My first 15 minutes of fame

As a teen, the thought of becoming an overnight singing sensation was something I often dreamed about.  I was going to move to Hollywood and make it big in the movies or join a band and tour the world.  When it came to having high hopes of becoming a "rock star", my head was stuck way up in the clouds. 

Then came the Saturday in September when my family and I made our yearly pilgrimage to The Eastern States Exposition (The Big E).  The Big E is like a 4H festival on steroids.  Yes, there are lots of farm animals--BIG farm animals.  And nowhere else in New England can you view a 500 pound zucchini.  On top of that there is a midway filled with the typical carnival rides.  But this year only one thing struck my 15-year-old attention:  the recording booth at Superstar Sound Recording Studio.

For $10.00 one could go into an actual "recording studio" and record a song.  There were hundreds to choose from.  So I begged my mother to let me have $10.00 because I just knew once I recorded my version of one of those hit songs, my ticket to fame and fortune would be sealed.

From all the available ongs I chose Whitney Houston's "Saving All My Love For You".  At the time I admired Whitney.  I thought she was the greatest female singer on the planet.  And this song was hot at the time.

They stuck me in a little booth, threw headphones on my ears and let me practice.  The track played over the headphones and I sang along.  This was easy.  I thought I sounded pretty good.  Almost as good as Whitney herself!

Then came time for the actual recording.  Oh, my nerves...

"We'll be making love the whole night through-oooh-oooh/So I'm saving all my love for you."  My voice cracked on the "you" and then went up a little at the end.  Then I shouted "No other woman is gonna love you more" and I knew I had nailed the recording.  I was confident I had a hit on my hands.  Until they played it back, outside the studio, over the speakers, for the ENTIRE park to hear.

I can still sense myself cringing as I realized how awful I sounded.  What had I been thinking?  Whitney Houston?  I couldn't even compete!  I knew I should've went with Cyndi Lauper or Pat Benetar.  Maybe even Madonna.  Anyone could sing "Like a Virgin".

My dreams of rock stardom dashed, I took my souvenir tape recording and went home, never to listen to it again. 

Years later while cleaning out a box in my closet, I came across the tape.  For kicks I played it on my stereo.  I didn't think my voice sounded too bad.  Maybe it had just sounded terrible coming over their speakers at the Superstar Recording Studio.  Yeah, that was it.  Maybe I could be a singing sensation recording artist after all.  Then my voice cracked on the "you" and I knew it wasn't happening.