Karaoke

Over the trails and through the woods, to the karaoke bar we go...

Yeah, that's right. With the annual family holiday gathering winding down, a few of us piled into a car and headed to a clean, well-lighted place with room-temperature Guinness and Saturday night football. But the menus we were handed didn't include chicken fingers or onion rings; instead, we were poring over "Big Yellow Taxi," "The Boxer" and "With Arms Wide Open."

We had three regulars in our group, and they were serious about this. Carol, Lisa and Paul kept filling out little pieces of paper with the songs they wanted to sing, handing them to the karaoke master of ceremonies who would call them to the spotlight. It was business as usual for these three, akin to being in a bowling alley as they kept getting up to take their turn. Concentrate, deep breath, let 'er rip. No sweat. No problem.

The music? Some was good, some bad. What made it interesting was the diversity of selections. Only with karaoke could you go from Joni Mitchell to Metallica to a tragic melody from "Les Miserables."

It made for good entertainment, a little American Idol, a little Gong Show. For the real singers, it's a nice outlet to work the lungs. For the wanna-bes, it's their five minutes of fame or shame. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday night. Huey and Gwyneth never made it, but we had Carol, Lisa and Paul.

And room-temperature Guinness.