May 4: Kiss From A Rose

If you know me at all, you know that I love to sing. If you know me at all, you know that I suck at singing. If you know me at all, you know that I don't actually know the lyrics to any song. I know the first line of the chorus and that's about it, but it doesn't keep me from yadda-dat-datting through the rest of a song and irritating any innocent person within vocal range.

One might think that because of my love for singing obscure songs without knowledge of the lyrics, karaoke would be the perfect venue for me. It's not. Music and Brandon simply do not mix well. I either can't keep up with the highlighted words or I have a tendency to want to rush to the next verse. Couple that with my inability to carry a tune and you have a deliciously awful train wreck of entertainment.

* * * *

Matt Wieters had just gone 0-4 in his anticipated Major League debut in Baltimore. The Orioles still beat Dontrelle Willis and the Tigers before a sold-out crowd and a post-game display of fireworks. Once the crowd had dispersed from Camden Yards, Ken, Steve, and I made our way across the street to Pickles Pub where four bottles of selected beers were being sold for five dollars from sidewalk vendors. We watched happy Baltimore fans play Corn Hole, Beer Pong, and Billiards as we made our way through the various rooms of the pub and threw back beer after cheap beer.

After the bouncers escorted us out with the masses from the pub and forced us to finish our drinks, we found ourselves in a small bar down the street from Oriole Park with a few lingering fans. People moved in slow motion around me and I had to speak slower and louder to get my words out clearly. As if I had been planning it for years, I made a beeline to the karaoke disc jockey and put my name on the list of singers as soon as I entered the building. I had Seal's Kiss From a Rose stuck in my head for about a week and this was the perfect outlet.

Within minutes of submitting my name, I had forgotten all about it. I made my way to the bar to get another beer and was in the middle of an important conversation of useless drivel and nonsense when the D.J. told the crowd to give it up for Brandon. Remembering what I had done, I took a defiant gulp of beer before slamming the glass on the bar top and made my way to the stage as the "Bayya (Bop Bop) Badda da Da (Bop bop)" introduction began. I had just enough time to dislodge the microphone from the stand before the first line on the teleprompter started highlighting itself in lime green.

"There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea. Yoooouuuu became the light on the dark side of meeEEE." Never had I gotten further than these two lines. Never had I opened a CD cover or looked up the lyrics online and I couldn't read fast enough to keep up with the continuing highlighting of (to me) nonsensical words. I stood on stage and read the lyrics to myself as the background singers echoed what I was supposed to be singing.

At this time, a drunk Steve emerged from the restroom and saved the day. He leaped on stage, grabbed the mike out of my hand and took the reigns of the evening's entertainment. Was Steve a closet Seal fan or was he just really good at reading? I don't know, but if it weren't for him, the audience of eight people would have had to endure four minutes and forty-eight seconds of torturous noise and cringe-worthy drunken awkwardness.

I'm not usually this inebriated when making an attempt at karaoke, but the result is always the same. I select a song that I think I know, stand on stage and struggle to make it work until the D.J. pulls the plug or until I ditch the stage and the still-playing song and background singers.

For the remainder of that summer, Ken and Steve were kind enough to remind me how horrible I was and how I owe everything to Steve. It was all in good fun; or at least I think it was, but mark my words: Someday, I will blow an audience away with a hilarious '90s love ballad. I just need to learn a lyric or two before that dream becomes a reality.