Oh, the humility. The embarrassment sets in. Sadly, I get more of a thrill out of the Jumping-J song on Sesame Street than you do. As I come crashing into the living room with outlandish dance moves, you spring off the sofa, begging and pleading for me to refrain. "No, Mommy," you say, in the most scolding of tones. Guess I should've learned by now that my range is pretty limited outside the Magnetic Fields for karaoke.