I Suppose You Think You're Brave
I think that there are some "firsts" that deserve to be remembered by oral tradition, passed reverently from grandparents to grandchildren through story telling and songs, others that are recorded in history books or film so that countless generations can learn from the past actions of others--then there are those firsts that go straight to blog.
My first time in a kareoke bar is destined for this last category.
How did she get herself into this situation? some of you may ask. And rightly so. It is no secret that I am not a singer, which of course doesn't stop me from belting it out in the safety and relatively private locale of my car where at least I just look silly and pathetic--my apolgies to my fellow commuters. My lack of musical talent or understanding of such concepts as "major and minor keys" (I had a tutelage on the Dido song "Thank You"), pitch, tone, etc has long caused friends and family alike to look confusingly at me while I try to familiarize them to a song I heard. They shake their heads sadly with wry and patronizing expressions.
Yet here I was, in public holding in my hands a microphone, letting real sounds issue forth from my mouth! I had not lost a bet, I did not make some deal where my humiliation in one area would grant me unbelievable riches in another (boobs are still the same size, bank account still gathering dust, dashing prince absent from the picture) and I had not let a single drop of alcohol pass my lips to get myself involved in this sad state of affairs!
To fully understand my reasoning, you must rewind a few decades back to July 28, 1968. Ok, now go forward again to the night of July 28, 2005 to celebrate a birthday of a friend--as a birthday request, she wanted "backup" for a few songs. Due to the following equation, I knew I would not be singing:
It would take an unquantifiable amount of alcoholic beverages injested in my system to even consider singing in front of a bunch of strangers + I had to work the next day x I had to drive back over the Pali Highway that night= I Injest only water.
She just wouldn't give up, though ("pack your bags...we're going on a guilt trip"), and having warmed up doing the backup--the only words I was familiar with in "These Boots Were Made For Walkin'"--it seemed not so bad to segue into singing more of "Proud Mary" and "Dancing Queen," fortunately or unfortunately--the jury's still out--two songs in my car tunes repertoire.
Secretly, I have always fantasized about finding some hidden key which would unlock my incredible set of chops, equalling instant fame, fortune and adoration.
The keymaster, however, wasn't giving it up that night.
My reviewers were kindly silent, so, while I have known for quite some time that I am not the best singer out there, I am also quite sure that I'm not the worst.
So, when faced with the questions do " I think I'm brave? Great? Terrible?"...
My answer must be, "Only compared to some."
My first time in a kareoke bar is destined for this last category.
How did she get herself into this situation? some of you may ask. And rightly so. It is no secret that I am not a singer, which of course doesn't stop me from belting it out in the safety and relatively private locale of my car where at least I just look silly and pathetic--my apolgies to my fellow commuters. My lack of musical talent or understanding of such concepts as "major and minor keys" (I had a tutelage on the Dido song "Thank You"), pitch, tone, etc has long caused friends and family alike to look confusingly at me while I try to familiarize them to a song I heard. They shake their heads sadly with wry and patronizing expressions.
Yet here I was, in public holding in my hands a microphone, letting real sounds issue forth from my mouth! I had not lost a bet, I did not make some deal where my humiliation in one area would grant me unbelievable riches in another (boobs are still the same size, bank account still gathering dust, dashing prince absent from the picture) and I had not let a single drop of alcohol pass my lips to get myself involved in this sad state of affairs!
To fully understand my reasoning, you must rewind a few decades back to July 28, 1968. Ok, now go forward again to the night of July 28, 2005 to celebrate a birthday of a friend--as a birthday request, she wanted "backup" for a few songs. Due to the following equation, I knew I would not be singing:
It would take an unquantifiable amount of alcoholic beverages injested in my system to even consider singing in front of a bunch of strangers + I had to work the next day x I had to drive back over the Pali Highway that night= I Injest only water.
She just wouldn't give up, though ("pack your bags...we're going on a guilt trip"), and having warmed up doing the backup--the only words I was familiar with in "These Boots Were Made For Walkin'"--it seemed not so bad to segue into singing more of "Proud Mary" and "Dancing Queen," fortunately or unfortunately--the jury's still out--two songs in my car tunes repertoire.
Secretly, I have always fantasized about finding some hidden key which would unlock my incredible set of chops, equalling instant fame, fortune and adoration.
The keymaster, however, wasn't giving it up that night.
My reviewers were kindly silent, so, while I have known for quite some time that I am not the best singer out there, I am also quite sure that I'm not the worst.
So, when faced with the questions do " I think I'm brave? Great? Terrible?"...
My answer must be, "Only compared to some."
posted by Manoa Missy at 10:25 AM
1 Comments:
We like them short and we like them tall
We like them one and we like them all
They’re always adding entries when they find the room
Cause they know we love the guys with the blogs that go BOOM!
And see my friend KT really knows where it’s at
She’s got 50-inch entries all along her iMac
My boyfriend makes a comment on going to my room
But I’d rather stay and read KT's blog that goes BOOM!
KT where's your BOOM these days?! We wanna new entry!!
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