Maybe I should just rename this blog “I Don’t Get It”. Maybe I’m just turning into an old fart but there are just more and more things I don’t get.
This evening we went to the opening of the Swamplands exhibit at the Aquarium. It was, by the way, WAY COOL! There were extra animals there that will only be on exhibit this weekend. They’re not part of the regular exhibit. Lots of snakes, a few cool lizards, some tarantulas and even some hissing cockroaches. But more about that Sunday after I finish my shift.
The point is, we knew we were going to be running late so we decided to have a couple burgers at Hoovers for dinner rather than cooking and having to clean up and all. As you may have figured out, we generally go to Hoover’s for dinner every Sunday after my shift at the Aquarium. Sundays are very mellow. Pretty much the same folks are there, the music isn’t blaring, plenty of time to shoot the breeze with Deb & Richard.
As it turns out, Friday evening is nothing like Sunday. Matter of fact, Friday is karaoke night. We’ve never been karaoke fans and actually have only witnessed it one other time. Our impression was that it was just a chance for drunks to get up on stage. More of a hoot than anything else. But, if tonight was any indication, that’s not what it’s about at all. These people are actually serious. It’s like they think there are talent scouts in the audience and they might get discovered. But they have got to be kidding!
Case in point: there’s this guy who comes in most Sunday nights. Nice looking guy. He comes in, has one drink, a double shot of rum on the rocks with a glass of water on the side. Hardly ever says anything. Has his drink and leaves. Very mysterious. However, occasionally we have heard enough of conversations between him and other patrons to pick up the fact that the guy takes karaoke pretty seriously. Okay, maybe he’s really good. I guess. But…
Well tonight we got to find out. The DJ for the karaoke session was pretty much of a dip. Lots of tattoos, black clothes, buzzed head, big shock of chin hair, black porkpie hat. He sang a couple songs that I, of course, didn’t recognize. But the lyrics were shown on a big screen TV. Even though the words as sung were pretty much unintelligable, the printout on the TV showed that they were actually incredibly crude. I don’t see how he was able to sing this stuff in public without dying of embarrassment.
But back to our rum drinker. This guy may not have been quite as old as I am but he’s got to be getting close. So up to the microphone he goes. We sit, eagerly anticipating what song he’s going to sing that will be so cool as to explain why he likes karaoke so much. Maybe a bluesy “Summertime” or possibly a dead-on version of “A Pirate Looks At 40”, possibly some vintage Dylan like maybe “Ballad Of A Thin Man”. Or, if he’s really got some pipes, maybe a soulful rendition of the Righteous Brothers’ “Unchained Melody”. Well, he sang two or three songs and we had no idea what they were. They sounded like that soulless crap you’re likely to hear on American Idol. Lame lyrics. No hook. No redeeming qualities at all as far as we were concerned. But he must listen to this stuff or it wouldn’t appeal to him. His voice was okay but his song selection left much to be desired. And, not only did he choose these songs but he actually supplied his own CDs for accompaniment. So then I wonder, are there companies out there producing CDs of popular songs without the vocal track so that karaoke singers can sing along to them? Really? This is all getting way too serious.
Anyway, we’ll never be able to look at this guy the same way again. Which probably bothers him not at all. I’m sure he doesn’t sing karaoke to impress the old farts at the end of the bar. But I don’t know. I just don’t get it. Guess we’ve officially entered old fartdom. Matter of fact, there is absolutely no doubt about it.