Make It Happen

Nothing emboldened my 8-year-old soul quite like Mariah Carey's 7 octave range (and I'll say it: Devon Sawa, but for different reasons). I have incredibly vivid memories of trying to emulate her pitch, bebopping to the 90s beats while getting ready for Sunday School, as my patient mother nearly Van-Goghed me, half-successfully curling my hair. "Mom, doesn't she have THE best voice?" (I now realize what her distracted and hushed affirmation really meant.)  

Particularly monumental during my formative years was "Make It Happen." I only rediscovered this song in the fall pre-move up here, and, as I am wont to do, purchased said anthem and placed it appropriately on my "New York" mix on the iPod: "Yes, I WILL make it happen!" At the risk of sounding like Ally McBeal's therapist, I highly recommend choosing a default song of encouragement. Especially for the days when you realize the most interaction you've had with the opposite sex is relegated to the homeless man who complimented you on your green tights with the hopes you could give him a cigarette. 

But anyway, what were we talking about? BEHOLD: 

We've both aged considerably. I still have both ears but my affection for Mariah is unerring; I've got the scars to prove it.