An absolutely crushing blow has devastated me tonight. I won't get into the details here, where just anyone could stumble across it. Suffice it to say I got my hopes up about something yet again, only to have them come crashing to the ground.
My most recent post here, about the random music I listen to, mentioned a song that feels all too relevant right now: I Just Wasn't Made for These Times, by the Beach Boys. I said: If any song is a personal anthem for me, this is surely it.
The song, by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher, goes like this - the passage in bold seems especially relevant.
I keep looking for a place to fit
Where I can speak my mind
I've been trying hard to find the people
That I won't leave behind
They say I got brains
But they ain't doing me no good
I wish they could
Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong
Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
Every time I get the inspiration
To go change things around
No one wants to help me look for places
Where new things might be found
Where can I turn when my fair weather friends cop out
What's it all about
Each time things start to happen again
I think I got something good goin' for myself
But what goes wrong
Sometimes I feel very sad
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
Sometimes I feel very sad
(Can't find nothin' I can put my heart and soul into)
I guess I just wasn't made for these times
As another favorite songwriter of mine once said, "I just had to let it go."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
WSIR
Hello faithful few readers. Sorry I haven't posted anything in this space in quite some time, but outside of my movie-going, not a lot has happened in my life - at least not that I'm prepared to write about yet.
But Friday evening, while listening to Internet radio, I hit upon (or heard upon) a fun topic - my strange musical taste.
I am quite famous for my Beatlemania, of course, but believe it or not, it's not the only music I listen to - although it is fair to say my taste is pretty retro, as this post will show.
I decided to do this post two ways. First I would turn on my custom-tailored Internet radio channel and list the first 10 songs I heard. These were not chosen by me, but were selected randomly by the computer. They were:
1. Are You Happy Now, Michelle Branch - One of my favorite singer-songwriters. I tend to gravitate toward young female chanteuses. I wish she'd put out the new material she's working on.
2. You Tell Me Why, The Beau Brummels - I suppose the radio picked this for me because of it's Beatle-y sound. Didn't make much impression on me either way.
3. Chimes of Freedom, The Byrds - Again, the Beatle connection rears its mop-topped head. Lots of that jangly guitar.
4. Wouldn't It Be Nice, The Beach Boys - Uuuum, YEAH!
5. Sleepyhouse, Blind Melon - Pleasant listen. I was never into Blind Melon, but I recall them because a couple of the guys in that band produced Anna Nalick. Speaking of whom:
6. Citadel, Anna Nalick - What a coincidence! This was a live acoustic version of one of my favorite songs from her first and so far only album. I really would love to see her drop back on the face of the earth. Met her once at one of her shows. Great singer, fun girl.
7. Tired of Waiting for You, The Kinks - A groovy little tune from a truly underappreciated band.
8. Hey Bulldog, The Beatles - Yup, this computer knows me.
9. Save the Last Dance for Me, Ike and Tina Turner - From the Phil Spector box set. Funny, the backing to this sounds eerily like "Heroes and Villains" by the Beach Boys. Speaking of whom:
10. I Just Wasn't Made for These Times, Brian Wilson - If any song is a personal anthem for me, this is surely it. Interestingly, the computer picked the live version from Brian's Pet Sounds tour, which I had the honor of seeing twice. I was most definitely made for THOSE times.
For the second part of this experiment, I decided to pull out my Gigabeat (my MP3 player) and put it on random and see if I could get some truly weird segues.
1. Alone, Wilson Phillips - Ah, the one WP song solely written by Wendy, my favorite member of the group. She struck me as the smart, low-key one.
2. She's a Woman, Paul McCartney - Acoustic version from his Unplugged album. Has a cool swing.
3. A Hard Day's Night, The Beatles - If you threw me against the wall, held a gun to my head and asked me to name ONE favorite Beatles song (and believe me, that's the only way you could get me to name ONE) - it would be this one. This was a slightly remixed stereo version from a Making of Hard Day's Night video. Has a longer fade than any other version. Yes, I'm a complete geek.
4. Little Bird, The Beach Boys - Dennis Wilson's writing debut, from the 1968 album Friends. Pretty impressive for a start. One of the few songs I can think of that sports both a cello and banjo.
5. Everything I Need, The Wilsons - My, we're on a Wilsons kick. Not that I mind. This is a song written by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher (Pet Sounds) from a solo album by Carnie and Wendy. Brian sings too.
6. On and On and On, The Internationals - Now HERE'S a weird segue. Rockin' track from my friend Todd Pack's former band. Has some of his tastiest guitar playing.
7. (Just Like) Starting Over, John Lennon - And we segue into a track by Todd's favorite Beatle, which, despite its jaunty sound, will always have a wistful air of melancholy about it because this was the song that was out when he died.
8. When Your Mind's Made Up, Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova - My second favorite song from the Once soundtrack, after the Oscar-winning "Falling Slowly," of course.
9. Got My Mind Set on You, George Harrison - George's last big solo hit - which is actually one of my least favorite songs from his Cloud 9 album. I prefer the ones he wrote. This was an oldie by one Rudy Clark.
10. Ezekiel 25:17 - The "great vengeance and furious anger speech" from Pulp Fiction, from the opening scenes of the film. What a track to end on. I think I'd best be going now.
Cue "Surf Rider" by The Lively Ones ...
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The many hairs of Eric Robinette
Every time I come back from the stylist, the chorus remains the same:
"Hey, I see ya got your ears lowered!"
"Where did your hair go?"
"Who are you?"
"Hey, wow, ya got your hair cut!"
And to that last one, I often reply: "I got all of them cut, actually."
(Insert either raucous laughter or the sad trombone, whichever you prefer.)
But lest anyone think I'm despairing, I promise I'm not. I'm quite used to this. My hair has been a point of conversation all my life. And I do mean ALL my life.
Take, for instance, this childhood photo of me from about 1973 or so. Yes, I am publicly admitting that is me.
And then there's helmet hair, as seen on my birthday a couple of years ago.
People always notice when I get a hair cut (or my hairs cut) because I don't go at regular intervals, like, say, once a month. And funnily enough, I do not follow the example of John Lennon, whose hairstyle was once called into question in court. John was testifying in a case revolving around the illegal issue of his Rock N' Roll oldies album. The bootleg had a picture of John with long hair. He showed up in court with short hair. When the other side's lawyer was cross-examining John on the stand, the lawer asserted that John must have cut his hair specifically for the trial.
John shot back, "Rubbish. I cut it every 18 months."
Believe me, if I waited 18 months, my hair would probably be three stories high. No, I go by an entirely different gauge. I head to the stylist when it takes more than three minutes to fix it every morning. An excess of 180 seconds on my head is just ridiculous.
And when I go to the stylist, they may cut my hair, but they sure don't cut me a break. Almost every one of them jokes about how much hair I've got. One of the most common remarks is, "You'll never have to worry about going bald."
No, I suppose I won't at that. And indeed, I only recently got a rather frightening look at the future. This is me just this past New Year's Eve, with a couple of very good friends of mine. I swear on my John Lennon collection no Photoshop or other alterations have been applied.
"Hey, I see ya got your ears lowered!"
"Where did your hair go?"
"Who are you?"
"Hey, wow, ya got your hair cut!"
And to that last one, I often reply: "I got all of them cut, actually."
(Insert either raucous laughter or the sad trombone, whichever you prefer.)
But lest anyone think I'm despairing, I promise I'm not. I'm quite used to this. My hair has been a point of conversation all my life. And I do mean ALL my life.
Take, for instance, this childhood photo of me from about 1973 or so. Yes, I am publicly admitting that is me.
Why it was thought this was a good look for me, I still don't know. It sure wasn't my idea. I personally prefer the look I sported a bit later, when I was about 5. I actually remember posing for this shot, too.
Kinda looks like a Beatle cut, doesn't it? Which is funny, considering my real Beatlemania didn't hit for another five years.
These days I sport two basic looks - the semi-buzz, seen here with my Clockwork Orange glower. Beleve it or not, I DO have a scalp.
And then there's helmet hair, as seen on my birthday a couple of years ago.
John shot back, "Rubbish. I cut it every 18 months."
Believe me, if I waited 18 months, my hair would probably be three stories high. No, I go by an entirely different gauge. I head to the stylist when it takes more than three minutes to fix it every morning. An excess of 180 seconds on my head is just ridiculous.
And when I go to the stylist, they may cut my hair, but they sure don't cut me a break. Almost every one of them jokes about how much hair I've got. One of the most common remarks is, "You'll never have to worry about going bald."
No, I suppose I won't at that. And indeed, I only recently got a rather frightening look at the future. This is me just this past New Year's Eve, with a couple of very good friends of mine. I swear on my John Lennon collection no Photoshop or other alterations have been applied.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four? Hoo!
Friday, January 8, 2010
The subject, Eric, thanks the artist, Reba
Dear Reba,
When I met you last Sunday, Jan. 3, you were practicing flash cards with words on them, so I'll understand if you can't quite grasp what I'm about to write, but when you get down to it, it's pretty simple. This is a BIG and heartfelt thank-you for the wonderful painting you presented to me, of myself and your mom, Shelly Snow.
As any number of my friends will tell you, I am a complete sucker for positive female attention, even when the girl in question is only 5, like you. And it's even more amazing when you consider we had never met at all before last week.
Oh, I had heard plenty about you. Your aunt Hilary has more pictures of you in her house than anyone else, I'm pretty sure. And scanning through your mom's pics on Facebook, I even knew you were artistically inclined.
Still, knowledge pales next to experience, so when you pressed your painting into my hands, I could have been a pin in your Wii game. I was completely bowled over. This wasn't just paint and paper - it was paint on canvas, mounted on wood and everything! You went all out!
Gifted as you obviously are, Reba, I'm not sure you know just how prescient you are as well. That means you know things before they happen. Somehow you figured out my favorite color is red and you made me that color. Your mom tells me you're quite good at capturing her too. She said to me "And I am a rectangle, which is pretty true : )"
When I took my painting back home, I immediately took a picture of myself with it, so I could show all my friends. I have been telling anybody and everybody about it. I write for a newspaper, and I talked to a lady who runs a big arts group in Middletown. I told her about your painting too, and she seemed about as charmed as I was, if that's even possible.
Your painting has been a great pick-me-up. If I'm ever feeling down or overwhelmed, all I have to do is look at your painting, and it's impossible not to smile. I'd carry it around with me everywhere, but I I want to keep it in good shape, so it has to stay at my house.
But does that stop me from looking at it when I'm away? Hardly! I even made your painting the picture on my laptop. So now, if work ever gets to be too much for me, all I have to do is push all the windows aside, and voila - Instant Smile!
In all honesty, Reba, this is one of my very favorite gifts I've ever gotten, and I will treasure it forever. That really means a lot that you did that for me, even before meeting me. I was surprised by your painting, but I wasn't at all surprised you're a great girl because you come from great stock - and that goes for both your nuclear and extended families, in every sense of the word.
You know, when I was a kid, I always wished I could draw or paint like you can. However, my talent is in words much more than pictures, so I hope what I've written here is enough to say thank you very, very much. I am truly touched. I can't wait to see you again, and I hope I can be in another one of your paintings sometime. Stay creative, kid! You're aces at it! Color me thrilled!
Hugs,
Your nutty uncle Eric
P.S. Don't worry about calling your mom and dad Shelly and Chad - I called my parents by their given names when I was about your age! Made sense to me! ;)
When I met you last Sunday, Jan. 3, you were practicing flash cards with words on them, so I'll understand if you can't quite grasp what I'm about to write, but when you get down to it, it's pretty simple. This is a BIG and heartfelt thank-you for the wonderful painting you presented to me, of myself and your mom, Shelly Snow.
As any number of my friends will tell you, I am a complete sucker for positive female attention, even when the girl in question is only 5, like you. And it's even more amazing when you consider we had never met at all before last week.
Oh, I had heard plenty about you. Your aunt Hilary has more pictures of you in her house than anyone else, I'm pretty sure. And scanning through your mom's pics on Facebook, I even knew you were artistically inclined.
Still, knowledge pales next to experience, so when you pressed your painting into my hands, I could have been a pin in your Wii game. I was completely bowled over. This wasn't just paint and paper - it was paint on canvas, mounted on wood and everything! You went all out!
You told me that was the sun coming out from behind the cloud. There were two figures at the bottom, and you pointed to them and said the one on the left was me, and the one on the right was your mom.
On top of all that (kinda literally, come to think of it), the sun coming out from the clouds reminded me of two songs by my all-time favorite group, the Beatles: "Here Comes the Sun" and "I"ll Follow the Sun." You got it goin' ON, friend!
When I took my painting back home, I immediately took a picture of myself with it, so I could show all my friends. I have been telling anybody and everybody about it. I write for a newspaper, and I talked to a lady who runs a big arts group in Middletown. I told her about your painting too, and she seemed about as charmed as I was, if that's even possible.
Your painting has been a great pick-me-up. If I'm ever feeling down or overwhelmed, all I have to do is look at your painting, and it's impossible not to smile. I'd carry it around with me everywhere, but I I want to keep it in good shape, so it has to stay at my house.
But does that stop me from looking at it when I'm away? Hardly! I even made your painting the picture on my laptop. So now, if work ever gets to be too much for me, all I have to do is push all the windows aside, and voila - Instant Smile!
In all honesty, Reba, this is one of my very favorite gifts I've ever gotten, and I will treasure it forever. That really means a lot that you did that for me, even before meeting me. I was surprised by your painting, but I wasn't at all surprised you're a great girl because you come from great stock - and that goes for both your nuclear and extended families, in every sense of the word.
You know, when I was a kid, I always wished I could draw or paint like you can. However, my talent is in words much more than pictures, so I hope what I've written here is enough to say thank you very, very much. I am truly touched. I can't wait to see you again, and I hope I can be in another one of your paintings sometime. Stay creative, kid! You're aces at it! Color me thrilled!
Hugs,
Your nutty uncle Eric
P.S. Don't worry about calling your mom and dad Shelly and Chad - I called my parents by their given names when I was about your age! Made sense to me! ;)
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a Beatle?
So I finally got my chance to play Beatles Rock Band when some friends invited me to play it at a little soiree Sunday evening. Now I'm wondering if I was ever meant to be a Beatle at all.
If you know me, that's sort of an astonishing statement. For nearly 30 years now I've been known as a Beatlemaniac par excellence. It was my primary claim to fame in high school. Everybody knew me as "the kid who liked the Beatles." So in-depth was my knowledge that one of my classmates (and now dearest friends) made a game out of it: She would always ask me "What was the Xth word of the Yth song on the Zth album?" And I would be able to answer her like THAT (insert finger snap here).
So, playing Beatles Rock Band should be a *snap* for me, right?
Weeeeellllllll ....
OK, here's the thing. I'm pretty plugged into pop culture, except in one area: video games. Why? Because I suck at them. I've never owned a video game console - not even an old Atari 2600. A few exceptions aside, the games frustrate me endlessly and are not fun for me. Most games require hand/eye coordination and manual dexterity - neither of which is my strong suit.
Still, I held out hope that my depth of Beatles knowledge would trump my shallow physical abilities. "I know the Beatles' songs inside and out," I told myself. "How hard can it be?"
(Insert foreboding minor chord here, a la "A Day in the Life")
Things started well enough at first. I loved the detail that was crammed into the game, and the voice of the "recording engineer" even sounded a bit like Norman Smith, the Beatles' chief man behind the console from 1962 to 1965. (Yes, I'm proud to be a big enough geek to know the engineers' names.)
I picked songs I thought would be easy. After all, "Getting Better" and "Hello Goodbye" don't have very tricky guitar lines. Still, as I flailed around on the fret board, my frustration rose as my score plummeted. I would mention what my numbers were, but I dare not say, because my friend who played the song lyrics game with me would never let me hear the end of it - and she's probably reading this, so I'm digging in deep already. You might even say I'm fixing a hole.
Did I still have fun? Oh sure, as long as I was singing. But suddenly I'm glad I didn't ask for the game for Christmas. Otherwise the console would come OUT through the bathroom window!
If you know me, that's sort of an astonishing statement. For nearly 30 years now I've been known as a Beatlemaniac par excellence. It was my primary claim to fame in high school. Everybody knew me as "the kid who liked the Beatles." So in-depth was my knowledge that one of my classmates (and now dearest friends) made a game out of it: She would always ask me "What was the Xth word of the Yth song on the Zth album?" And I would be able to answer her like THAT (insert finger snap here).
So, playing Beatles Rock Band should be a *snap* for me, right?
Weeeeellllllll ....
OK, here's the thing. I'm pretty plugged into pop culture, except in one area: video games. Why? Because I suck at them. I've never owned a video game console - not even an old Atari 2600. A few exceptions aside, the games frustrate me endlessly and are not fun for me. Most games require hand/eye coordination and manual dexterity - neither of which is my strong suit.
Still, I held out hope that my depth of Beatles knowledge would trump my shallow physical abilities. "I know the Beatles' songs inside and out," I told myself. "How hard can it be?"
(Insert foreboding minor chord here, a la "A Day in the Life")
Things started well enough at first. I loved the detail that was crammed into the game, and the voice of the "recording engineer" even sounded a bit like Norman Smith, the Beatles' chief man behind the console from 1962 to 1965. (Yes, I'm proud to be a big enough geek to know the engineers' names.)
And then something funny happened. The game played to the OPPOSITE of my musical abilities.
You see, at one time I could play a decent bass. I got one when I was just 17 (you know what I mean), and of course, I wanted to be Paul McCartney. I made pretty decent runs at playing "Twist and Shout," "And I Love Her," "Day Tripper," and "Taxman," among others. Still, when I didn't get as good as Paul in six months, I decided bass playing wasn't my bag and I became a writer instead.
As for my singing, I have been told - to my face - that I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Another of my dear friends, who is quite a talented singer, told me gently once that I was "pretty bad."
So imagine my surprise when I absolutely ACED the singing in the game - and then looked like a joker in the guitar-playing part!
For those of you not familiar with Rock Band, the game works like this: You can be a singer, a guitarist/bassist or a drummer. You watch the screen for prompts and you do your best to follow along.
For the singing, that's pretty easy. It's not unlike karaoke. I was worried at first that the game took pitch into account, but worry evaporated as soon as I tore into "Come Together." Shoot me, I SOARED on it, getting even the smallest vocal nuances right. (It has you do all the "Ohs" "Ahs" and the like.) My only difficulty was pitch on some of the long high notes, but for the most part, I was scoring in the high 90s. Even got a few 100s.
I knew better than to try my hand (and foot) at the drums, especially when I saw there was a bass drum pedal. There was no way in hell I could get the hang of that. Still, I thought I could make at least a decent run at the guitar since I sorta played once and knew the songs by heart, right?
Wrong. Here come the manual dexterity and eye-hand coordination.
The way this part of the game operates, you have to press the color-coded keys on the electronic guitar to match the sequence on the screen. It's kind of like an elaborate version of that old game Simon, only Rock Band doesn't electronically razz you, thank god. Because if it did, my soul would turn into rubber. While my guitar gently weeps, indeed.
I picked songs I thought would be easy. After all, "Getting Better" and "Hello Goodbye" don't have very tricky guitar lines. Still, as I flailed around on the fret board, my frustration rose as my score plummeted. I would mention what my numbers were, but I dare not say, because my friend who played the song lyrics game with me would never let me hear the end of it - and she's probably reading this, so I'm digging in deep already. You might even say I'm fixing a hole.
Did I still have fun? Oh sure, as long as I was singing. But suddenly I'm glad I didn't ask for the game for Christmas. Otherwise the console would come OUT through the bathroom window!
Monday, December 14, 2009
How a film buff decorates for Christmas
Sorry I haven't posted here much lately but I've been quite busy readjusting to life in Ohio, watching movies (more to come from Sir Critic - end of the year, ya know) and preparing for the holly-days.
Ah, the holidays - I must admit I am a sucker for such things, although you might not be able to tell by the way I decorate. I don't believe in manual labor, you see, so I'm not one to deck all my halls. I do have a full-size Christmas tree, but that is simply too much trouble for me. I'd blow a few fuses in my brain just trying to string on the lights, to say nothing of actually assembling the darn thing. I'd end up singing my own version of Monty Python's Lumberjack song!
All that said, I DO like to decorate at least a little for Christmas, the key word being little. So last year I bought a little tree to decorate. I call it my "Charlie Brown Christmas tree." Those of you who know me are probably smiling knowingly, because, yes, I can still recite much of the TV from memory.
Ah, the holidays - I must admit I am a sucker for such things, although you might not be able to tell by the way I decorate. I don't believe in manual labor, you see, so I'm not one to deck all my halls. I do have a full-size Christmas tree, but that is simply too much trouble for me. I'd blow a few fuses in my brain just trying to string on the lights, to say nothing of actually assembling the darn thing. I'd end up singing my own version of Monty Python's Lumberjack song!
All that said, I DO like to decorate at least a little for Christmas, the key word being little. So last year I bought a little tree to decorate. I call it my "Charlie Brown Christmas tree." Those of you who know me are probably smiling knowingly, because, yes, I can still recite much of the TV from memory.
Here's what mine looks like:
But the real fun is in the details! Being the film nut I am, I have a number of ornaments with characters who have appeared in movies. Observe:
Yes, I'm a Wizard of Oz fan - but what reasonable person isn't? For more fun with the photos, check out my new photo album on Facebook. Again, you don't have to be on Facebook to see it.
"I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love."
(Cue "Hark the Herald Angels Sing")
"I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really. Maybe it just needs a little love."
(Cue "Hark the Herald Angels Sing")
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The Adventures of a Teetotaler in a Bar on Karaoke night
Having left the Crescent City and headed back north, I find myself in Memphis, TN. I have been here many times before, but this visit feels wrong.
For one thing, my very dear friend Angela (Angie to me) Allen is not here, and she's normally here when I am, so that's distressing enough. However, this visit literally FEELS wrong. You see, I almost always visit here in the summer, so it's more than a little bizarre to find it's in the low 30s as I type this. Not that I can't hack the cold (I am from Ohio, after all), but I agree with my old friend Todd Pack, whom I am staying with, when he says "We need more degrees."
Todd has to work tonight at the P&H Cafe, watching the door. Actually, he's really supposed to watch for any underage people that come through the door rather than the door itself, but saying so simply requires too many syllables.
Not wanting to hang out by myself, I decide to follow Todd to the bar. This creates a unique problem for me. For those handful of readers who don't know me well, I don't drink. Alcohol and my taste buds have been like the Hatfields and the McCoys for years. They just don't agree with each other. Plus, if you saw the rate at which I suck down Diet Cokes, you would shudder to think of what would happen if those were spiked.
So what does a non-drinker/writer/Net addict do in a bar? He blogs, natch. I'm told this is karaoke night, so things could get REALLY interesting.
9:30 PM - I see Angie is online and I IM her, trying to astound her with the fact I am in a bar. I forget that she remembers that Todd works in a bar, so I'm there quite a lot. I tell her, "Damn. So much for ruining my reputation."
10:08 PM - Dialogue I overhear:
"I went to a strip club. Not the most adult decision I ever made."
"What do you mean? You have to be an adult to get into a strip club."
10:18 PM - It seems kinda quiet in here for a Friday night. Not many people. Maybe they think there aren't enough degrees either.
10:30 PM - I wonder aloud when the karaoke is gonna start, cos I'm not finding much to write about, dammit. Todd tells me 11, but no one is showing up. His girlfriend Renee asks if I'm going to sing." I reply, "I don't want to start a stampede."
10:42 PM - The place is starting to fill up some. Maybe some blog-worthy inebriated karaoke will happen after all. And maybe this post could actually avoid being like a dose of Nyquil, the coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so you can be unconscious within 30 seconds and remain that way for 30 hours medicine.
11:21 PM - Karaoke still hasn't started and there are plenty o' people here now. These are definitely bar timekeepers.
11:22 PM - I hear a "Check, check, 1, 2," the universal indicator for "There Will Be Singing."
11:24 PM - I hear a backing track for Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." There are no hearts going boom boom boom, however, because no one is singing. Is this a test of the Karaoke Broadcast System?
11:28 PM - Now it's P. Gabriel's "Steam" with no singers. If "In Your Eyes" comes on and no one at least holds a boom box over their head, this is officially the lamest karaoke ever.
11:32 PM - Ah, NOW we're gettin' going. A girl is coming up to sing Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." She's enjoying herself. Not half-bad, actually. Not really half-good either, but all in fun, right?
11:38 PM - Another girl attacks - well, crud, I dunno this tune. But she's definitely attacking it. In every sense of the word.
11:42 PM - Our next song is "Jolene," which is impossible to miss, since the name is repeated 76 times in the lyrics. The vocalist hits the Jolenes with gusto but garbles much of the rest.
11:46 PM - We have our first male singer, singing "The Ballad of Chasey Lain." A Google search reveals this to be an ode to a porn star, near as I can tell. The challenge with this song is to fill in the dirty words blanked out on the screen. What, you were expecting class?
11:50 PM - Another man sings Pat Benetar's "Hell is for Children." The guys are plainly looking for excuses to cuss in front of an audience. I'm having fun imagining how this guy would fare with "Shadows of the Night." I'm also glad I'm not near him when he's shouting "hell."
11:55 PM - An older gal hits us with her vocal stylings on "Your Mama Don't Dance." It's fun to watch her just stand there during the long instrumental breaks. I think this would be more fun if you added Rock Band/Guitar Hero instruments.
11:59 PM - "Me and Bobby McGee" is next, a song with lyrics about Louisiana. How apropos for me! This girl is actually fairly good. She at least sings with some enthusiasm and can be heard above the robo band.
12:04 AM - I had to remember to type AM so as not to create the impression the karaoke was THAT long! Our host, having failed to rustle up a singer, takes the mic himself and performs Gordon Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind." He could read mine if he reads this post.
12:09 AM - A cute girl makes like Dusty Springfield and sings "Son of a Preacher Man." She's actually kinda good. And she amusingly plays along when the CD skips. But I can't think of this song anymore without hearing the phrase "Warm - warmer - disco."
12:14 AM - It's the Doors' "Light My Fire" - never mind the vocals - the awful Casio keyboard sound on that organ riff is going to give me nightmares!
12:19 AM - A duo wants me to want them ... by singing Cheap Trick. Didn't they, didn't they, didn't they see me cryin?
12:23 AM - "Magic Man" by Heart comes on, but all we get is someone who wants to be Ann Wilson. I still say we should have a Rock Band guitar so another girl can be Nancy.
12:30 AM - A guy sings (no, shouts) Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," a song I never could stand. There are no f-bombs in the lyrics, but this guy puts 'em in there anyway. Now I'm only falling apart indeed.
12:40 AM - Another shouter tries to sing Motley Crue's "Shout at the Devil." No, never mind, he's not a shouter. The only lyrics he knows are the title line. More like Mumble at the Devil.
12:43 AM - It's Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl," one of those songs I like but have heard so often, I wouldn't mind if I never heard it again. Kinda like "Hotel California."
It's 12:47 AM. Do you know where your children are?
12:48 AM - Oh wow. A girl takes on the Beatles' "Oh! Darling." (Yes, there's an exclamation point in the title. She better have some throat on her! Not a bad voice, actually, but THIS song HAS to be screamed. She sings it fairly straight but has fun with all the "woos" and such. Needs more gusto. Yeah, it's a picky Beatle fan talkin.
12:53 AM - The older gal who sang before returns to sing "The Letter" by the Box Tops. She's apparently the DJ's mom. No wonder she gets to sing twice.
12:55 AM - It's all in the family, as the DJ takes another turn, but he doesn't sing "Those Were The Days." He sings "I've Got the Music in Me," which is pretty appropriate for a karaoke DJ, really.
1:06 AM - Our next singer announces he's "sufficiently drunk enough" to sing David Bowie's "Fame" (co-written by John Lennon, said the Beatle geek). Nah, he's not. He'd at least be amusing and try to sing all those "Fames" at different pitches if he were. He might have been funnier if he'd tried to sing the Irene Cara song.
1:13 AM - Another duo does ABBA's "Fernando." Wonder if this made the light bulb go on over Billy Crystal's head.
1:17 AM - Dig if you will the guy singing "When Does Cry." He says he's wasted - either that or he's really into acting the part since he's crawling on the stage. That's entertainment! Look for him on YouTube. I am later told this guy's name really is Prince. There was a girl crawling around with him too - the girl who sang "Jolene." Given half the chance, they'd try a karaoke version of "Darling Nikki," I bet.
1:22 AM - A guy is singing now, but I can't understand him and two people are blocking the screen with the lyrics. Suddenly I'm in the obstructed view section. I don't feel too deprived.
1:30 AM - Still another duet selects the Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones." The only other song I can immediately think of that has "Sha la la" in the lyrics is the theme to Family Ties.
1:36 AM - This is ground control to Major Tom. This guy's actually trying to sing the song. What's wrong with him?
Later in the evening (morning?) afer I'd lost track of time: Highlights include the best vocal of the evening, a spirited take on "Love is a Battlefield" by a girl who professed never to have done karaoke before. Maybe that's why she was actually good. One of the more warped performances was a duet of "You Oughta Know" - sung by two males who gender-switched the lyrics!
I'm gonna wrap this up with the best possible capper: A take on "Bohemian Rhapsody." Two people got up to sing, but the real performers were the patrons of the bar, most of whom joined in rather loudly. All that said, I still prefer the Muppets' version:
I've been at this for four hours-plus now. I've had enough, and I'll wager you have too. But hey - it took a lot less time for you to read this than it did for me to write this! So in the spirit of the evening, I leave you with a lyric I know only too well:
Why why why why why why
Do you say
Goodbye, goodbye, bye bye bye bye
Oh no!
For one thing, my very dear friend Angela (Angie to me) Allen is not here, and she's normally here when I am, so that's distressing enough. However, this visit literally FEELS wrong. You see, I almost always visit here in the summer, so it's more than a little bizarre to find it's in the low 30s as I type this. Not that I can't hack the cold (I am from Ohio, after all), but I agree with my old friend Todd Pack, whom I am staying with, when he says "We need more degrees."
Todd has to work tonight at the P&H Cafe, watching the door. Actually, he's really supposed to watch for any underage people that come through the door rather than the door itself, but saying so simply requires too many syllables.
Not wanting to hang out by myself, I decide to follow Todd to the bar. This creates a unique problem for me. For those handful of readers who don't know me well, I don't drink. Alcohol and my taste buds have been like the Hatfields and the McCoys for years. They just don't agree with each other. Plus, if you saw the rate at which I suck down Diet Cokes, you would shudder to think of what would happen if those were spiked.
So what does a non-drinker/writer/Net addict do in a bar? He blogs, natch. I'm told this is karaoke night, so things could get REALLY interesting.
9:30 PM - I see Angie is online and I IM her, trying to astound her with the fact I am in a bar. I forget that she remembers that Todd works in a bar, so I'm there quite a lot. I tell her, "Damn. So much for ruining my reputation."
10:08 PM - Dialogue I overhear:
"I went to a strip club. Not the most adult decision I ever made."
"What do you mean? You have to be an adult to get into a strip club."
10:18 PM - It seems kinda quiet in here for a Friday night. Not many people. Maybe they think there aren't enough degrees either.
10:30 PM - I wonder aloud when the karaoke is gonna start, cos I'm not finding much to write about, dammit. Todd tells me 11, but no one is showing up. His girlfriend Renee asks if I'm going to sing." I reply, "I don't want to start a stampede."
10:42 PM - The place is starting to fill up some. Maybe some blog-worthy inebriated karaoke will happen after all. And maybe this post could actually avoid being like a dose of Nyquil, the coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever so you can be unconscious within 30 seconds and remain that way for 30 hours medicine.
11:21 PM - Karaoke still hasn't started and there are plenty o' people here now. These are definitely bar timekeepers.
11:22 PM - I hear a "Check, check, 1, 2," the universal indicator for "There Will Be Singing."
11:24 PM - I hear a backing track for Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill." There are no hearts going boom boom boom, however, because no one is singing. Is this a test of the Karaoke Broadcast System?
11:28 PM - Now it's P. Gabriel's "Steam" with no singers. If "In Your Eyes" comes on and no one at least holds a boom box over their head, this is officially the lamest karaoke ever.
11:32 PM - Ah, NOW we're gettin' going. A girl is coming up to sing Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." She's enjoying herself. Not half-bad, actually. Not really half-good either, but all in fun, right?
11:38 PM - Another girl attacks - well, crud, I dunno this tune. But she's definitely attacking it. In every sense of the word.
11:42 PM - Our next song is "Jolene," which is impossible to miss, since the name is repeated 76 times in the lyrics. The vocalist hits the Jolenes with gusto but garbles much of the rest.
11:46 PM - We have our first male singer, singing "The Ballad of Chasey Lain." A Google search reveals this to be an ode to a porn star, near as I can tell. The challenge with this song is to fill in the dirty words blanked out on the screen. What, you were expecting class?
11:50 PM - Another man sings Pat Benetar's "Hell is for Children." The guys are plainly looking for excuses to cuss in front of an audience. I'm having fun imagining how this guy would fare with "Shadows of the Night." I'm also glad I'm not near him when he's shouting "hell."
11:55 PM - An older gal hits us with her vocal stylings on "Your Mama Don't Dance." It's fun to watch her just stand there during the long instrumental breaks. I think this would be more fun if you added Rock Band/Guitar Hero instruments.
11:59 PM - "Me and Bobby McGee" is next, a song with lyrics about Louisiana. How apropos for me! This girl is actually fairly good. She at least sings with some enthusiasm and can be heard above the robo band.
12:04 AM - I had to remember to type AM so as not to create the impression the karaoke was THAT long! Our host, having failed to rustle up a singer, takes the mic himself and performs Gordon Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind." He could read mine if he reads this post.
12:09 AM - A cute girl makes like Dusty Springfield and sings "Son of a Preacher Man." She's actually kinda good. And she amusingly plays along when the CD skips. But I can't think of this song anymore without hearing the phrase "Warm - warmer - disco."
12:14 AM - It's the Doors' "Light My Fire" - never mind the vocals - the awful Casio keyboard sound on that organ riff is going to give me nightmares!
12:19 AM - A duo wants me to want them ... by singing Cheap Trick. Didn't they, didn't they, didn't they see me cryin?
12:23 AM - "Magic Man" by Heart comes on, but all we get is someone who wants to be Ann Wilson. I still say we should have a Rock Band guitar so another girl can be Nancy.
12:30 AM - A guy sings (no, shouts) Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," a song I never could stand. There are no f-bombs in the lyrics, but this guy puts 'em in there anyway. Now I'm only falling apart indeed.
12:40 AM - Another shouter tries to sing Motley Crue's "Shout at the Devil." No, never mind, he's not a shouter. The only lyrics he knows are the title line. More like Mumble at the Devil.
12:43 AM - It's Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl," one of those songs I like but have heard so often, I wouldn't mind if I never heard it again. Kinda like "Hotel California."
It's 12:47 AM. Do you know where your children are?
12:48 AM - Oh wow. A girl takes on the Beatles' "Oh! Darling." (Yes, there's an exclamation point in the title. She better have some throat on her! Not a bad voice, actually, but THIS song HAS to be screamed. She sings it fairly straight but has fun with all the "woos" and such. Needs more gusto. Yeah, it's a picky Beatle fan talkin.
12:53 AM - The older gal who sang before returns to sing "The Letter" by the Box Tops. She's apparently the DJ's mom. No wonder she gets to sing twice.
12:55 AM - It's all in the family, as the DJ takes another turn, but he doesn't sing "Those Were The Days." He sings "I've Got the Music in Me," which is pretty appropriate for a karaoke DJ, really.
1:06 AM - Our next singer announces he's "sufficiently drunk enough" to sing David Bowie's "Fame" (co-written by John Lennon, said the Beatle geek). Nah, he's not. He'd at least be amusing and try to sing all those "Fames" at different pitches if he were. He might have been funnier if he'd tried to sing the Irene Cara song.
1:13 AM - Another duo does ABBA's "Fernando." Wonder if this made the light bulb go on over Billy Crystal's head.
1:17 AM - Dig if you will the guy singing "When Does Cry." He says he's wasted - either that or he's really into acting the part since he's crawling on the stage. That's entertainment! Look for him on YouTube. I am later told this guy's name really is Prince. There was a girl crawling around with him too - the girl who sang "Jolene." Given half the chance, they'd try a karaoke version of "Darling Nikki," I bet.
1:22 AM - A guy is singing now, but I can't understand him and two people are blocking the screen with the lyrics. Suddenly I'm in the obstructed view section. I don't feel too deprived.
1:30 AM - Still another duet selects the Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones." The only other song I can immediately think of that has "Sha la la" in the lyrics is the theme to Family Ties.
1:36 AM - This is ground control to Major Tom. This guy's actually trying to sing the song. What's wrong with him?
Later in the evening (morning?) afer I'd lost track of time: Highlights include the best vocal of the evening, a spirited take on "Love is a Battlefield" by a girl who professed never to have done karaoke before. Maybe that's why she was actually good. One of the more warped performances was a duet of "You Oughta Know" - sung by two males who gender-switched the lyrics!
I'm gonna wrap this up with the best possible capper: A take on "Bohemian Rhapsody." Two people got up to sing, but the real performers were the patrons of the bar, most of whom joined in rather loudly. All that said, I still prefer the Muppets' version:
I've been at this for four hours-plus now. I've had enough, and I'll wager you have too. But hey - it took a lot less time for you to read this than it did for me to write this! So in the spirit of the evening, I leave you with a lyric I know only too well:
Why why why why why why
Do you say
Goodbye, goodbye, bye bye bye bye
Oh no!
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