Feb 20, 2020:
Every week brings with it some kind of new experience. For me, this one was a little different.
I called it a “Karaoke flash mob”. Is that a thing? If it isn’t, it ought to be. One minute I’m minding my own business at the local pub having a drink with some friends celebrating a birthday. The next thing I know the bar is being inundated by a sizeable group of what look to be millennials that have just walked in the door. They’ve taken over a section of the tavern, cranked up the sing-along machine and have begun taking turns belting out some Frank Sinatra and Celine Dion.
Okay sure, thankfully at times an alternate selection gets cued up, like “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa, or perhaps even some TLC, but what I found kind of interesting was that most of the people in this group looked similar, both in age and appearance. At least the men did anyway. Coiffed hair, nicely groomed mustache and beard combos’, high-end casual clothing (Hey, I’m not judging, I’m just telling you what I saw). They came with their own support system of “woot-wooers!” and no matter what song they did or didn’t butcher, they all got equal “thanks for participating” applauses.
Now, there was a time (maybe it’s still here, or maybe I’m just dating myself), when karaoke was a drunken fool’s game of slurred words and off notes that garnered some moderate hand claps from those willing to put up with the incessant noise, and yeah, there was always one or two who could nail their favorite song but then over-stay their welcome. However, if you were going to compare the former and latter karaoke situations to say, a margarita, when given the choice between a salted or non-salted rim, why not take the salted one?
I must admit though, as inspired by their efforts as I was, I am far more comfortable behind my guitar than I am in front of it. So, when harassed by the birthday girl (okay, it was a gentle persuasion) to go up and sing her a song for her birthday, sans trusty six-string in my hands, it would not have mattered how many woot wooers, barking dogs, cow bells or salted rims there were supporting me, because, in the words of Dana Carvey’s impression of George W. Bush (the first one), “Naught gunna d’ it”.
Finding inspiration on a week in week out basis though, as I’m sure I’ve said before, can be a bit of a challenge, especially when it’s been raining out for what seems like forever, so why not go looking for a new vehicle, right?
This is where the word “sustain” pops into my head. To a musician that word would mean taking a musical note, usually from a keyboard or electric guitar, and letting it resonate in the air for a sustained period of time to really allow the feeling of that song moment to take hold, but in terms of buying a new vehicle it means something completely less rousing. As in, “Can I sustain an incredibly egregious and stupidly large monthly payment over an eternity so that I might drive this?” Naught gunna d’ it.
Strange thing is, I could see it now, my recently widowed wife driving down the highway in one of these insurance bought babies with my incinerated ashes pouring out of some recyclable urn held outside the driver’s window as she’s paddle shifting it into ninth gear. Woot-woo!
The reality instead though is that I’m going to sustain the fluidity of my clogged kitchen sink drain by driving my well used hockey mom van to the neighborhood hardware store and picking up a decent industrial grade plunger. You know, the one with the wooden stick and serious rubber dome. Oh yeah! It’s business time.
As it happened, it was sunny on the day I went to the store and as you have no doubt experienced yourself, sunny days seems to bring out the happy in people. I am no exception. So, picture me walking back to the van in the parking lot, plunger in hand like a microphone, singing Push It by Salt-N-Pepa. Oh, I’m gonna push it alright. Right down the freakin’ drain. Had me wondering if maybe that’s what they meant when they wrote that song.
Until next time.
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