We all have embarrassing little things we enjoy doing in private. Embarrassing little things that would mortify us if we were caught doing them in public. I know it and you know it, and if you think otherwise you are either a blatant liar, or have the self-awareness of a clam. My main quirk is a fairly common one I think, perhaps not even a quirk at all but more of a secret hobby: I play violent air-guitar and lip-sync, preferably in front of mirrors, but really any reflective surface will do, storefront windows, the polished side of a van, anything that allows me to see my exaggerated game of make-believe, so long as no one else is around to see it. Since I’ve come to the conclusion that we all do these sorts of things, I have often tried to convince myself that, if caught, it is a far better thing to just keep trucking. Yes, I’m playing air-guitar in the bathroom because this solo is bad-ass and I was pretty sure the bathroom was empty. Just pretend like you haven’t done it before. And so I stood in front of the bathroom mirrors, throwing my hand down to strike the strings of my non-existent Stratocaster. “Gonna go to the white house, and paint it blaaaaaack,” I mouth, with the sort of exaggeration one might use when talking to a deaf person. My hands fly up and down the neck of my invisible guitar, with a ferocity possessed almost solely by people who aren’t actually playing an instrument. My fingers twitch in a mock seizure as I poorly imitate the feverish guitar solo, pinch-harmonics and all. And despite my fervent belief that this isn’t weird, per se, that this is something worthy of only mild embarrassment, I jump when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. For a split second, I consider moving on, finishing up the measure at least, but no matter how confident I am that I am right, I just can’t. And so, defeated, I quickly stick my hands in my pockets, turn to leave and try my hardest to avoid making eye contact with the amused janitor who stands in the doorway.