I’ve been remiss in my Blog postings, so I didn’t write about the karaoke bar that the legendary Todd Pugsley took me to on Friday night. Actually, his new girlfriend Phong took both of us. When I hear the phrase “karaoke bar”, I think of a Jersey-style pub setup, with a microphone machine next to the pool table, and where folks with tight acidwashed jeans and cheap bomber jackets get up to sing “Livin’ on a Prayer.” This place was completely different — a front desk, a small bar, and a long hallway with doors on either side. Behind each door, a room — maybe 10′ by 12′ — holding a low table, industrial-strength stereo, wraparound couches, and two big televisions.
The room was crammed with young Vietnamese undergraduates in party dresses, and their boyfriends in black turtleneck sweaters and leather Vanson jackets. Far from singing Jersey’s Greatest Hits, they were concentrating on ballads — Air Supply and Journey. The computer would identify each song briefly by number before showing the title: “65-002”, and the biggest karaoke junkies in the room would say “oh, I love this song!”, because they knew them all by number as well as name.
I sang. Guns ‘N Roses, because I don’t know the words to “Endless Love.” It was embarassing. ‘Nough said.