Any Given Sunday

Written at karaoke, Sunday, January 21, 2007

There is a couple at the Chalet tonight I've never seen before but already I hope they return. They are mature adults, sitting close to the stage, and they are enhusiastic about karaoke. The woman is graying but not letting her youth slip away without a fight. Streaks of bright red peak out of her bob. The man reads a local paper as she sings, "Oh, What a Night!" in his direction. When she is done, he smiles and applauds before it is his turn to sing. The time comes when neither are on the stage but they sit holding hands, politley listening to each singer and encouraging other patrons. In thirty minutes and with no conversation between their table and ours, I know these are decent people.

Anthony, a regular who we both gave nary a second glance until he sang, has arrived with a group of twenty-somethings, giving proof that there is hope for the world that there are courteous and fun-loving youth out there that do not just exist to cause trouble.

It is a nice offset for the group in the corner. Amanda is there with two others, a woman who is sitting prim and proper with a man who is not the ROCK ON guy. Mary is also here at a table with some non-interested blonde. Mary is, well, almost annoying. She is nice enough, but aggressive. Alcohol does not help her demeanor. With the arrival of Amanda and Mary, it is even money on whether or not Stubes will show. And, as if on cue, the door opens and he is here. Amanda starts singing, Mary and Stubes start talking and instantly the bar is no longer quaint, but bursting with loud, obnoixious yelling. Where, oh where, can my Advil be?

I uncover my purse (hidden by my coat) to find the small bottle of headache relief and my eyes manage to spy another couple at the bar. The problem with being observant is the fact you see what you don't want to observe. This couple is a foot apart and their tongues are alreadying hanging out of their mouths like dogs on a hot summer day. As they lean in, they start French kissing, which in their case resembles tigers devouring a fresh kill. Class starts emulating from the building.

Anthony sings, DM and I both hope for, "Like a Stone," and he strays towards country. I never realized that "Two of a Kind," by Garth Brooks could be so hot.

Bryan calls up the next singer, reading the thoughts of most of the bar. "Oh, no! Stubes." He manages, "Honky-Tonk-Ba-Donka-I-Don't-Even-Care-If-This-Is-Close-To-Accurate-Titling-Of-This-Country-Equivalent-Of-Objectifying-Women-Based-On-The-Size-Of-Their-Ass," as always, with zero emotion. At least no women got up to shake their backsides in his direction this time. Thank God for small favors.

Oh my! What in the world is Ms. Prim-and-Proper not wearing? In a moment's notice costume change, she has transformed into a courtesan on leave from the bordello. While eye catching, the skin tight hot pink pants are not the scary bit of her outfit. It is coupled with a black corset. But she's got religion. The cross on the leather strap seems foreign with the outfit. We all get the sight of this ensemble as she joins Amanda on the stage for a rendition of some country song that the high notes feel like a saw scraping our spines.

The evening is moving along and we are surprised by James and Liz arriving. As they wave and get their beers, I make the decision to put away my notebook, ready for conversation rather than observation. Yes, just another night at the Chalet.