Rock Star

My boss hosted a party at her apartment in Hoboken, NJ several Saturdays ago. My favorite part of the evening was not the Manhattan skyline at sunset or the incomprehensible 1,400 square feet of living space. Rather, it was the Wii game “Guitar Hero”.

Normally, I would have refrained from making a fool of myself in front of coworkers, but after a glass (or two) of wine it became my civic duty to entertain and perform the best rock concert humanly possible. As soon as I strummed the first note, energy surged from within and stirred emotions not tapped during a routine workday.

I basked in the cheers and chants that erupted behind me as I hit note after note and ripped sweet rifts. I became one with the plastic guitar; one with the music. I had finally found my calling… a rock star reborn to play “Slow Ride” over and over and over. (How did my parents miss my music potential?).

As a true artist, my musical skills extended far beyond the realm of just playing guitar. I incorporated vocals with notes so high that the Wilson sisters only wished they could hit. I rocked Mississippi Queen and Barracuda. I really upped my performance with a few body rolls and guitar thrusts. Ben ensured me that the thrusts really added to the overall quality of the show.

Speech therapy will do for now. I know I’m no Leslie West, but it’s comforting to have a fallback plan.