Beat Surrender

There's never a dull moment in the life of a fake rock star, and Kelcey, Fabulous Patti, myself and Emily (pictured here) were all fake rock stars at Joxer Daly's in Culver City on Wednesday night. Well, Kelcey was not a fake rock star that night. Apparently, he had been given the hook while trying to sing a rather inebriated version of "All Shook Up" during Emily's birthday party at the aforementioned Joxer Daly's two weeks before. So he stayed away from the karaoke microphone this time around. The rest of us had no such fear, however.

After several successful solo numbers, Emily and I decided to duet on the Jam's "Beat Surrender" because, frankly, when you find "Beat Surrender" at a karaoke bar, you have to sing it. Right? Um, perhaps wrong. We gave it the best we had, and Emily and I can both sing (especially Emily), but... Well, let's just say the beat definitely surrendered during our attempt. I learned that I really only should sing songs I've practiced, and somewhere in the universe, Paul Weller's ears were bleeding.

That tiny transgression aside, we had quite a lot of fun. I sang three of my tried and true numbers, and Emily belted out Irene Cara's "Fame," complete with dance moves that got the attention of literally every man in the joint. The only two remotely attractive guys there were generous with their flirtation, however, and I found myself doing a little cramped swing dancing in front of the karaoke stage, too. One of the benefits of going out in a city where you don't live: the consequence-free dance.

Once back home by the Bay, the rock star theme continued. Last night I went with Helen to see a real rock star, my musician friend Pat Johnson, play at the Knockout in the Mission. He was really good and played my very favorite song of his, "The Very Last Time." Yay! I cast aside any pretense of being too cool for the room and sang along, even when Pat momentarily messed up the words.

Do you know what I did today? Absolutely nothing. After sleeping for twelve hours (I guess the bronchitis, funky work hours and traveling left me a little tired), I spent another hour and a half in bed finishing Him Her Him Again The End of Him by Patricia Marx. For the record, that book is excellent; one of the funniest I've read in a while. After all the resting, I took a run, which was mostly a walk, and now here I am at work. I could be at Pat and Jess' holiday poker party, but I've spent all month switching Saturday shifts and otherwise tweaking my schedule to make it to parties. So I figured I'd be responsible and go to work this time.

I'm not sure living up to my employment responsibilities would exactly count as rock star behavior, but I guess that's why I'm just a fake rock star.