I want to be able to go to a wine tasting class then drink margaritas and eat copious amounts of chips and salsa at a local Mexican restaurant where it just so happens to be karaoke night. All on a Wednesday after work. There’s no room for babies in that scenario. There’s barely room for a full grown toy fox terrier. (Gatsby was not happy that we left him alone for so long, as evidenced by the explosion of hyperactivity that met us at the door when we got home).
Let’s just say that if it’s wrong to find it hilarious that through some weird misunderstanding, my friend Erin accidentally led the host of karaoke night to believe that she was a scout from EMI talent agency, then I don’t want to be right. There’s something beautiful about the sparkle of hope in a small Asian man’s eyes when he believes that maybe his big break has finally come.
Witnessing a college frat boy methodically recite all of the lyrics to The Bloodhound Gang’s “Ain’t Nothing But Mammals” is the kind of experience I am not yet willing to give up. If anyone deserves to be discovered, it’s that guy – I was beyond impressed.
And then there was Don. Adorable, scruffy, Vietnam vet Don who sang several country songs about stars and stripes. And also Neil Sedaka’s Calendar Girl. His wife, when she wasn’t trying to get his attention by barking “God Damn it, Don!” could be found dancing in the back of the room with one of college frat boy’s friends.
God Bless America.
And birth control.