The trouble with people who like karaoke is, they don’t understand that people who don’t like karaoke REALLY, REALLY don’t like karaoke.
A few of my friends go to a karaoke night on Saturdays. They’ve been texting and tweeting in recent weeks, trying to convince me to come join them. Last Saturday, one of them tweeted that someone was about to do Shatner’s rendition of “Rocketman.”
Really? You’re telling me that someone is about to do a crappy rendition of a crappy rendition of a crappy song, and you think that’s going to persuade me to show up? Might as well tell me John Calipari and Bruce Pearl are there and are about to sing a duet. You know how I love those guys.
This week, I’ve been watching the regular attendees plan their Saturday karaoke night on Twitter. No kidding, they talk about it all week. They were planning a duet, and while they couldn’t agree on a song to sing, they wanted it to end with “jazz hands.” I thought I’d heard the last of jazz hands when Joey got fired as a chorus director on Friends. I mean, seriously, Saturday nights are devolving to the point that I wonder if Midtown hipsters will begin showing up to karaoke in an attempt to be kitschy and ironic.
Last week I was offered free PBR to go down there. I refused and ordered another full price beer at the Saucer. Mind you, the Saucer is no prize itself on Saturday nights, full of Affliction shirts and popped collars. Beats karaoke though.
One of the people who tries to persuade me to attend is a professional lobbyist, so I’ll put this in terms maybe he can understand: He’s about as likely to convince me to go to karaoke as he is to convince me to make a donation to the Tea Party.
If Rocketman and jazz hands are your idea of an enjoyable Saturday night, by all means go. Me, I’ll be elsewhere.