Sing it!

I've always insisted that no amount of alcohol could make me sing karaoke, and over the years I've held firm to this belief. I am a non-karaoker. In fact, I think these things might be decided on the genetic level. How, then, to explain last night's stirring rendition of The Final Countdown?

Obviously, Lisa is to blame. Rather than merely tolerating the odd karaoke outing, my dear friend Lisa lives for them. So when her husband planned a surprise birthday party for her, there was no question of the theme. He booked a private room at a club on the edge of downtown, where all she and all her friends could wail away to our heart's content.

At first, just about everyone claimed to be an avowed non-singer. Luckily, one of Dan's friends was willing to take one for the team and climbed up on a table to perform Sweet Caroline. (Sometimes I think the sole reason karaoke even exists is to allow people to sing along with the horns on Sweet Caroline's chorus - Bom-Bom-BOM. It's impossible to resist. Just try it some time.) Anyway, soon guests who had been karaoke virgins were collaborating on heart-wrenching renditions of MacArthur Park.

I guess it was a desire not to yet again be the boring, non-singing one that led me to try the Final Countdown. It didn't turn out so well. Apparently there's more to that song than periodically shouting out THE FINAL COUNTDOWN! Who knew? I did much better with my performance of Paranoid, although it drew some shockingly blank looks. How can there be people that don't know that song inside and out? Yanni-listening commie bastards.

A bizarre moment came when Dan decided to sing Living Next Door to Alice - a deservedly obscure semi-hit from the 70s. Apparently it's gained cult status as a big sing-along song in bars. Specifically, after the line Now I've got to get used to not living next door to Alice... everyone is supposed to chant ALICE! ALICE! WHO THE FUCK IS ALICE! I had no idea. But everyone but me knew it, so I guess I've been missing out all these years. Anyway, after a few rousing repetitions of ALICE! ALICE! etc., one of the waiters came to the door and asked if we could keep it down, as there was a children's party outside. We were embarrassed, but also suspicious. There couldn't really be kids in a bar, could there? Dan went out to investigate and turns out there was a whole table full of children just around the corner. So... a children's party, in a downtown asian bar, at 10 pm on a Saturday night. I have no explanation for this.

So, I think I've made great progress on the karaoke front. I can now say that I'm not always the designated pain-in-the-ass who refuses to sing. However, I feel perfectly content to rest on my laurels and go back to being a non-karaoker. Trust me, it's better for everyone that way...