When we got to the booth the lights were on bright. Everyone sat down, but after a moment I got back up again and headed for the knob on the opposite wall.
That's better. Karaoke was not meant to in the harsh light of reality. After all, who are we kidding? We're not there because we're talented singers on the way to the top. We're not practicing. We're not going to be the next White Stripes or Patsy Cline.
But we like to pretend.
To karaoke properly you have to put your whole body into it. That's why I don't do karaoke bars. I'm not interested in exposing myself to strangers that way.
In the comfortable companionship of friends and family, the lights dim, the sound turned up loud -- we rock. I lay down across one seat and start taking pictures at odd angles, timed to be blurry and indistinct.
I'm operating on far too little sleep. The plot of my story still vexes me. Everyone else is dealing with the stress of daily life. But belting out Major Tom, 1234, Kids, Wheel of Fortune, I love College, Starlight, and whatever Japanese songs have tickled J-Po's fancy, who really cares about such petty crap?
After all, I can do a mean version of Jealous Guy.