So I'm sitting in the lobby-bar of the hotel at the American Christian Fiction Writers Conference where all the cool kids are hanging out. I'm drinking my Dasani, a vintage 2011 with notes of purified city water and the full-bodied flavor of Coca-Cola marketing. To my left is a small stage. And as I'm staring at the tile work of the bar and wondering if I'm the only person who wants to take a picture of this, the most freeing words come out of my mouth: “I hate karaoke.”
I'd never shared that before.
I want to be one of the cool kids.
But I hate karaoke.
It's a train wreck of a disaster with rules I don't get.
Are we doing hand motions? Loud volume? Harmony? Baby Got Back? Barry Manilow? Are we all agreed we will sound awful on purpose?
Just as soon as I bust out some Justin Timberlake falsetto, here comes a karaoke queen pulling out some Mariah Carey “Hero,” in a voice that probably gave her a free ride to Julliard.
Or if you sing for real, next up is a guy who does the worst version of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Bringing the room to it's feet in a standing ovation.
I am convinced during karaoke, there is this silent communication, like baseball signals, that I just don't see. So lifting your drink twice while twirling your skirt means bring out the Rascal Flatts? How do you people KNOW this?
And those of us who just sit at tables watching, we feel like dorks. We aren't sure where to look, what to do. For a very long 3.5 minutes.
Clap? Nod? Woo-hoo? Go back to our hotel room and watch the rerun of King of Queens?
My name is Jenny.
I take pictures of tile work in bathrooms, lights in restaurants, and woodwork in stores.
And I hate karaoke.
So to my friends in low places, if you were the wind beneath my wings or a brown eyed girl in a brick house, please know that you will never get a musical shoutout from me in a blaze of glory providing you a total eclipse of the heart on your tin roof.
Your turn. What's a cool thing you dislike?
Don't leave me hanging. Alone with my brave confessions.