My friends now like to sneak in my name in karaoke with "I Kissed a Girl." If I protest, it becomes a big deal and draws attention. But the one time I went along with it, the DJ complimented my "impersonation."
More than the applause and laughter, I was hooked by the sheer rush of interpreting a beloved song in front of a live audience, discovering a new side of myself just when I thought my personality was set in stone.
There's no better way to end a long night of getting wasted in Seoul than with a few rounds of ear-busting, brain-pounding karaoke. Koreans refer to karaoke as noraebang or "song room," which is exactly where you'll be going with your falsetto-fabulous Korean friends in Seoul.
Much of the joy in karaoke has to do with standing up in front of strangers and baring your soul, vocally speaking. There's nowhere to hide, when it's just you, the backing track, and some words on a screen.
The glory of new life is, you can wait, there'll be another day. Approach things calmly and savor them, yeah, that's the stuff. In the meantime, I could honor my presence on Planet Here with sleep. After all, the dead don't sleep, they rest. It's different.
My most beloved mustache-wearing activity is drag karaoke. Singing as a 1970s man who likes to meet other men in meat trucks on New York City piers is thrilling. It is my homage to the LGBT peeps who Travolta-armed at Studio 54 into the early hours. It's all done with love.
What will you do while you huddle together under your possibly infected covers? Well, do we have the answer(s) for you! These five dregs offer great suggestions for hobbies to pick up while you futilely struggle to avoid the flu.
Karaoke is (sort of) an art. Everyone can do it, but not everyone can, to quote American Idol's Randy Jackson, "blow it out da box." Which is why I came up with these amazing tips on my ten-minute car ride to work this morning.
Little ol' me decided to head on over to that liberal conference in Rhode Island, Netroots Nation. I can't say too much about their politics but I have to admit they were nice. Deep down they're just confused, I'm sure of it.
Seven months sober, there I was at the Duplex piano bar at 2 in the morning. It was just like the old days -- minus one thing. Feeling so well, I boldly requested "Meadowlark," the mother of all showtunes. As soon as I started singing, I regretted it.