Karaoke Superstar

When I was in high school I had one dream. I wanted to sing "Sugar High" live with a band backing me up, just like Renee Zellwegar did in Empire Records. Maybe it was because I really loved the film and wanted to reenact it, maybe I just wanted to do something crazy, but whatever the reason, something told me that I should sing. Aloud. In front of people. One big problem stopped me from pursuing my dream--the sheer fact that I couldn't sing. Sure I could actually sing, while driving down long stretches of road I could belt out the lyrics to any Ataris song like the best of them. The fact remained, however, that I could not sing well. Mirrors cracked. Puppies cried. And so, I gave up on my dream.

This year I wanted to break my fear. I wanted to conquer singing in public, regardless of my inability. And so, I vowed to go karaoking by the time I turned 25. And you know what? I did!

This past weekend I went up to Tallahassee to visit Samir at his new job working in the Capitol, along with a few friends who didn't leave for summer break. On Friday night, while eating pizza which accurately boasts as being "as big as your head," Samir, his roommate Sid, Dacia, a good friend of mine from circus days, and I made plans for that night. Tossing back and forth different bars to go to, we finally came to Julie's. Julie's is a restaurant/karaoke bar that Dacia used to work at. We went there quite often my last year in Tallahassee, learning that wine for 25 cents a glass was a very bad idea, and friends singing together on stage was a very good idea. That's when Samir decided that I was going to karaoke that night. Unable to resist, I reluctantly agreed.

We arrived at the place and took our seats. Nervously sipping my drink, I scrolled through the list of songs. I was nervous, frankly, but the atmosphere made it a bit better. The people proceeding us were terrible. One lady, Dawn, took the stage and caused quite the commotion. Around 60 or so, she spoke the lyrics to "Last Dance," and proceeded to grind on random guys within the microphone's reach. Almost immediately, guys backed up, getting out of the radius. It was hilarious, shocking, and torturous. I held Samir's hand tightly, hoping she wouldn't nudge her way in our direction.

Our friend Lane joined us shortly after, taking a seat with a smile and a hug. Using my friends and the rules, I finally made my final decision, I would sing "Like A Prayer," by Madonna. You can't go wrong with Madonna. My name was called moments later. With wide eyes and shaky hands, I took the stage.

I used to live for that moment. All eyes on me. Lights shining down, illuminating my face. In theatre, I thrived on it, reveled in my moment. Now as a 24 year old holding a cheap microphone that smelled like beer, I froze.

I'd like to say that I was amazing. I'd like to say that I received a standing ovation and roses tossed on the stage. I'd like to say that immediately after my rousing performance I was offered a record deal and had Simon Cowell informing the world that I was the next big thing. Well, it didn't exactly go that well.

As the music started, I stared intensely at the monitor. The words were memorized. I used to dance around my house as a little girl belting out the words while wearing my mother's jewelry and heels. Naturally, the one moment I needed that previously knowledge, it all disappeared. But still, I sang.

I opened my mouth and the words poured out. Not like silk, not smooth and irresistible, but more like tin foil. Crinkly at times with the possibility to slice, but clean at others. I overheard a man sitting at the nearest table say to his girlfriend, "finally, someone who could sing!" which gave me confidence. Still shaky, I tried to hit notes. I tried to sound good. My moment of euphoria ended abruptly when the same man's eyebrows furrowed as he murmured "oh, never mind."

But I still did it. Ignoring the man, I looked only at Lane and Samir who stood in front of me, smiling like proud parents. I finished the song and danced off the stage. Cheeks burning and heart racing, I hugged them both, glad to be out of the spotlight.

One my one, my friends took the stage as well. From "I'm a Believer" to "Lady Madonna," they serenaded me with their songs. Taking my typical stance as photographer, I documented the entire night. I left with a smile on my face.

I can't say that the experience changed me. I can't say that I lost all ounces of self consciousness and plan to hit up karaoke joints weekly. I can say that I'm glad I did it. I had my moment, scary as it was, and I conquered it. It's over. Honestly, I can't say that I loved it, but I can say that every now and then when a song comes on my iPod I think "man, that would be fun to sing next."