Italian karaoke

Did I sing? Yes, 'It's Raining Men.' They convinced me to do it because I'd pronounce the words right.

I'm not sure why, and ironically so considering how awful a singer/performer I am, but karaoke has drawn me in this past year. I went at least four times in Atlanta this summer. We usually went to this place called Metro City Cafe where this guy with hair about to his waist would bring his karaoke equipment and sing his own songs a few times every night in an eerily high-pitched voice. We called him Karaoke Jesus. One time a friend with an identical hairstyle--to his waist--was head-bopping along beside Karaoke Jesus and his equipment until he hit his stride and did a front handspring in the middle of the dance floor. That moment, when his inner star power emerged, was a moment he lived for. I don't think anyone who saw it will forget it.

Anyway, Italian karaoke. Eleonora, my conversation exchange partner, invited me to a little restaurant for dinner and song. Her friend gave me a ride there, one of only two times that I've ridden in a car since being in Italy. There was one Irish woman I met earlier that night there but sat in a different part of the room, but otherwise it was a roomful of Italians. There were 26 people sitting at our table. Apparently this place doesn't normally do karaoke, but someone asked for them to set up karaoke and promised to bring this small herd. Most were in their late 20s or 30s and, refreshingly, were caught up in fun and therefore didn't want bother with English unless there was no way I would understand.

We didn't get our food until 11 but got our alcoholic beverages at least an hour before, making karaoke more tolerable.

Most of the songs were classic Italian songs that, sadly representing my lack of immersion, I'd never heard before, and occasionally classic American songs. As at every karaoke, there was that guy who sang a solo every third song and harmonized when not the lead singer. Someone chose the original version of the song 'We No Speak Americano,' the only Italian song played that I knew, and those around me dedicated it to me. From the moment I walked in, they tried to get me to sing because I'd pronounce the words right. I tried my best to avoid it, but during 'It's Raining Men,' a mike was put in my hand. I panicked and I sang. It was pretty awful, not even funny awful. More uncomfortable awful. They liked my pronunciation but didn't ask me to sing again. Fortunately there was one girl that chose the song 'My Heart Will Go On,' knocking my performance into second place for Biggest Buzzkill.

I did as the Italians do and finished off the meal with an espresso. Seeing as it's 3:42 am and I'm blogging, that might have been a mistake. The setbacks of trying to fit in.