New Years Eve Karaoke

I swear, I don't go looking for Karaoke... Thursdays at Harvest Moon more than suffice for this guy. It just seems that Karaoke comes looking for me.

The New Years party I graced with my presence was, um, underwhelming. It wasn't for lack of effort, it's just that the heavens weren't smiling on that particular apartment in South Bound Brook. Lack of attendance, lack of music, lack of anything remotely wild, that's what doomed this party.

At around 11:30, we made our way across the street to a small bar (just across from the scary metal bridge over the Raritan, to give my cyclist friends some reference). Lo and behold, there was Karaoke!

Alas, like the Golden Rail before it, Karaoke at this South Bound Brook dive bar - haughtily named the South Side Grille - proved to be a disappointing experience. First of all, the setup was abysmal, with the lyrics facing away from the crowd. Nothing says "lack-luster performance" like having your back to the audience. The microphone cords were about 6 feet long and tethered to the ground, so that I couldn't even step forward, let alone dance or play to the crowd.

In what must've been a fit of beer-addled genius, the Karaoke Jockey had incorporated a sound-effects board into the system. Like a talk radio shock-jock, he could interject with the sound effect of his choice at the push of a button. Fantastic.

Imagine my delight when halfway through my song, the KJ used a sound-effect to call me gay. I put the microphone in its stand and walked away. He did not receive a tip, nor will he receive my repeated patronage.

Granted, I was singing Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart", so in some sense I was asking for it. I will further grant that I was in a bar in South F'in Bound Brook, so in a much realer sense I was asking for trouble. However, it turns out that I got along with everyone in the bar, trading rounds with rednecks who drank more beers than they had teeth and generally having a great time.

Oh, and this is the guy who called me gay. Sorry about the shitty cameraphone picture. I tried to capture the majesty of the hairspray-and-mousse masterpiece that is his hairdo, but there aren't enough megapixels in the world to do it justice.