Oct 10, 2014 3 min read

Many people love karaoke. I am not one of those people. I could never really… sing. I really couldn’t sing. I could never really sing. What I couldn’t do was … SING (one fan of “A Chorus Line” laughed just now).

When confronted with the blight of karaoke, I spend most of my time envious of those who can and dreading those who don’t realize they can’t. I blame the Japanese.

The Japanese contributed many great things to world culture, particularly in the arts. They are responsible for video games, anime and manga. I don’t know what half of those things are. Yes, I know video games, but I’m not sure I know the difference between anime and manga. I think anime is moving cartoons and manga might be a static (in the book) kind. I accidentally confused manga with magma, and you don’t want to confuse big-eyed cartoon people with molten rock. You just look like an idiot, but only to hipsters, Goth kids and assorted geeks (probably not a demographic of this column).

I have nothing against those tone-deaf people who love karaoke. There are too many of them, and I would like to avoid being lynched.

My enjoyment of karaoke seems to wax and wane depending on the amount of alcohol nearby. I was sober last time. You don’t want to be sober in a bar when they bring out the microphone. The microphone is like a weapon, only dangerous in the hands of those who wield it. The rule, according to the National Karaoke Association, is that karaoke doesn’t hurt sensitive ears, people who sing karaoke do. The onus is on the performer.

I’ve heard a lot of horrible, nails-on-a-chalkboard versions of my favorite songs. I’ve also heard horrible versions of songs I already hate, which doesn’t make me like them any better. I’ve heard people murder “My Heart Will Go On.” Even Celine can’t sing it. What makes untrained singers think they can?

Also, I am not a fan of country-western music, and it seems to be very popular around the karaoke machine. I’m usually one “Achy Breaky Heart” away from strangling someone. I have to boot, scoot and boogie out of a bar or restaurant before the country music starts.

Honestly, I never leave in the middle of someone’s performance. I have to wait between songs to get up and go. It can be a really painful four minutes. My favorite time to go is when the karaoke DJ is trying to coax shy people to the stage.

In the early ’90s, after an obscene amount of lime and/or orange-flavored Jell-O shots, I subjected an unwilling audience to Harry Belafonte’s “Banana Boat” song, which I sang with a Caribbean accent. “Me say Day. Me say Day. Me say Day. Me say Day-O!”

I also used to sing Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up,” in a voice so deep it would have frightened James Earl Jones.

I don’t drink or eat alcohol-infused Jell-O much these days. Sobriety killed my musical talents. Actually, I’m sober enough to realize I never had any musical talents. I must be the only sober one when the karaoke machine comes out.

I might not hate karaoke. I might hate not being drunk.