I went to karaoke on Saturday night.
First, I did Me and Bobby McGee, because that song is my jam, man. My lady jam.
Then, I was going for that song that goes ‘call me crazy, call me anything you want…’.
WHAT IS THAT SONG?
Because it’s not Crazy by Patsy Cline.
I don’t actually know Crazy by Patsy Cline. I found that out with a microphone in my hand in front of a room full of people.
I ended up calling for volunteers and this nice fellow who always had a least three songs in the queue (he liked to sing, I’m sayin’) jumped up and tried to help, but he didn’t know the fucking song either. I mean he sort of knew it, but it turns out there are parts that I sort of knew too.
It was a little rough, but I survived. The upside of karaoke is that the whole room is either a) hoping they’re next, b) hoping they’re not next, or c) trying to decide what to sing next. I’m not sure anyone but me and Mr Sure-if-there’s-an-0pen-mic-I’m-in even noticed anything.
Still. Not my finest moment.