I have lived in the biggest city in America. I have seen the crowned heads of Europe. I have had a Shamrock Shake in the biggest McDonald's in Dublin.
But I have never been to a karaoke bar. Never that is, until last Friday.
What a crazy, jacked-up tradition that is. I'm not sure who I respect/am worried by most: the people who get up to the mike or the people who continue to play pool calmly as though there wasn't a skinny white kid named Shanon rapping "The Humpty Dance" ten feet behind them.
But lest you think that I fancy myself above all this, I say here and now that I did indeed rock the mike myself. Or, more accurately, I mumbled to, shivered behind, and very carefully cradeled the mike until my five hellish minutes of Elvis Costello's "Alison" were over.
I'm told I didn't do too badly, but getting up to do karaoke when I'd sobered up way earlier than I thought I would is one of the more terrifying thing I've done.
For the record, Jeffrey was 100% sober, and cheerfully did four songs. So perhaps my viewpoint is a limited one.
I may do it again, but it'll take a little more help from my friend Budweiser before I do.