Karaoke at Cobalt

Wednesday was my friend Gerry’s* birthday and after a round of trivia I met him and some friends at Cobalt to experience that which is the ongoing Cobalt Idol Karaoke Contest. No, I’m not making that up. No I’m not singing — I’m more of a Pip than a Gladys Knight — but Gerry was swindled into participating. Gerry’s a bit of a karaoke nut, you see. Sure, he pretends like he’s awful and it’s all a big goof, but I’ve seen him a few times and he’s actually pretty good. (Remind me to tell you about the time he sang I Touch Myself at the Green Lantern one day. (Wait… I guess I just did.))

Anyway, although Gerry was voted off the contest last week, losing to some guy that was kind of a “meh” singer but apparently is popular at the bar (whatever that means,) one of our other friends, John, was still in the running.

Last week, John closed the night with a rousing rendition of Man of La Mancha that nearly tore the roof off the place. Unfortunately, John was voted off this week. (Also losing to Mr. Meh.)

John was robbed.

After the contest, Gerry bravely sang Photograph (in the style of Def Leppard.) I have to admit, channeling my inner Paula Abdul, it wasn’t the best song choice for him but it sure was entertaining. At several points, when he was trying to hit the high notes, I thought the microphone was cutting out. Nope, it was just his voice.

Anyway, a bit later I got drunk and had my ass grabbed by someone’s creepy grandfather just as Gerry stepped on stage to sing I Hate Everything About You.

I give you… Gerry (in the style of Ugly Kid Joe.)

So I was standing at the urinal thinking…

Urinal nunsLately, whenever I sit down to post something, I inevitably will feel that whatever I typed either sucks, is too personal, or that no one will care. I know what you’re thinking, so then I post a picture of a friend’s cat and think that it’s fucking brilliant, right? I know.

I’m going to try to stop thinking those things. Those thoughts are dead to me. A pox on their houses!

Oh shit, that would be my head.

More hair on their houses!

I’ve gotten into the habit of saving posts as drafts. Then, I fool myself into thinking that I’ll come back later and finish them. I have 26 unfinished drafts in my queue right now — one of which is titled “The Parrotheads have descended upon the quarter” and was first written in January of 2006.

From now on, I’m going go back to my old way of blogging, which was to post some inane piece of crap at 2am and then proceed to rewrite it for a week until it’s a completely different post, after being publicly humiliated by my sloppy grammar and poor word choice.

I will also try to stop rushing to put it away while contemplating my blog at the urinal. I keep peeing down my leg.