Posts Tagged ‘karaoke’

Sorry I’ve been swallowed into the earth, guys! Vegas has been filled with much cavorting; apparently the antidote to over-prolific blogging is coming home at sunrise several days in a row.

NTKOG #80: The kind of scratchy-voiced tragic wannabe diva who sings not just absent-mindedly, not just for her own enjoyment, but intensely and often and totally on purpose. There are two types of singers: those who are better than they think and bombard you constantly; those who know they’re still awful and keep doing it anyway.

I am,: for your listening pleasure, neither. Showertime and iPod walks only, please.

I am not: the type to take things seriously when I know I’ll do badly at them.

The Scene: Q Karaoke Lounge in Vegas’s Chinatown, Tuesday night, sometime in the vortex after last call. High-school friend Aviatrix and I have hit a few great local bars, but are tipsy, not trashed. We head to Chinatown for the promise of pho, then drive by a karaoke lounge and agree to head in.

The second we get there, we realize something is wrong: this karaoke bar has … no bar. Turns out instead of sitting around, sipping a drink while laughing at other gravel-voiced schmucks, this is a private-room studio, in which you rent a room with a screen and are your own schmucky entertainment with no schadenfreude breaks.

See, the thing about karaoke bars, is we all love to sing in them, but since it’s an experience of mass transcendence of dignity, we can pretend it’s peer pressure luring us in; to rent a studio, you have to really want to, uh, sing. Aviatrix and I hung back at the counter like a young couple in a joke about a motel, shooting each other shamefully earnest glances.

Long story short, after the first few moments of “um, why are we singing to each other” awkwardness — and a bucket of Smirnoff Ice (so NTKOG) — we actually got in the spirit of the thing and the time whipped past. Turns out it is totally possible to set aside your dignity and aloofness in pursuit of song, no matter how terrible you are.

After an hour of belting, giggling, and, um, maaaybe some impromptu choreography that relied extensively on high-kicking, we went to the counter to pay our bill.

“Man, that was awesome!” I gushed to the woman at the counter. “That was so awesome! We were awesome! I just wish we had like a friggin’ DVD of it or something!”

“Oh, you want DVD?” lilted the counter girl. “We have DVD. We record the whole thing. Ten dollars.”

… So. If you happen to see TKOG high-kicking her way through Korean energy drink commercials any time soon, then, um, just know that it was totally worth it.

The Verdict: Oh yeah, guys. I was amazed by what unbelievable non-embarrassing fun this was. So much so, in fact, that less than 24 hours later, I went back with Sister and three other friends — outspokenly non-karaoke aficionados — and we ended up belting out the questionable classics for four hours. Four sober hours.

I always thought the rooms sounded lame beyond belief, but now I just can’t wait to get back to Boston and go to another one. (Anyone else? I’m sensing a Boston bloggah meet-up here…)


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