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Apr. 18th, 2003 09:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakenguySeven Days.
After rehearsal last night (my line went well), the plan was to go out for drinks and appetizers. Some place called Plaza Garibaldi. "Oh, a little Italian place", think I. "How nice--a glass of wine, maybe a little garlic bread, much conversation."
Which is how, friends and neighbors, I wound up in a Portuguese Karaoke bar.
Some observations (names changed to protect the hungover):
*Either other bars in town water their drinks, or my tiredness makes beer kick in faster, or Corona is very efficacious, but woo.
*Judging from results, the tequila drinker in our group was surprised by this, too.
*Whoever decided that the restrooms should be at the top of a narrow, winding set of stairs was a sick bastard.
*Frat boy singing 'Billy Jean' (one of about eight English songs in the playbook)--why? It's not just that you're holding the mike too close, or that your voice is all wrong, or that you keep messing up the words, OR that you can't keep your hand out of your pants that makes you hilarious. It's that all those elements combined to create the Platonic Ideal of bad karaoke. I'm serious--somewhere in Athens, there's a cave, and a shadow that looks like a little guy on stage going "Uh..........isnotmylover, she's jus'...girl who....uh..."
*Karaoke playbook writer, we need to have words. Elvis is good, kudos on the Elvis. But seriously...'Raindrops are Falling on my Head'?
*The guys in our group ran the gamut from M, who can't *not* flirt with whoever's closest and female, to B who was utterly besmitten after three dances with G. Puppy love, people. We're talking little pink hearts in the eyes here. (And me of course, as drunk-staring-off-into-space-with-cup-in-hand boy.)
*Bl, who knows how to dance samba, pointed out some of the differences in dance styles we were seeing. The guys with their heads hunched in, chins almost on their chests, were dancing Cuban-style. The guys with their knees between their partner's legs so far they were almost giving them pony rides were dancing scandalize-the-New-Englanders-and-make-them-feel-old-style.
*Ten dollars for all you can eat appetizers is good...unless what you get are four steam trays with little marble-sized bits of meat and vegetables in each one. I ate four or five little chunks of beef, and realized afterwards that, ounce for ounce, I would've paid less for cocaine.
Off to drink lots of water and hope my hearing returns....
After rehearsal last night (my line went well), the plan was to go out for drinks and appetizers. Some place called Plaza Garibaldi. "Oh, a little Italian place", think I. "How nice--a glass of wine, maybe a little garlic bread, much conversation."
Which is how, friends and neighbors, I wound up in a Portuguese Karaoke bar.
Some observations (names changed to protect the hungover):
*Either other bars in town water their drinks, or my tiredness makes beer kick in faster, or Corona is very efficacious, but woo.
*Judging from results, the tequila drinker in our group was surprised by this, too.
*Whoever decided that the restrooms should be at the top of a narrow, winding set of stairs was a sick bastard.
*Frat boy singing 'Billy Jean' (one of about eight English songs in the playbook)--why? It's not just that you're holding the mike too close, or that your voice is all wrong, or that you keep messing up the words, OR that you can't keep your hand out of your pants that makes you hilarious. It's that all those elements combined to create the Platonic Ideal of bad karaoke. I'm serious--somewhere in Athens, there's a cave, and a shadow that looks like a little guy on stage going "Uh..........isnotmylover, she's jus'...girl who....uh..."
*Karaoke playbook writer, we need to have words. Elvis is good, kudos on the Elvis. But seriously...'Raindrops are Falling on my Head'?
*The guys in our group ran the gamut from M, who can't *not* flirt with whoever's closest and female, to B who was utterly besmitten after three dances with G. Puppy love, people. We're talking little pink hearts in the eyes here. (And me of course, as drunk-staring-off-into-space-with-cup-in-hand boy.)
*Bl, who knows how to dance samba, pointed out some of the differences in dance styles we were seeing. The guys with their heads hunched in, chins almost on their chests, were dancing Cuban-style. The guys with their knees between their partner's legs so far they were almost giving them pony rides were dancing scandalize-the-New-Englanders-and-make-them-feel-old-style.
*Ten dollars for all you can eat appetizers is good...unless what you get are four steam trays with little marble-sized bits of meat and vegetables in each one. I ate four or five little chunks of beef, and realized afterwards that, ounce for ounce, I would've paid less for cocaine.
Off to drink lots of water and hope my hearing returns....
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no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-18 09:39 am (UTC)What?