I love me some karaoke.
I’m not that girl with the golden voice who stands up and sings “A Sorta Fairytale” or something from “Les Miserables.” No, I’m the girl with an octave and a half range and a lot of life-style-induced gravel in her throat who sings Billie Holiday, or, depending on my level of drunkenness, “Every Rose Has Its Thorn.” And then talks to people during the guitar solo.
Saturday was an “Every Rose Has Its Thorn,” sort of night.
I’d started out by calling my pal Cathy and telling her that I didn’t think I was up for a crazy night out on the town. She was very patient and understanding, and suggested a number of replacement outings that wouldn’t be so trying on my recently broken heart. Probably because she knows me very well, and therefore was entirely aware of the fact that I would be calling her back in a few short hours to suggest that maybe karaoke was just the thing to lift my spirits. To her credit, she did her best to sound surprised.
Now, Cathy is awesome. Awesome like free booze or an extra-cool Mom. How awesome is she? When I got to her house, she had a Get Well gift for me containing Reese’s Peanut Butter cups, a nip of Johnnie Walker Black, a lottery card, three candy rings (one for me, one for her, and one for my sister, who also attended and who had the privilege of acting as my chauffeur) and a dirty greeting card.
I drank my nip and scratched my scratch ticket and modeled my ring for everyone. And then we headed over to the Jeannie Johnston to make some magic.
Two scotches, four beers and a warm-up song later (“I Will Survive”), I was clutching the microphone and doing my Axl Rose impression. By this time, I was having some difficulty seeing. I was also wearing a ginormous light-up Jesus pendant, which I’d bought in the T station earlier and which I’d started referring to as “Jeebus” as in “Jeebus loves your shoes, Cathy” or “Don’t make Jeebus angry, or I’ll sing Guns N Roses.”
Anyway, I developed a neat new karaoke gimmick, which I will share with all of you now, and which you should feel free to use whenever you’re confronted with a particularly long guitar solo during karaoke. (They go on so long! What do you do during that time? Head-bang? Dance? What if you can’t dance? You know, theoretically speaking?)
Here’s what you do: You talk. I decided to offer my audience a list of the many things they could do while Slash regaled us. Here are the ones I remember:
1) Go to the bathroom.
2) Have a snack.
3) Smoke ’em if ya got ’em.
4) Do your taxes.
5) Make a few phone calls.
6) FUCK OFF.
Okay, I didn’t say that last one. It really wasn’t a hostile sort of evening.
At the end of the night, Isaac and Cathy put me and Jeebus into our coats and rolled us back to their house, where I passed out on the couch next to a copy of “In Style” that I had been meaning to read. Cathy said it looked like I was spooning with it.
Ah, “In Style.” I hope karaoke isn’t jealous.
One thought on “How to be a karaoke superstar, or Even bloggers get the blues”
your post made me snort coke through my nose. (no, not that kind. the kind in the red can.) great stuff. Keep going. I’m hooked.