Saturday, September 1, 2007

Hey, Hey I Wanna Be A Rock Star

I can't get that Nickelback song out of my head. I love the lyrics to that song and how they poke fun at that way we all want to be famous. "We all just wanna be big rock stars, live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars." At one time or another most of us have wondered what it would be like to be famous. Admit it. You've sung in front of a mirror with a hairbush, and you've played air guitar when no one was looking. I do, um...I mean I have...not, it's been years, really.

Come on. How cool would it be to be a rock star? I wouldn't want the job on a permanant basis because it would be too crazy. And there's the whole issue of my lack of musical talent. But I'd like to step in their shoes for just for a week. It's probably like going to Vegas. The first few days are exciting, almost overwhelming. About three days into the trip, though, everything starts to seem a little too loud and by the fifth day you just want to leave all that overstimulation behind. I'd like a little piece of that rock star action for just a few days. I would:

Dress like Cher-wild and crazy, just because I could. I wouldn't go quite as scimpy as she does, though. Not matter how old I get, I still have to answer to my mother, and she would kick my hind end when I got back from L.A. for baring my butt cheeks while dancing on a submarine.

Get myself invited to a party at the Playboy mansion-Just to satisfy my curiosity. Can you imagine what the people watching must be like at a party there? Besides, I want to see how old Hef really looks in person when he's not being airbushed or filmed through a fuzzy filter.

Throw a party at my hilltop mansion-make it the social event of the year and not invite Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie or Britney Spears. I would invite my favorite authors: Fannie Flagg, Lee Smith, Harper Lee, John Grisham and a bunch of others. I'd also invite Matthew McConoughay because we'd need some eye candy, and he makes my toes tingle.

Use my fame to draw attention to social causes-in the United States. I'm concerned about Darfur, and don't even get me started on the Iraqi War, but most folks don't have a clue how many children in this country go to bed hungry at night or how many senior citizens can't afford to eat and buy their medicine. Then there's the folks who are staggering under medical debt because they can't afford health insurance. I'd hold a concert in front of the White House and invite my other rock star friends to jam with me so we could sell an album afterward and raise lots of money for our cause.

Sit on the patio at The Ivy-so the tabloids will take my picture and I can frame the covers as souvenirs of my brief week of fame.

Visit the VIP lounges in the famous Vegas clubs-The casinos pay famous people to dance and gamble in their clubs. I need someone to pay me to gamble because I'm terrible at it, and I'm too tight to spend more than $20 of my own money on the tables. Just once I'd like to play some really high stakes poker behind sunglasses and dance in an expensive lounge wearing sunglasses.

Go to rehab in Jackson Hole, Wyoming-Not that I'd need it. It's just a tool to boost my fame right?

Wrangle an invitation from that Virgin Records guy to stay at his island in the Virgin Islands-Have you seen his digs at Necker Island on the Travel Channel? I need some of that. I don't want the cabin next to Mariah Carey though. She seems like a whiner.

Buy my own island in the Carribbean-so I can retire after my rock star stint and walk the calm, smooth beaches every morning and languish in the sun with my family or read a book in my hammock and reminice about my previous fame. And play air guitar and sing in the mirror with a hairbrush.

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