A few of us went out to Laura’s new place in Culver City (home of the Red Feathers) on Saturday for a night of food, challenges and “laughing until we pee our pants.” That last part began just 2 miles from my place when we noticed this car in front of us at a stop light. It had several Christian bumper-stickers on it. Not to the extent of the Jesus Jeep but enough to make me say, “Hey, that car’s for Jesus.” To which Katie pointed out that the lady driving it was praising. And indeed she was. Hand up in the praise position (a million points to anyone who puts their hand up in the praise position if you’re reading this at work and there are people around), other hand on the steering wheel tapping out the beat. At one point she even put her praise hand to her lips and kissed it. I don’t know what that signified but it threw us over the edge of hysterics. She was so dedicated to her praising that she didn’t even put her hand down to turn the corner. She’ll be blessed in Heaven for that. We tried to take her picture but she turned into the Christian bookstore parking lot before we could get a camera out. The same Christian bookstore that sometimes has a man outside of it singing into a bullhorn about repentance and salvation (Dear Mr. Bullhorn Evangelist: I appreciate your efforts but you're never going to be as good as the Hollywood Bowl Puppet Man. Love, Rachel.)
It’s people like this who made me not care so much when I get caught singing to myself. I like to think that my car is a little night club and I’m headlining (fact: I have a disco ball in my car). Elvis and Ruby St. Germaine (Tragic Lounger Singer and Possible Sumo Assassin) split nights on the opening act. I know, Elvis opening for me sounds a little farfetched, but you should hear me…I’m fantastic. “Um, Rachel,” you might say, “I actually HAVE heard you sing and you certainly wouldn’t get my American Idol vote.” True, true. But it’s really the performance I’m going after. And besides, I’m both the manager and the booking agent of my car which means I can book myself whenever I want. (Performing nightly. Please tip your wait staff.)
Now, everyone sings in there car, right? But do they do it with a thumb mic? You see, the thumb mic is the key to a really great car performance. Much like Barbra Streisand, who has her own special white microphone that she tours with, I have the thumb mic. But unlike Babs, my mic doesn't need a handsome carrying case and a porter. And also unlike Babs, I wear a bra when I perform. I've been using the thumb mic for years. Other people use hair brushes or spatulas or Sharpie markers but what happens when you’re in your car or an elevator or your doctor’s office and there’s nothing there to amp up your performance? That’s where the thumb mic is superior. It is always with me. I don’t ever have to worry about the ultimate thumb mic-ing song* coming on the radio and me being unprepared. That will never happen, unless of course I’m a victim of a tragic double thumbectomy. Heaven forfend!
The thumb mic makes it kind of funny when I’m spotted. A few people think I’m doing the thumbs-up sign to them and they throw it back to me. I get a lot of strange looks but mostly people just laugh. I like to think that I’m bringing joy to the masses because I know how much I love seeing people doing silly things. So the thumb mic makes me happy, and it makes others who see it happy too. And the performance in the car is extra awesome. Win-win-win.
Next chapter in my "How to be the Tina Turner of Your Own Car" book: the shimmy.
*Fernando by Abba