I seem to have spontaneously developed an obsessive-compulsive disorder, judging by my impulse to listen to Neko Case�s new CD, �Fox Confessor Brings the Flood��specifically the song �Hold On, Hold On��over and over and on.

I bought the CD three days ago, and wasn�t instantly enamored�it struck me as less focused than her last CD, if beautiful. But because I love her voice so well, and because I adore Calexico, whose Joey Burns (hott) and John Convertino (super-hott) play on this CD, I quickly became hooked. What initially struck me as unfocused now seems, after a couple of listens, smoky and sinuous�partly due to John Convertino�s drumming, which is at times less like percussion and more like water rushing over stones, or surf breaking on the shore�organic and compelling. The drummer on �Hold On, Hold On� is Mike Belitsky, anyway, so my enthusiasm for that song isn�t wholly Calexico-related.

Still, I�ve been playing it over and over, as if I can stuff the music into my head, cramming it in like a package of Oreos eaten in the car, before I get home and the Keelhauler sees the package and tries to claim them for himself. Yes, exactly like that, except without the joyless greed, or incriminating crumbs.

I�m using the osmosis method, or maybe it�s immersion. Submersion? I�m inundating myself with this song, following the rationale that if I play it 1,200 times in a row, I will develop the ability to sing like Neko Case does. I would give anything�even my Imaginary Boyfriend John Krasinski�for the ability to match her phrasing, anything but actually studying vocal technique and working on my phrasing, apparently. Sure, call me lazy, but I have faith that my Magical Osmosis plan will work. Look for my new, chart-topping CD sometime this spring!

It occurs to me that to become a truly skilled singer I might have to determine a superior sacrifice than giving up my Imaginary Celebrity Boyfriend. Really, celebrities are not such a wonderful thing to have on hand. Yes, they can get you into parties, but they�re high maintenance, especially the real ones. Eventually, the fascination palls, and you have to listen to them tell you about how they spent the afternoon trying to fix the exhaust hose from their clothes dryer, information not rendered fascinating by its association with celebrity.

I�m not willing to give up my actual boyfriend, especially now that he has become a star in his own right, a star on the high seas. Last Sunday, we took the boat from Santa Barbara to Ventura with our friends Kent and Anthony and Lara. Kent, who generally brings along an acoustic guitar, this time brought an accessory that every self-respecting traveler should own: a sunshine yellow, battery-powered amp known as The Crate. We used a splitter to hitch it up to my red Fender and a microphone, and suddenly, our sonic power was increased ten-fold. Later, we determined that hooking up the iPod and the microphone simultaneously enabled us to treat passers-by to a phenomenon now known as Boataoke.

Here is the Keelhauler performing a song, possibly �Free Bird,� possibly �Danke Schoen�:

I have another picture of me at the helm as we neared the breakwater at the harbor entrance, treating neighboring boats to my deeply soulful version of "Three Times a Lady" that was hindered only by my failure to properly negotiate the substantial wake of the crew boat that entered the harbor just ahead of us.

"You're once... Twice� Woooooaaaaaaaaaaaah! ...a lady..."

I'm not putting the picture of myself in because it is deeply unflattering, and creates the illusion that I have a mullet.

Boataoke, ladies and gentlemen. (Yachtaoke just sounds so elitist.)

P.S. I do NOT have a mullet.

Star of the day. . .The Duke Spirit