Baby, I'm a Star

My sincere apologies for the extreme lateness of the fireworks project. It will be posted as soon as Zappagirl and I have a chance to compare notes when one or both of us isn’t busy or exhausted. If it’s any consolation, I just finished watching the replay of the TV simulcast and made notes on things I wasn’t able to write down because I was too busy staring at the sky with a blissed out smile on my face.

Soon.

But probably not in the next 24 hours, since we’re going to see the Cincinnati Pops tonight. The Smothers Brothers are appearing with them, and I’m looking forward to it. My parents introduced me to their comedy at an early age, and I was probably the only person in my fifth grade class who could recite most of Was It Something I Said? verbatim. And it’s the Pops. It’s culture. It’s an opportunity to get dressed up and go to Music Hall.

We’re not only the beautiful people, we’re cultured. Yeah, baby.

I’m also supposed to go watch the Green Bay Packers opener with my former boss at Tickets in Covington. (Tickets is the official headquarters of Packers fans in Cincinnati.) I’m not sure if I’m going. On the one hand, I used to go every weekend and had a good time. But on the other hand, the last time I went the team had a spotty season and I spent most of November threatening to burn my Brett Favre jersey in effigy. It all depends upon how I feel in the morning.

Friday night was fun. Rosencrantz and I went out with Tammy and Trish, her ex-sisters in law to karaoke night at the Silverton Cafe.

Yeah, you heard me right. Karaoke night.

At the risk of losing several coolness points, this wasn’t my first time. I went one night with a friend of mine years ago, and I spent my entire night flipping through the book looking for something to sing and claiming I wasn’t drunk enough to sing. Meanwhile, my friend was signing up for his fourth song of the night. (Interesting story about that night - I was serenaded by a local sportscaster, who stopped in after the late night news to sing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” He then attempted for the next five minutes to convince me that he’d never sung karaoke before, but couldn’t come up with an explanation why the DJ knew exactly what to play when he walked into the bar.)

I also used to go to Longworth’s with Nash on Thursday nights, and one night they got me drunk enough to sing. It only took a few pints of Bass and a couple rounds of Red Headed Sluts (Jägermeister, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice - it’s the only way you can even get me to consider drinking Jäger). Well, that and Jeff stealing the slip of paper with my selection on it (which I’d been debating turning in for a hour) and giving it to the DJ. When my name was announced, I muttered something about killing Jeff before the night was up and went onstage to mumble my way through “Common Disaster” by Cowboy Junkies. A safe bet, I figured. Margo Timmins has a lovely voice, but she only sings like five notes.

I’m not comfortable with my singing voice. Yes, I know that that’s a common thing, but my fears shouldn’t be this bad. I spent my entire high school career in the music department. Musicals, show choir, choral ensembles. I even took a solo to district competitions one year. I took music theory, can read music. I know I can carry a tune, but I still think my voice is icky.

So karaoke is a confidence exercise for me. I have to have enough faith in myself that I can select a song that I feel confident about, and then get up in front of roomful of people and prove that confidence to them as well.

So yeah, I sang. “These are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs. I’d settled on that one after I eliminated the songs that had notes that were out of my range for the evening. So no Sarah McLachlan or Dido for me. There was no Fiona Apple on the list, and no one can sing “Constant Craving” on key except k.d. lang. I briefly considered singing “Like the Weather” but decided against it when I blew the tune of the opening line three times in a row in the bathroom. (Yes, I test out songs in the bathroom to see if I can properly sing them. I am such a loser.) So “These are Days” was the final decision. I probably would have done better if I’d picked a song I’d heard recently, since I realized mid-song that I couldn’t remember how the bridge went. Ah well. There was a little voice in my head calmly repeating the words “Fake it. Fake it.” I followed that advice and improvised a melody that sounded vaguely like something Natalie Merchant might sing. Apparently it worked, since Rosencrantz said she didn’t hear me mess up. Or maybe she was just being nice. Or maybe it’s been a while since she heard the song as well.

And oh, I forgot to mention that it was a contest. There was money riding on this. This meant I was up against people who thought they were better than everyone else in the room. And no, I didn’t have any illusions of winning.

OK, just a tiny little pipe dream. Wouldn’t that have been a great ending for this story?

But it wasn’t fated to be. But I think I did OK, seeing as how it was only my second time doing karaoke, it had been 17 years since I’d sung anything solo, and I’d previously done a shot with Tammy for luck. A buttery nipple (Bailey’s Irish Creme and butterscotch schnapps). My high school choral training kicked in and screamed at me “You idiot! You’re getting ready to sing BY YOURSELF and you ordered a cream based shot? Now your throat is coated, and stop looking at those cigarettes because they aren’t going to help your situation at all.”

I reminded the choral instructor in my head that this was the Silverton Cafe, not OMEA state competitions and there were no medals for my high school letter jacket at stake here. And then I lit a cigarette and went off to find a glass of water to try to clear my throat. A compromise.

But anyways, I didn’t win. Neither did Tammy (Trish had decided not to do the contest, since she had run out of songs she knew well enough to sing.) The honors went to a girl named Jenny who belted out a dead-on cover of Alanis Morrisettte’s “ThankU.” (She hit the first high note in the chorus and Tammy and I both agreed that the contest was over and we had a winner.) But I feel like I didn’t completely humiliate myself. I was just happy that I’d been able to find the confidence to actually do it. For those of you who have never stood in front of a microphone with an audience turning their full attention to you, it’s pretty scary.

But good god, the endorphins are so worth it. As a reward for having the stones to try (OK, actually as a defense mechanism from the harrowing terror that your mind is plunged in), your body sends a wave of happy hormones coursing through your bloodstream. I got off stage and I felt so incredibly relaxed and suddenly invigorated. You’d have thought I was smoking something other than Sampoerna Extras.

We’re already talking about going back. Rosencrantz also has singing issues that she wants to conquer, and Tammy and I have decided that we are going to win one week. We’re determined. It doesn’t matter which of us it is, but Jenny must be defeated. The grand prize of $50 will be ours - at least it’ll cover our bar tab. I have a list of songs to practice for the next time.

So if any of you hear me warbling an off-key version of “Thank You” or “Walking After Midnight” in the next little while, now you know why.