Freeze-Frame

Sometimes, life gets good. Really, really good. And then it inexplicably gets better.

My birthday party was a wild success, if I do say so myself. Thirty of my friends and coworkers came out to sing and observe karaoke, one of my favorite pastimes, and drink, another of my favorite pastimes. I wore the scandalous fuschia dress, sang my heart out, and drank eleventy thousand Bud Lights. I switched to Jack and Diet Coke later in the evening, but I somehow didn't get plowed, which was best for everyone involved, I think.

I panicked around 11 p.m., because N still hadn't arrived, even though he texted me at 10, saying he'd be there soon. Of course I panicked, because I'm Jane, and I wouldn't be Jane if there wasn't some form of irrational anxiety involved.

But N came soon after that, with a rather expensive gift for me, and he was by my side the whole night, talking to my friends, buying people drinks, smiling, kissing me, cheering me on. We came back to my place afterward for a nightcap, and we talked about "turning points" in our relationship -- the moments we knew we liked each other. I told him mine -- a moment at a cozy restaurant in mid-October, when he said something that caused me to see his good heart. I asked him what his was. "When we turned the corner at Delancey and Essex," he said. "Wait...when?" I said, confused. He looked at me and said, "Our first date."

N said he saw this night as a turning point as well. I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. I was blown away.

I'm seeing him again tonight. He called me to make the plan.

During the party, my friend D the Williamsburger took journalist-style photos documenting the entire night. One is of me, blond curls spilling down the side of my face, eyes downcast, mouth smiling and coy. It is a picture of a woman in love. When D took the photo, I was talking to N.

Good Times

I got my first iPod a few months ago, so I've been going through old CDs looking for music that I can fill it up with. Random "Rhythm is a Dancer" find? Gym playlist. Old mix CD from an ex-boyfriend? Some damn good James Brown to groove to on my commute.

And then I unearthed this CD from Fitness magazine that my friend D gave me eons ago (probably a freebie that someone gave him).

Here's part of the playlist:

"Save Tonight" by Eagle-Eye Cherry
"Steal My Sunshine" by LEN
"Hey Leonardo" by Blessid Union of Souls
"As I Lay Me Down" by Sophie B. Hawkins

Now, tell me you can't remember exactly what you were doing when at least one of these songs was being overplayed way back in the late '90s. For me, I'm brought back to a time when I regularly shopped at DEB, drove around my Midwestern town singing to the radio with my guy friend J during breaks from college because we weren't old enough to go to the bars, and dated the most inappropriate guy I could have possibly picked for myself on my college campus. Good. Times. Sing it, Sophie!

Also, if you can't get enough of old classics, you MUST tune in to Dr. Blogstein's Radio Happy Hour tonight at 9 p.m. EST so I can finally show all y'all exactly how seriously I take my karaoke. I'll be singing as well as competing, American Idol-style, against everyone's favorite native South African with the sexy-as-hell accent: Neil. (Clearly, I will win, but let's be nice to him anyway, 'kay?)

I Can Die Now

I went out with my fantastic old friend D tonight. He's of the same mindset as me: Give us an Irish pub and some karaoke, and we're set for the night.

Of course I did an old standby ("Black Velvet" by Alannah Myles), and after a duet with D, I debuted Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2 U." Note to ladies who are thinking of singing that in the near future: It is not as hard as you think to bust out. Trust me: You already know the words after hearing it on the radio 5,000 times in the early '90s. (See my other karaoke posts here, here, and here.)

What I consider the prize comment came early in the night, from a woman who was sitting at the bar while I was singing Alannah. "That's not fair; she's a professional," the woman said. Oh, if only. If only. I think that was the best thing I've ever heard in my karaoke career. Those of us who adore the karaoke also adore the compliments, and I was beyond flattered.

D and I shared laughs and deep thoughts and all the things you're supposed to share after a few beers (only one of which I spilled squarely on my pants, thankyouverymuch). I walked home looking at the reflections in the office building windows on Madison Avenue, walking on the concrete of Manhattan's empty streets, and breathing in deeply, the chorus of U2's "City of Blinding Lights" in my head.

Hipster Karaoke!

My set list tonight at hipster karaoke in Williamsburg was as follows:

1. "Black Velvet" by Alannah Myles
2. "Doll Parts" by Hole
3. "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey

Few things make me happier than free pizza, cheap beer, and seeing hipsters spin around and around until they fall down. Additionally, I saw a beautiful Middle-Eastern girl who I swore for two seconds was one of my favorite bloggers but probably was not.

Oh, also:

Dear Karen O./Chrissie Hynde/Pat Benetar Girl,

I am sorry I kissed your boyfriend, the karaoke DJ guy, on the cheek after I sang the Hole song. He sort of swooned and asked for one, and he was really cute, and I didn't realize you were right there, and I really had no business kissing anyone because I have a Boyf of my own. Your striped dress was very pretty-slash-adequately weird for the look you're going for, and I enjoyed your rendition of "I Love Rock & Roll." Now please don't hurt me if you ever see me in the bar again. Okay?

Platonic Kisses,
Newbie

P.S. But your boyfriend is REALLY HOT. Just sayin'.

Back in Black

Aaaaaaand, I'm back. Back on solid concrete in New York. Scent of Koreatown on trash day, how I've missed you. Overpriced deli sandwiches housing a day's protein allowance in turkey slices, I've missed you, too. And trash trucks idling outside my window at 6 a.m. and making this "p-toooo!" sound every 15 seconds like clockwork? Don't think I've forgotten about you.

You might think I've waxed a little too poetic about the Midwest based on my last couple of posts. But that's going to change right now. Gather around, everyone. Get your mats and your bug juice and sit Indian-style in a circle. Newbie's gonna tell you a little story about why she left the Midwest:

On Friday night, while I was still in the Heartland, my middle sister, the big-shot working girl with her own office and file cabinet and three-hole punch, took me out to her favorite watering hole. (Clearly, it had to be Friday because she's too responsible to go out on a weekday.) It was a nice bar, and I say that unironically. Exposed-brick walls, new tile-and-stainless-steel bar, long tables for hanging with your crew (as it were), and an $8 all-you-can drink Coors Light special. As soon as the bartender told me that, I had a 10-spot on the table and a thirsty look in my eyes. He then set a giant white-plastic Coors pitcher/mug receptacle in front of me that was filled with beer. I looked around for someone to snicker about the mug with, but no one made eye contact. That's because it is not at all unusual to drink out of a giant white-plastic Coors pitcher/mug receptacle in the Midwest.

So drink it I did, and, similar to the visions people must have after consuming peyote, then saw written on the wall (well, more like a chalkboard) that it was karaoke night.

So I wowed the crowd with a little "Bette Davis Eyes" (yes, I'm bragging, but dammit, I'm good), and then I turned back to my second pitcher/mug receptacle of Coors Light. Only one other person had been singing karaoke that night: a large-ish man with a dark mustache and red T-shirt. He sang Metallica's "Turn the Page" first, but it sounded more like Bob Seger's version, and then he sang another lame country jam. (Natch; we are in the Midwest.) As I tried to enjoy my adult beverage and talk to my sister at the same time, Red Shirt Guy came up to me and said, "Are you going to sing another one?" "Ohhh, I don't know," I said, at this point far more interested in my pitcher/mug receptacle than anything else. Red Shirt Guy put his hands together in a mock prayer pose. "Please?" he said. "You have a great voice." I turned back to my Coors. After a few minutes, another pitcher/mug receptacle had been placed in front of me. I thought about doing another song, but the place's menu (songbook, for the uninitiated) sort of sucked. They didn't even have "Like a Prayer," for Pete's sake. Plus, for artists whose songs they should have had five or more of, like Journey, for example, they had one random tune that I had never heard of. I mean, what respectable karaoke establishment doesn't have "Don't Stop Believin'"?

As I contemplated singing another one, I thought of George Costanza in "Seinfeld." "Go out on a high note," my brain said. "They loved your first one. Don't do another one. You have to stay number one in their eyes!" It was at this point that I should have listened to my inner George. But the Coors felt differently. If the Coors had had its way completely, I would have hopped on the lap of the goateed post-college burnout sitting on the next barstool and asked him to take me to the nearest NASCAR race. But instead the Coors settled for me singing Christina Aguilera's "What a Girl Wants." Good song. Really. Unless you're in a Midwest bar with college students and a cut-rate karaoke machine.

I put in my request and went up shortly thereafter to sing my Xtina song. As I walked up, a gaggle of bleach-blond, straw-haired, tanorexic sorostitutes from the nearby community college all turned around simultaneously. "She's serious!" one of them said. No, you bitches, I was not "serious." I was walking up to a microphone to sing karaoke. If that makes me Dan Rather doing a wartime news bulletin, then maybe you should give daddy's Amex a rest and click on over to some CNN Headline News every now and again rather than watching reruns of "The Simple Life" all summer for tips on poise and diction.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, the crappy karaoke machine. As my song began to play, I knew I was in trouble. This version of "What a Girl Wants" that was playing can only be best described as the "bossa nova" setting on early 1990s Casio keyboards. I had no idea how I was going to sing over this crap. As I strained unsuccessfully to keep up with the "oooooooohs" and "yeah, boys" of this inferior recording, I looked to my Red Shirted karaoke companion. Surely, he'd understand how a lame recording can affect one's voice. Mid-song, completely ignoring the fact that I was supposed to be singing, I bent down and motioned to my ear in Red Shirt Guy's direction: "Does this sound weird to you? Strange? It seems off." Red Shirt Guy said nothing. After 30 seconds more of the torture and strange looks, I left the microphone stand while the song was still playing. Finally, Red Shirt guy came up to me. I immediately said, "That recording was awful. I couldn't sing with it." He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "That's what you get for singing something you don't know," and then he cocked his eyebrow toward the ceiling and tried to buy me a shot, which I not-so-politely declined.

I think this story illustrates two points in New York's favor:

1. Sure, there are sorostitute bitches in every city, but at least in New York, they wouldn't be caught dead in the bars I frequent.
2. In New York's bars, I would say that roughly 80 percent of patrons are completely unaware that karaoke is even going on in their chosen place of debauchery. Of that 20 percent of people remaining, half of them are only marginally aware that there's a human singing instead of a recording, and the other 10 percent is made up of the following people:
a.) The karaoke DJ.
b.) Your friends.
c.) The guy at the bar who will most likely try and ask you out/buy you a drink/invite you home to sleep with him.
d.) People who are just damn glad not to be either at work or melting into a human ooze puddle on the overcrowded sidewalks.

People have a misconception about the Midwest. People are not nicer there. People just smile more. And then they say nasty, unnecessary, derogatory things to your face, as if the smile negates it somehow and makes it okay. New Yorkers are blunt and in your face, but they'd never put down a sister just trying to sing some late-'90s pop classics.

So, kids, that's why Newbie left the Midwest. And she's never going back.

Karaoke Basics

Seasoned vet or confirmed newbie, you must keep this one sacred karaoke rule in mind:

There are five songs that you should never, ever, under any circumstances sing in order to spare both yourself embarrassment and your listeners their sanity:

1. Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler: This song goes on far too long, and no one ever sings it well. Not even Bonnie Tyler herself. Trust me on this one.

2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meat Loaf: You know how you think you know all the lyrics? Even the talking parts where it goes into a "baseball" play-by-play? You don't. Plus, you'll probably get bored around Minute Six of the eight-minute song.

3. Grease Megamix by Olivia Newton John and John Travolta: This song is neither cute nor pleasurable to the ears, despite what your drunken rump might think. Even if you have your own Danny Zuko at the bar whom you're trying to impress, I suggest challenging him to a mean game of nine-ball at the pool table rather than subject him to singing the "boy" part of this stinker.

4. Love Shack by the B-52s: The B-52s did quirky and made it sorta fun. When you do it while whirling around in circles and cackling on the karaoke stage, we kinda want to go to the bathroom if just to wait out the torture.

5. Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper: You know what would be so totally awesome? Getting up with six of your drunk best girlfriends and screeching your way through this Cyndi Lauper classic. Oh, wait. No. No, that would be akin to hearing Richard Simmons do his rendition of "Friends in Low Places." Or nails on a chalkboard. Especially hearing your one tone-deaf friend who will "not go up there unless all of you go up there with me!!!" Gag.

Consider yourselves enlightened. Got suggs that I didn't mention? Put 'em in the Comments section.