2003-06-25
The Gift of the Magi
I feel like breaking out the karaoke machine I got for Christmas at the age of 32.
Christmas night, we hooked that mother up and watched my dad sing Frank Sinatra tunes peppered with fart noises he made into the microphone during the non-vocal parts. Charles and I belted out a few show tunes before we started making up our own words to songs. Our original creations were mostly about pooping or calling someone a bastard. We had manic giggles and refused to let anyone else use the mikes for about an hour. My brother's friend Jim stopped over and sang a couple duets with Uncle Chuck which brought down the FRICKING HOUSE. Yeah, dawg.
At my grandma's 89th birthday party, Bart got Jiggy With It all night. Dad made more fart noises. Kelly and I kicked Carmen Rasmusen's ass on our version of How Do I Live (Without You). Gregg tried to get his hands on a microphone but we monopolized them until he finally accepted his role as disc changer. Charles and I sang duets from Miss Saigon and some hooey from that musical Jekyll and Hyde. When it comes to this machine, pride goes right in the crapper.
I'm not a music snob. Basically I will listen to anything. I'll admit to liking it too. I don't care. Who the frick am I trying to impress? You already know I'm shallow. But what I love the most about my family and friends is that they enjoy this kind of exhibitionism just as much as I do. There's no pretense, no attempt at trying to act like real musician, none of that. Just the pure rapture you can only experience by making a complete ass of yourself in front of other grown human beings. I love being an ass and not caring. It's one of the greatest pleasures in life.
That and the fart noises.
joeparadox at 1:27 p.m.