Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Karaoke Diaries Part 2: Bobby Darin and a few verses from Nothing But A G Thing
A few years ago my buddy Phil had a very attractive female friend visiting him from out of state. The girl proceeded to commandeer the next few days of Phil's life as Phil knew that if he kowtowed to her impulses he stood a better chance of seeing her in some state of undress. First up, the girl asked to be driven up to Mount Charleston to go sledding. Phil and I drove her up to the mountain and afterwards she suggested that we should do karaoke later in the evening. I agreed to go with them only under the pretense that I was going to get out of going as I knew of my limited karaoke abilities and sharing them didn't appeal to me in the least. That is, until a beautiful woman asks me to do it and then I'm liable to die in a flurry of pelvic thrusts and vocal chord straining approximating a Tom Jones impersonation for said beautiful woman. Tammy (beautiful woman): Luke are you going to sing karaoke with us? Luke: Yes, yes I am.
I secretly hoped the karaoke bar we were heading to resembled the karaoke bar in Lost In Translation, you know, a crowd, screens, decent music. The karaoke bar we arrived at was located in a strip mall adjacent to UNLV, and wasn't so much a bar but a series of rooms where if you stood in the middle of the hallway outside the rooms the stereo sound of random strangers channeling their inner Celine Dion and Mariah Carey enveloped you and burrowed into your earhole like a tick that infects you with shitty music. So I watched my friends select their favorite songs then proceed to perform them or butcher them depending on your level of intoxication. One friend was singing the summer of 93's omnipresent single Nuthing But A G-Thing and it just so happened that I knew half of the song. When the parts of the song I was familiar with came around I snatched the microphone from my friends hand and spit out the rhymes like I knew what it was like to grow up in Inglewood or Compton. Truth be told, on one occasion as a result of my poor navigational skills I ended up in front of the two story doughnut adorned with the words "Randy's Dougnuts" that appears in many Snoop Dogg videos and just the sight of that doughnut got me panicky. But somehow I knew a good portion of the song and I sang it. Later on someone selected Bobby Darin's "Dream Lover" for me, which I knew well, and sang but only after drinking a great deal of plum wine. I was getting increasingly intoxicated off the wine, so I sat back and watched my friends desecrate pop staple after pop staple.
During one song i felt nauseous and before i could react, I felt what was easily a cup full of vomit coursing up my esophagus. I frantically looked around for a container, not wanting to interrupt the Theme from Flash Dance someone was actively vocally beating the life out of. There wasn't a container to be found, so I did what any courteous karaoke-er would do, I choked down that vomit. It's not an easy thing to do, you know. To defy direct orders from your stomach, essentially flipping the bird to its refusal of your belly full of wine, telling the stomach to enjoy both the ride and the alcohol. But I did, as I knew nothing kills the spirit of a lively rendition of a Kenny Rogers song like your friend vomiting on the table. So what did we learn, kids? Don't drink plum wine to excess without a bowl in front of you and if you see Randy's Doughnuts, you've probably taken a wrong turn at stabbing victim blvd. and are headed down car jacking lane. Yer pal, Luke