When I was much younger, I fancied myself as a possible recording artist. Then again, what youthful starry-eyed tween/teen/young adult has not dreamt of being catapulted into the limelight? Of becoming a singer, actor or model? What kid has not imagined him/herself an aspiring talent at something or other? Other than the occasional audition, where I would predictably croak by the second verse (laryngitis flare up), my only other attempts at furthering my ambitions in the performing arts involved tinkering with a demo tape or two.

Truth be told, those cuts weren’t that bad. Maybe mediocre, but not bad. Just wouldn’t know if Journey fans would appreciate it. Here I am emulating this illustrious band:

Okay, it was something like that.

In the end, I stuck with the predictable career path, the sure-fire way of putting food on the table and asphalt shingles over my head. It’s a good thing, given how deeply I value privacy — something totally lost to the famous. Yes, I’ll stick to my day job and leave my warbling in the closet.