitable than I might take offense at such a question, but am a gentle soul willing, indeed eager to turn the other cheek, for it was a mystery to me as well. To put it bluntly: I have no idea what I will write. Or was: what I was writing. Dear me, now I’m getting past and present tense mixed up, these martinis are good. Certainly, I wanted to finish the saga of poor Mary the Modest Math Major, rather than leave her languishing on her date. Which of course, since the season is now ended, I already did. I think. Again, one more round of applause for the beverage committee, shall we?
So, in conclusion, let me say...goodnight. No, seriously, at the start of this season I looked forward to the writing, even as I also felt a sense of dread that sometimes swelled into panic. But all of that is behind me now, a fantastic past to be proud of, for all of us. Surely we are better for having joined in this grand game, and we look forward to our individual futures, having known the joy of shared creation, which can only make us stronger, veni vidi vici, and has the bartender gone home yet? I think I need a refill...