At first I thought that i was hungry. Two in the morning, lying on my back on top of the covers thinking that maybe, perhaps, i was hungry.
There was definitely a sensation of roiling unease in my stomach, and i had definitely jogged two miles between the last time i ate and the moment i resignedly turned to my side and pulled the covers over my midriff. I could go have a snack if i really wanted to, but i was already dangerously close to staying up for an entire twenty-four hours. I didn’t relish the idea of doing it twice in one week. I would eat in the morning.
I wasn’t hungry. The bowl of Cheerios stared back at me, scores of tiny unwinking eyes returning my blank gaze. Never a blink. Probably wondering why i poured them in the first place. The spoon and i were like a assembly line machine, working with deliberation rather than care to finish one task and move on to the next. I finished unenthusiastically, my stomach still adrift. I wasn’t hungry.
I claim to be immune to stage fright, but having a big mouth doesn’t equal star potential. In fact, it can be exactly the opposite. Lately, our entire apartment and all of our significant others (oh, and Ernie) have become hooked on Fox’s American Idol. Somehow the show avoids the nauseating generic pop culture that most other Star-Making programs of late have engaged in, instead opting to lead with the contestants and their voices. On each show they sing a song… they can dance or smile if they want to, but really they’re just there to sing. Live. In front of over 10 million viewers. For the chance to be a superstar.
Lindsay and i are invariably amongst the first people into our building on Wednesday mornings, and as we both delve through endless boxes of records we talk about what songs we would choose to sing on teevee. Underneath all the laughter and bragging, i know that i wouldn’t make it. Even with the quality of my voice left wholly aside, i know that i could never walk out on stage and stand still – knowing that a number of eyes beyond my ability to count were on me. And so i settle for watching, for being nervous on their behalf, and for dreaming about being in their midst.
Blogathon is not a top rated teevee show… last year my hits for the 24 hours were in the thousands, but people who actually listened to my songs were probably only in the tens. However, this year looks like it’s shaping up to be a lot bigger than last year, and i really have no way of predicting how many people will visit my page or listen to what i have chosen to invest: a dozen of my most valuable possessions – my songs – plus another dozen covers of some of my popular favorites. In three days they will appear, one per hour, for thousands of people to sample and form opinions on. And my stomach is aflutter. 72 whopping hours left until i have to go live with my my first song and i already want to duck out the stage door and either be sick or hide.
Elise pointed out i have to record a song every three hours to get all 25 of them done by Saturday morning. I would like to point out that thanks to two very generous pledges i have now raised as much money for Planned Parenthood as i have spent on recording equipment for Saturday. Which is now 71 hours away.
I think i might be hungry, but i’m not sure. Back to work.