the future is now

So.  Spain.  It looks like I'm really going to get to go, though my tactic is to expect it all to fall through -- right up until my toes touch Spanish soil.  I think this is one of those times where the disappointment of Something Going Wrong would be far too horrible to contemplate. 

Today I added a minute or two to my fifteen minutes.  So far, I think I'm up to about nine minutes.  There was the time when I was seven-years-old that I was on the front page of the local (Richardson, TX) daily news.  I think it was some sort of puppet show thing at my after school care.  My buddy Kevin was in the photo with me, so we each get two and a half minutes for that.  (That newspaper may be in my mom's photo drawer. . . I'm not sure.)

Nearly ten years later, I passed out while in the very front and center row of a Howard Jones concert.  I was carried by the bouncer guy high up in the air in front of the whole Concord Pavillion.  I totally made eye contact with Mr. Jones, and then passed out again.  Later we waited by his tour bus and got to meet him.  That's all worth thirty seconds. 

On second thought, take away fifteen seconds for the stupid scrubs.  I have so many, many cringeworthy memories.

I racked up a few minutes as a go-go dancer.  That was forever ago, too.  Proof:

I danced with a band called A Western Front.  They played shows all over the place.  This one time, I danced by myself in a cage made of PVC pipes in a college bar in San Luis Obispo.  I had a little riding crop kind of whip thing with raw hot dogs tied to the end that I whipped into the audience. 

I know!  But there was a good reason.  Really.  Have you ever been to the mall and seen a place called Hot Dog On A Stick?  Take a closer look at my go-go outfit, and you'll see that it's an interpretation of that uniform.  The reason for that has to do with one of the band's songs, a wholly inappropriate number about the (very young) girls who work at Hot Dog On A Stick entitled, Pump the Lemon Barrel.  My friend BB on the left, she and I were lemon barrel girls.   We were in one of their videos that was *this close* to getting airplay on MTv.  Anyhow, hot dog on a whip was f u n n y at the time. 

Oh, and this one time, we opened for (or more accurately, shared a gig with) the Gin Blossoms.  (Hey Jealousy. . . ring any early 90's bells for you?)  They thought we were awesome (we totally were, by the way) and asked me and BB (probably, it was all about BB -- she's got those freaky supermodel genes) to dance with them.  We said no.  We were too loyal to the boys in our own band to dance with anyone else.  That next weekend the Gin Blossoms were on Letterman. 

*sigh*

Four minutes sound right?  Plus back the fifteen seconds -- taken away for the scrubs -- for the whole caged-in-front-of-hundreds-of-frat-boys experience. 

This summer at BlogHer, I placed in an Our Story writing contest and won my lovely Canon elph powershot.  Seven point one megapixels -- swoon.  That's another minute.

Okay.  This brings me to today.  Today I went to my friend Matt's house and recorded vocals (good lord help us all) for a song he's putting together for this contest sort of thing.  I think I'll count today as a minute, and totally add more if anything comes of it. 

So, 2.5+.5-.25+4+.25+1+1= 9

Know what is freaky?  I just guessed nine up at the top there, totally didn't pay any attention to the numbers I assigned to anything, and it all added up to nine.

Tell me about your fifteen minutes (or less) of fame.  Cause now I'm feeling a little ridiculous.

Comments

[Suebob Davis]

I think I am up to maybe 3 minutes. I , too, fondly remember the grammar school newspaper photo (posing with a construction paper totem pole I had helped to make) and a front page, above the fold, weekend edition photo during my college's annual fair...I was covered in cotton candy, though, so that takes some of the shine off.

I was a guest on a radio talk show my friend Dave had many times, since I was a fall-back guest for him. I got a bit of local notoriety that way.

I had hundreds of newspaper bylines as a reporter, but no one notices those. Except my mom, of course.

No real rockstar moments, however. I interviewed some cool people - Rosalynn Carter and Anthony Bourdain were my favorites - but those were their moments, not mine.

[Michelle]

Erm... In first grade I was Bread, the star of our harvest play "Bread, This Is Your Life". Also, in third grade I wrote a book report that was published in the (only) major city paper. In my senior year of highschool I had a poem published in a county-wide compilation of young writers. I've been thanked in print in a handful of birth announcements in same paper. Grand total thus far... four minutes? ;)

[Jenijen]

Suebob and Michelle -- you are both, as my Sophie says, Hot And Famous. I think that since BlogHer is in Chicago this summer, we ought to somehow get on Oprah. That would totally be fifteen minutes worth, wouldn't it?

[mamadaisy]

um, i got no minutes over here. but you go go-go girl!

crossing my fingers and hopping on one foot that barcelona comes through for you.

[lilsley]

Wait, wait, wait...I have somehow missed something (not a big surprise to anyone in my family). What is this Espagna gig??? And how exciting!

[Alpha]

OK, so I just had one of those internet moments, where I did this random search for "pump the lemon barrel" and came up with your blog entry. From my Santa Cruz days, I had a friend who remembered the song and told me about it, but I've never actually heard it. Do you have a copy?

And now I live in Oregon, no Hot Dog on a Stick up here.