Last night I witnessed the magic that is karaoke in full bloom. With big thanks to the Bob Treffiletti Project, entertainment was lurking in every corner of Martel’s.
Where to start? A pride of honey-voiced cougars (I use the phrase endearingly — if you are offended please say so and I will immediately redact all references and related feline imagery), three strong, wore a groove in the jungle floor (using only their powerful rear claws) as they made trip after trip from a shadowy den somewhere near the back of the bar to the mic. These three queens, in the prime of their cougaring and crooning lives, dropped from powerful jaws number after number that were not only plump and tasty but also obscure and sultry. Consider my mind blown. As we were leaving at the very tail end of the night, with all cubs fat and happy, Bob sounded a whistle out of my rapidly narrowing range of hearing and these three pounced to the dance floor, clawed a compact circle of carpet just in front of Bob (clearly fighting the urge to get all four paws into the act and strangely leaving no marks), and performed a mating dance inviting anyone with a hint of visual or merely olfactory receptivity into a furry embrace. Actually they were just dancing. The rest comes from my imagination (which clearly needs to be let out more often lest it sour in a bad way).
The fourth cougar was a complete surprise. All of 12, maybe, this fifty pound huntress in training took full ownership rights without possibility of reversion to what we guessed was a Justin Bieber “classic.” The entire restaurant was captivated for four minutes, not the least enthusiastic of which was her sister’s soccer team (bedecked in, you guessed it, Cougars uniforms). I couldn’t make this up. One song and out for her (with bedtime rapidly approaching). Consider myself impressed. Although there were more camera phones recording the performance than were trained on Lady Gaga at the Max, sadly none have been posted to youtube. I offer this as a placeholder (and unless you speak Khmer, jump to 1:40 to see the closest possible representation of the impact the pint sized singer had on yours truly.
Then there was Lacey. Breaking my heart every day, this Lacey. She sang four very delicate and emotional numbers while looking lovely and smiling broadly. Clearly ready for a larger stage, I have never been more proud or more in love with my special friend.
Our friend E. was a master as usual. Not a surprise. Not a mistake. I think he might be Japanese. Our friend D. sang a number with just the right amount of talent to keep it entertaining while preserving an air of impending derailment sufficient to keep it exciting. Our cousin P. belted out two challenging numbers fueled by combusting a volatile brew of one part talent to three parts confidence. Bless him, for it is his style of performance that keeps the karaoke flame lit (like a flame thrower). Your humble keyboard tickler sat on his hands enjoying the whole thing, smiling, drinking, eating fries and luxuriating in my not designated driver status.
Karaoke is good, I tell you.
p.s. Into which bush have my paragraph separations scampered? No matter. I hope they are having fun. It is spring!