American Idol? I think not.

I've been home sick from work for the past two days making a desperate effort to sleep and get better. My dreams have become feverish nightmares. In one, I won American Idol, not because I was any good, but because everyone else in the contest was really, really awful. Anyone who has ever heard me sing can attest with certainty that I inherited my mother's singing voice. She used to sing the ABC's to me as a lullaby, because she didn't know many baby songs. As soon as I was able to speak, I reached up from her lap, put my hands over her lips, and said matter-of-factly, "Mommy, please don't sing." Which is why I do not sing in public, unless I am very drunk, and even then, only when a David Bowie song is played on the jukebox.

The one reprieve from my nightmares has been the incessant guitar-playing of my downstairs neighbors, which has kept me awake despite my best efforts and the liberal application of earplugs and melatonin. They seem to genuinely believe that they are contenders for next season's American Idol, which is unfortunate because if I were up against them in the contest, I would certainly win.