Karaoke Whore

My plan at graduation was to rocket across the field of the minor-league baseball stadium where we hold our graduation ceremonies as soon as the last name was called. It is easy to be the first one to get to my car this way as most people are traveling in packs while I am traveling alone. Packs, be they families, groups of friends, carpoolers, move slowly. A lone wolf can zip around, between, over, and under packs without them even knowing he is there. Soon, I am in my car and buzzing towards the freeway, while others are still hugging and crying.

I used to go to the after-graduation gathering at a local bar, but the traffic around the stadium made it just as hard to get there as getting to the freeway.

But, I found out that our gathering was going to take place in a lounge at the stadium. So, I decided that I'd stay for awhile, get a little food, maybe a little drink, and then leave.

Those of us who attended were greeted by a school secretary who, with her husband, runs a karaoke business. She began singing a song and her voice wasn't awful.

You can guess where this is leading.

I hadn't even sat down with my array of greasy hors d'voures when people started telling me, "Bro A-Bomb, you have to sing!"

I thought I would resist, at first. I have standards. But, when JB, my non-singing teaching partner got up and did a rousing version of "Welcome to the Jungle," I knew that I had to give the people what they wanted.

I thought JB was quite brave to be the first. But, when he immediately darted out the door to his car after he had finished, I thought him less so. He broke the ice without paying the price.

Then two science teacher who sing worse than JB got up to do a rendition of "Love Shack."

So I filled out my little card, went to the bar for another beer, and, when my name was called out, sang "New York, New York." The trouble with Karaoke is that the lyrics that flash across the screen are often wrong and don't fit the rhythm of the song. Or they try to follow every yelp and growl of the original singer too closely and become confusing.

Some other drunk souls got up. A few of them could sing.

What I noticed was how many younger people knew all of the country western songs that were being performed. I find that scary. I think anyone who gets into country western before they turn 30 has some serious issues. I'm not talking about fans of Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson. I'm talking about the twangy, proud-to-be-ignernt singers, like Toby Keith. What nit-wits.

Anyway, my second song was "That's Life." I thought about doing a third song, but chose not to. It is always good to leave the audience wanting more-especially a karaoke audience.

UF brought his guitar and his own mike and amp and accompanied himself on a David Wilcox song. I don't know if he knew this, but Barb's husband looked pissed that someone would choose not to sing karaoke.

I realize that, by singing karaoke, I compromised my high artistic standards. I swear I'll never do it again.