It was 1995, on a balmy summer day in the Illinois suburbs, where nothing of note ever really happened. The air was ripe with possibility and the potential for greatness.

I stood confidently, unabashedly, in my friend Caitlin's living room. With pink feather boas around our shoulders and hairbrush microphones in hand, we got in our places, lights symbolically dimmed and faux spotlight ready.

With a packed audience of Caitlin's mom and only Caitlin's mom, we launched into a riveting performance-a choreographed song-and-dance routine to Ace of Base's seminal classic, "The Sign."