Sunday, August 19, 2007

I Got the Music In Me

I have a confession. I'm that woman you see singing at the top of her lungs with the car radio. I even dance a little. Well, as much as you can while seated and driving through traffic. When left alone in the confines of my Chrysler I transform into a ballad belting diva whose stage is the highway and whose audience is none...unless you count the poor souls who happen to be next to me at a stoplight when I have my windows down. I say poor because I can't sing a note on key. I'm bad, really bad, but I love to sing. All of the time. Loudly. Passionately. No matter where I am. I am the woman you've all seen in traffic...and laughed at.

I can't drive without listening to music. I always have the radio on. If there isn't anything good on the radio, I have the iPod plugged in. I'm a very sensory person, and music helps me to get through the day. I even keep an iPod docking station on my desk at work. I sing a little there, too but try to keep it low key. Barking out "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" soundtrack is not very business-like. I sing in the shower and when I run, but it's in the car that I give my best performances. Behind the wheel I am the queen of power ballads. I'm Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand and Josh Groban. I'm Louis Armstrong and Linda Ronstadt. Some days I feel downright rowdy. On those days I became Joan Jett, Poison and Pink. On those bluesy sad days I morph into Sarah McLauchlin, Wynona or Rickie Lee Jones. I have music for every mood, and I'm not afraid to use it. Unfortunately, I get so caught up in my performance that I forget people can see me. I remembered one day last week when I got busted by a friend. Three of my friends travel the same path to work that I the same time...every day. Rob Thomas and I were banging out a Streetcorner Symphony last Thursday when D. whizzed past me just slow enough to catch a glimpse of my encore. Oops! I saw the look on her face, and although she didn't say anything later, I know she got a good laugh. Is this what it's like to be a famous singer? Every move under the microscope? You can't leave the house without risking someone recognizing you? Hmmm. Perhaps I need a wig and sunglasses. So I can sing in private.

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