Here's the rule about going out: you never regret just going home. It turns out that no matter how awesome of a time everyone else had the night that you stayed in : drag racing, dancing in a burlesque house and going to a speakeasy where they serve all their drinks in boots, you don't really care. Because you stayed in, and fell asleep at 1 AM yourself after eating some ice cream and watching half a season of Keeping up with the Kardashians on Netflix. You're never going to regret that night.
As a parent of children under the age of three, I often regret being out past 6:30 PM. I start to panic: "we need to get them home. Do you know what happens if we take them home at 7:30! Do you know!" Honestly, this monologue mainly happens internally, but it is deeply frightening. For those of you who don't have children, if the children go to bed late, and then you go to bed right after them, your life can seem like a meaningless circle of feeding and crying and working and bed and then probably death. If the children go to bed early, you can spend the evening benevolently reflecting on their sweet smile and funny jokes. No child is sweeter than one who is sleeping.
However, sans children, everyone decides to leave the rehearsal dinner to head down to a bar for karaoke.
Like most people, I believe I'm an above average to, probably should have a small record contract singer. However, over the years my wife's use of the words like "tone deaf" and "do you hear any tunes?" has lead me to believe that I might not be as talented as I once thought. This is what comes of a whole generation of children who were told that they could be anything they wanted to be. We all thought we'd be astronauts, NBA basketball players or the premier of Soviet Russia by now, and we are sad as a result. It's best to set expectations low. Jimmy, we think you might make it one day as a yard duty at an elementary school.
It turns out you can't do everything. No matter how hard you try you will not be able to win the gold medal in the long jump. The only time I should ever be singing karaoke is with Scarlett Johannson in Tokyo in one of those private rooms during a mid-life crisis.
The first time I went to do karaoke in San Francisco, years and years ago, I thought it was going to be a fun evening of laughing and singing. Except, we were in the world's most serious karaoke bar. After the second lady did a medley of Whitney Houston hits followed by another woman belting out some Mariah Carey, it occurred to me that karaoke was a deeply scary undertaking. It was clear that these people came to the karaoke bar to be discovered. Maybe I should have posed as a really young agent. I didn't. These people were intense. After a long night of waiting out these beautiful singers, a few of us cranked out a nice rendition of the Back Street Boys "I want it that way" much to the delight of one middle aged woman who clapped and got out of her seat. Sadly, the rest of the crowd just looked on like we'd just sacrificed a goat.
The bar is described as a "dive" bar. However, I suspect that Saratoga actually only has one bar downtown, so it's also the "hipster bar," "dancing bar," "best place to eat chicken wings and do interpretative dancing with a hula hoop while you break up with your ex-girlfriend bar" in Saratoga. The bar area takes up more than half the space in the pleasantly dark room. We're seated on two low slung couches and two easy chairs, passing stories back and forth, sharing drinks and laughs while a pair of guys bang out some Temple of the Dog "Hunger Strike," and something by Nirvana. And I'd have been happy to play out the night that way, reflecting on how amazing the music was in the nineties, but it was not to be. Apparently, when you go to karaoke, someone actually karaokes.
To be honest, at first I promised to just be a back up dancer for my friend and his wife doing a lovely duet. And the next thing you know I'm getting promoted from back up dancer to lead singer "performing" (probably too nice of a word) a rousing rendition of "Party In the USA" by Miley Cyrus. Luckily, despite being on lead mic, I could not hear anything I was singing. The crowd was also deeply appreciative, despite not knowing it. In fact, I suspect that the mic they gave me was a dud, like when I used to give unplugged video game controllers to kids I was babysitting. Eventually, I passed the mic off to the groom's sister and danced to one of the catchiest songs of the last ten years. Afterwards, at least two people came up and said how surprised they were that I was capable of having fun. I attributed it all to the cowboy hat. At the end of the day, it's one of those times when you have to ask yourself if you have any regrets, and I'd have to say that I wish I'd followed it up with "Love Story" by Taylor Swift. You live and learn.
After that, the floodgates were loosed and various members of our group did a poor job singing songs and a fantastic job of having a wonderful time. Sure a ton of rounds being bought from the bar helps, but it also helps to be in the company of such fine people, who make you laugh and smile and remind you that life can occasionally be a kind of gift.
I hear people talk disparagingly of heaven, reflecting on how boring it would be to spend an eternity strumming away on a harp and singing praises. But what if heaven wasn't quite like that. What if it was more like a small bar in the center of a sleepy CA town, where drinks were flowing, the music was bad, but it was being sung by people you love, and you were all laughing and dancing the night away. Maybe we wouldn't last an eternity, but I think I could spend a few nights there, praising in our own strange way.
As a parent of children under the age of three, I often regret being out past 6:30 PM. I start to panic: "we need to get them home. Do you know what happens if we take them home at 7:30! Do you know!" Honestly, this monologue mainly happens internally, but it is deeply frightening. For those of you who don't have children, if the children go to bed late, and then you go to bed right after them, your life can seem like a meaningless circle of feeding and crying and working and bed and then probably death. If the children go to bed early, you can spend the evening benevolently reflecting on their sweet smile and funny jokes. No child is sweeter than one who is sleeping.
However, sans children, everyone decides to leave the rehearsal dinner to head down to a bar for karaoke.
Like most people, I believe I'm an above average to, probably should have a small record contract singer. However, over the years my wife's use of the words like "tone deaf" and "do you hear any tunes?" has lead me to believe that I might not be as talented as I once thought. This is what comes of a whole generation of children who were told that they could be anything they wanted to be. We all thought we'd be astronauts, NBA basketball players or the premier of Soviet Russia by now, and we are sad as a result. It's best to set expectations low. Jimmy, we think you might make it one day as a yard duty at an elementary school.
It turns out you can't do everything. No matter how hard you try you will not be able to win the gold medal in the long jump. The only time I should ever be singing karaoke is with Scarlett Johannson in Tokyo in one of those private rooms during a mid-life crisis.
The first time I went to do karaoke in San Francisco, years and years ago, I thought it was going to be a fun evening of laughing and singing. Except, we were in the world's most serious karaoke bar. After the second lady did a medley of Whitney Houston hits followed by another woman belting out some Mariah Carey, it occurred to me that karaoke was a deeply scary undertaking. It was clear that these people came to the karaoke bar to be discovered. Maybe I should have posed as a really young agent. I didn't. These people were intense. After a long night of waiting out these beautiful singers, a few of us cranked out a nice rendition of the Back Street Boys "I want it that way" much to the delight of one middle aged woman who clapped and got out of her seat. Sadly, the rest of the crowd just looked on like we'd just sacrificed a goat.
The bar is described as a "dive" bar. However, I suspect that Saratoga actually only has one bar downtown, so it's also the "hipster bar," "dancing bar," "best place to eat chicken wings and do interpretative dancing with a hula hoop while you break up with your ex-girlfriend bar" in Saratoga. The bar area takes up more than half the space in the pleasantly dark room. We're seated on two low slung couches and two easy chairs, passing stories back and forth, sharing drinks and laughs while a pair of guys bang out some Temple of the Dog "Hunger Strike," and something by Nirvana. And I'd have been happy to play out the night that way, reflecting on how amazing the music was in the nineties, but it was not to be. Apparently, when you go to karaoke, someone actually karaokes.
To be honest, at first I promised to just be a back up dancer for my friend and his wife doing a lovely duet. And the next thing you know I'm getting promoted from back up dancer to lead singer "performing" (probably too nice of a word) a rousing rendition of "Party In the USA" by Miley Cyrus. Luckily, despite being on lead mic, I could not hear anything I was singing. The crowd was also deeply appreciative, despite not knowing it. In fact, I suspect that the mic they gave me was a dud, like when I used to give unplugged video game controllers to kids I was babysitting. Eventually, I passed the mic off to the groom's sister and danced to one of the catchiest songs of the last ten years. Afterwards, at least two people came up and said how surprised they were that I was capable of having fun. I attributed it all to the cowboy hat. At the end of the day, it's one of those times when you have to ask yourself if you have any regrets, and I'd have to say that I wish I'd followed it up with "Love Story" by Taylor Swift. You live and learn.
After that, the floodgates were loosed and various members of our group did a poor job singing songs and a fantastic job of having a wonderful time. Sure a ton of rounds being bought from the bar helps, but it also helps to be in the company of such fine people, who make you laugh and smile and remind you that life can occasionally be a kind of gift.
I hear people talk disparagingly of heaven, reflecting on how boring it would be to spend an eternity strumming away on a harp and singing praises. But what if heaven wasn't quite like that. What if it was more like a small bar in the center of a sleepy CA town, where drinks were flowing, the music was bad, but it was being sung by people you love, and you were all laughing and dancing the night away. Maybe we wouldn't last an eternity, but I think I could spend a few nights there, praising in our own strange way.
i loved the last paragraph..here's to you ..mom and dad
ReplyDeletewhat do you want to be reminded me of 30 rock..
i want to be a soda machine filler
i want to be a doorman
i want to spend years in jail
i want to be a race car driver..windshield cleaner