There’s got to be some law of physics that says the minute you settle into a perfect napping position, your cell phone (not conveniently located within arm’s reach, mind you) inevitably rings.

When I finished work yesterday afternoon, I promptly threw on PJs, stuck in a DVD and curled up in a down comforter on the sofa. In an apartment that get so dark, you’d swear it were 8 p.m.

Just as I fell fantastically into dreamland, though, my phone rings out in Coldplay lyrics: No-body said it was eeeasssyyy… I groan, awake. I’m guilty of screening calls at times like this, yes, and even seeing it’s a friend I let it go to voicemail. Minutes later, a text about meeting my brother and half-uncle at B-Dubs later, followed closely by a phone call from D. (OK, that I didn’t mind, considering it’s been two days since I’ve see him.)

Before I knew it, I hadn’t much slept, and then it was Idol time. You’re right, I am a hypocrite. How many months now have I declared unbridled hatred for the idiot box and the drivel we call TV programming? Well, I jumped on the American Idol bandwagon, joined the millions who tuned in for the first episode of Season Seven.

Mostly because I figured out that my rabbit ears extend, and I can get FOX to come in at least one notch past ant races. And the first guy? Yeah, I already think he should win. Not so much because his story was heart-warming (it was. I mean, 200 pounds? He lost a linebacker, people.), but because his voice gave me chills. So good.

“You should try out for American Idol,” I texted D as I listened to auditions, getting ready to go out for a bit.

“U should too!…” is his reply.

Blink. Blink-blink.

Have you heard me sing karaoke? I think. C’mon. No need for that level of flattery; he’s already won me over.

(P.S. I get Internet Friday. Actual, real-live high-speed Road Runner. At home. Assuming we aren’t completely buried Friday morning in snow after Storm Daniel dumps on us tomorrow. [Yes, that was an indirect request, Weather Powers That Be, to at least clear a path to my apartment for the cable guy.] OK, that’s all.)