Soul Serenade

Before I say anything let me say that neither Mark nor I can sing. Mark sounds like a cat that's been caught in a meat grinder, and I sound like a piece of heavy, steel machinery that's being dragged across a concrete floor. So I have no room to talk about other people's qualifications when it comes to singing. Unless I am forced to listen, that is.

Last evening Mark and I went out to a bar for a couple of drinks. What I didn't know was that it was karaoke night. So here are a few of my observations while I was being serenaded by those that love to share their talents. First, and I didn't know they did this, rapping is not singing. I don't even know how you would karaoke a rap song. It seems that all you would really need is a drum machine and the ability to talk. Which is exactly what was happening when we walked into that bar. There was a guy bouncing around and doing those spastic rap guy moves with his hands, while reciting something. I don't even know what language the guy was rapping in, Mark tells me it was English. Secondly, I noticed that fat black girls can sing pretty good. Unless they can't, which sometimes happens. Somebody just has to tell them. Third, there was a drunken young white guy who sang an Eagles song slightly better than I would have, while moving like Joe Cocker. It seemed like he was really having fun, and didn't give a rat's ass that nobody liked it. Now that's why you drink liquor, for the courage to stand in front of folks and make an ass out of yourself. Finally, there was one young man in a 'wife beater' shirt, or 'Dago Tee' as we used to call them, who sang some Bon Jovi song. He was my favorite. He also couldn't sing, but still, he was my favorite. Dago tee shirt, muscled arms, rough but attractive face. Yes, he was my favorite.