The Karaoke Cherry
I am introverted. Having people watch me do anything – speaking,
dancing, reading – weakens my knees and whips up my heart. My mind
becomes hyperactive, noticing everything, but remembering very little.
Some people pay big bucks for this kind of thrill. They take up deadly
thousand-dollar hobbies, like alpine skiing, hang-gliding, or rock climbing.
My search for that same rush starts and ends anywhere people gather.
You may not be surprised, then, to hear that I’d lived my 24 years
without ever having participated in any kind of karaoke. But then, last
week, came Adam Sauseland’s birthday. Adam is a middle-aged guy
in a young person’s profession (graduate student) who has managed
to somehow seem quite a bit more immature than the majority of his classmates.
He spends his days hanging out with hot young ladies and his nights drinking.
Somehow he managed to snag himself a cute 26 year-old girlfriend, who
decided Adam’s 36th birthday party would be karaoke at the VFW bar.
I think Adam is pretty happy he went back to school.
Having become friends with Adam, and also with his girlfriend, my lady
and I knew what had to be done. We were going to lose our collective karaoke
cherry and soon. We weren’t sure how, or with what musician, but
by the end of the night, we’d be intimately sharing a song with
our 20 closest friends, and 40 perfect strangers.
Katherine shared her first cherished karaoke moment with Patsy Cline.
The whole place clammed up as she sang ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’
soft, but strong, and in perfect tune. People swayed and sung along, all
the while saying ‘woah’, and complimenting me on how wonderful
my girlfriend is.
Moments after her conclusion, Beth, our mustachioed karaoke overlord called
me into the spotlight. Right there, in front of nearly 100 people I lost
my karaoke virginity to Alan Jackson. As is quite normal in the loss of
any virginity, I regret my choice. Not because “Chatahootchee”
is a bad song, in fact, the whole place stood up and got down for me,
but because now, when people ask, I’ll have to say “I lost
my karaoke virginity to Alan Jackson,” and I will feel dirty.
As I laid down the mike, the adrenaline broke down, my hands began to
shake, and a weakness overcame me. I stumbled back to my beer, chugged,
and then laid my head down on a table. No bungee jump could ever compare
to those three solid minutes of excited terror.
The night continued as planned, and I found watching others make fools
of themselves almost as rewarding as being the fool myself. Adam became
Freddie Mercury, and then later, Bruce Springsteen. I danced with everyone
I knew and, after a double rum and coke, Katherine I signed up for a few
more songs. Buddy Holly, I think, was a good choice, and people are still
complimenting me on my rendition of “That’ll be the Day”.
After two more songs, I was certain that my career as a professional singer
had just begun. Katherine and I started making plans for the future of
our lounge singing act. The notion didn’t last into sobriety. But
that doesn’t change how much fun we had.
I’m glad that I was born introverted, but with a tendency towards
thrill seeking. I’m never more than a few beers away from becoming
a rock star, I don’t have to risk my neck to get my thrills, and
my everyday calm keeps the ladies thinking that I’m a nice guy and
a good listener. I love my life when it’s boring and mundane, but
when I need that thrill all I have to do is share an essay with a crowd,
dance on an empty floor, speak up in class, or, a lot more frequently
from now on, head to a karaoke bar with my girl.
For a full year I wrote a weekly column for a daily paper in Boulder CO. I wrote about being young, poor and green, and the column was widely loved throughout the city. It remains one of the most rewarding things I've ever done.
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