Rock Star (I Wanna Be a)

Ahh, the beauty of karaoke.

But karaoke at a smoky, blue collar dive paired with a cougar-like mom in a trendy silver leather jacket?

Not as beautiful. Nevertheless, my outfit choice Friday night was the only pox on an evening otherwise filled with hilarity.

The rather...um...down to Earth types...that patronized the Plymouth Pub may not have appreciated my fashion sense (metallic is like, totally in, okay?), but after a few rounds of drinks and a few rounds of singing no one cared. At all.

I used to think the audition episodes of American Idol were total fabrications. Now I realize they were the bible truth, and that many of the aspiring contestants were very likely shipped in from my neighborhood.

I didn't sing, of course. I have a horrible voice and have enough self awareness not to torture those around me. But others sang, and we chimed in plenty loud from our prime front row seating.

Holy God did I laugh. Go. Karaoke. Soon.

Brave and Crazy

This is a picture of my wrist with a breast cancer bracelet on it. And I'm not taking it off until my friend Janice is declared officially cancer free.

She had a mastectomy last week, as well as removal of every lymph node they could find on the left side of her body, after what I can only assume is a typical whirlwind experience for those diagnosed with breast cancer. One day, a lump. The next, tests and doctor's appointments and surgeries scheduled and wig shopping and web pages created to organize the army of help she'll need to tend to her 5 and 8-year-old daughters.

Forget for a moment the fact that her husband left her less than two years ago. And forget the fact that the reason he left is basically that one of her daughters is a blond, beautiful angel who happens to have Down's Syndrome (and a host of health problems related to it), requiring a great deal of extra care.

Yes, forgetting all of that for a moment, I'm still left with a mind-numbing bewilderment at the brutal unfairness of the universe.

Her pathology report should come in tomorrow, giving us the complete test results and status of her cancer. Whatever stage, whatever the prognosis, she's more mentally tough and positive and brave than I could ever hope to be. Spending the day with her earlier this week to help care for her post-surgery was just a peek into the road ahead, I'm sure. Chemo and radiation ain't pretty.

But I've got my money on Jan. And I'm not getting too attached to my new bracelet. It'll be a great day when I can hurl it into the dumpster.

Who Can It Be Now

Not only is Big Brother watching, He's listening, too.

Yahoo decided that my personalized radio station would include these artists (those of you who know me well, take careful note):

"U2, James, Sting, Goo Goo Dolls, Green Day, New Order, Alanis Morissette, Simple Minds, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, Jewel, The Smiths, Counting Crows, R.E.M., Enya, Matchbox Twenty, Fleetwood Mac, James Taylor, Stevie Wonder, Prince, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Marley, The Cure, Midnight Oil, Tom Petty, Beastie Boys, Barenaked Ladies, Sheryl Crow, Tori Amos, Janet Jackson, and more."

Sweet mother of Jewel. Do they see me when I'm sitting here braless in my tank top and undies, too???

It's Not Easy

I can't stand to fly

I'm not that naive

I'm just out to find

The better part of me


So the quest continues. In an effort to be a better mother and a better person and a more important contributor to society, I've been diligently trying to find different approaches to my age-old dilemma--I need a hobby.

I know how you're supposed to come across hobbies. Basically, you try out a bunch of different things, stumble upon something you really like to do, and then simply go out of your way to do it.

But here's the problem: my very favorite thing to do is socialize.

Seriously. If and when I get a chance to pick what to do, that's it.

I like to have coffee with my friends and talk endlessly about everything from Girl Scouts to Sri Lanka's civil war. I love to go to a bar and drink with strangers that become new friends by the time the band takes a break. I prefer to do almost any activity with the company of others. (I said almost.)

Then, running a close second to general socializing is... shopping.

So chit chat and bargain hunting. Deep.

That's not to say that tennis would make me particularly interesting, either, necessarily.

But I do have overwhelming feeling of self-consciousness about it all. Could it be true!?? Am I indeed vacuous and superficial and one-dimensional?

Well, let's see. Here's a top of my head list of things I'm interested in, spend time doing, and consider favorite pastimes:

* socializing of any kind
* shopping, especially bargain hunting
* reading
* listening to music
* watching movies
* reading about books, music and movies
* football
* the occasional blogging, gossip columning and pop culture site surfing

That, my friends, is the list of a 14-year-old boy. A 14-year-old boy WITHOUT a real hobby.

A vacuous, superficial and one-dimensional 14-year-old boy.

I even started my post with song lyrics.

crap.