I'm A Rockstar... Except When I'm Not

Let me be clear: by "rockstar" I do not mean a successful musician who tours the world playing arenas filled with thousands of adoring fans. No. I merely mean my ability to take my 39 year-old self and socialize like I'm 25. Or at least 35.

I was a total rockstar on Saturday when I went from a personal training session at the gym to lunch (cocktails included) with my friend April, to karaoke at the Mint with Maya and Natalie where I sang six songs and finally to an acoustic music show at Blue Six in the Mission with Candace and her friends. I even chatted briefly with a cute boy at the Blue Six show, but unfortunately, he was all of 23 or maybe 24. I'm not that kind of rockstar. When all was said and done, however, I got my workout in and then spent almost 12 full hours socializing without missing a beat.

I was also a rockstar last night at the McGrath's open mic in Alameda. My performance wasn't necessarily any better than anyone else's, although I did get a few compliments from total strangers. What made me a rockstar is that I sang despite a nasty case of bronchitis. Don't worry, I'm not contagious and was not poisoning any shared microphones. I've had a cold for about two and a half weeks now, and while it seemed to be getting much better, yesterday morning all signs pointed to it mutating into bronchitis. I got antibiotics in the afternoon, but then I found myself in a quandary since I, along with my Sober Nixon band mates, had planned to hit McGrath's and sing a few songs. Did I cancel, given my compromised lung function? Nope, not this rockstar. I wasn't stupid about the evening, mind you. I didn't drink and got home at a fairly decent hour, but bronchitis certainly wasn't going to stop me. Sick or not, I was able to power through three songs without so much as a hiccup, let alone a coughing fit. And I might even say I sang pretty well.

However, I have not fared so well in the hours since. Almost the instant I stepped off the McGrath's "stage," I succumbed to the coughing and wheezing. And then today, I was sent home from work after only two hours. How humiliating. Yes, you get the day off, but being sent home from work is its own walk of shame. Once home, I proceeded to sleep through the afternoon.

So at the end of the day, I guess this yet another of many indicators that I really am 39, not 25. Or 35. And I've learned that if I refuse to acknowledge that fact, a little bronchitis can always pop up to help me remember.

Short Attention Span Internet

I am not the blogger I used to be. I used to update this little chronicle twice a week without fail, and now... well, you can see evidence of what a slacker I've become. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I blame Facebook and Twitter (okay, and myself). I've been home all day today without much to do, and only now have I turned to my trusty Sassy space and begun to write.

However, I have posted several "tweets" and checked Facebook three times already. It's because tweets and Facebook status updates are short by design and take less commitment. But you know, that's kind of sad. I have no intention of deleting my Facebook or Twitter accounts, but it's a little pathetic when I spend more time on certain websites because they require less investment.

At this rate, I'll have absolutely no attention span by about the year 2012.

Anyway, I was home all day today because I am, once again, sick. I just had a chest cold about five or six weeks ago, but apparently, my body liked it so much, it invited another virus over to play. Annoying. I have recruited my couch, a couple of Gilmore Girls dvd box sets and an army of Zicam chews and Mucinex tablets to help coax me back to good health. So far, it seems to be working.

Aside from my infirm condition, some fun things have been happening. Last Saturday, I went to this new Moroccan restaurant with about 20 others to celebrate my friend Katya's birthday. Not only is the food there delicious, but every night at 10:00, the place turns into a disco. And these people are serious. The hosts and wait staff all but push you out of your seat (very politely, mind you), as they whisk the tables away and adjust the lighting to accommodate dancing, as opposed to eating. I must admit, the music was not to my liking; so I left soon after the dancing began, but it's still a neat idea.

Things with Sober Nixon, my "band," are going very well, too. No, I still don't write songs, but I keep promising myself I'll start. In the meantime, we've added some new tunes to our repertoire of covers, including "Be My Baby," "You Can't Hurry Love," "He's a Rebel" and the one I'm most excited about: "I Say Nothing," a song originally by a band called Voice of the Beehive. Hopefully, we'll be able to play all of these at open mic on Sunday. Providing we master them by then. And providing my chest cold will allow me to sing. We're also going to work out Pete Yorn's "Just Another" for future open mic performances. And one day I will write a song. Truly, I will...