orange walls are people watching

I can compete a beam routine in a noisy arena or a dead silent gymnasium with all eyes watching. I can speak to a crowd without anxiety. But singing? Ah, singing. You sly beast.

My last official singing-in-public was karaoke (Bad Flomance, anyone?) and Rock Band, in which I lost my voice and then contracted bronchitis. But we unlocked songs through my performance. That's what I call taking one for the team.

In the high school days I auditioned for musicals, fully aware that I'd be relegated to the chorus line. And that was fine. That meant I got to wear a fun costume, maybe dance a bit and earn a speaking line or two. But to earn my place in the background, I had to sing in front of all the hopefuls.

I'm a rock star behind the wheel: I'm wanted dead or alive in the center of the ring just like a circus, knowing that you could use somebodaaaaay (and after all, don't we all just want to dance with somebody)? But take away the radio and the confines, and you take away my voice. It drifts away. Turns into a high and nervous little thing, a pony stranded in a rain storm.

Last night, I decide that I will attempt to change my destiny.

I Google singing tips, find a karaoke version on YouTube, sing away. I imagine the orange walls are people watching. I spin around a bit, get all theatrical. It helps. Enough? I don't know. But I'll pretend.

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Day 8 (1/8): Sonora Carruseles, "La Comay." Quite the contrast between the nerdy guys of the band and the...dancing women.