Birthdays and Karaoke Legends

It may surprise some of my readers that I am not the young, sprightly figure that I present myself to be. It surprises me that I even have readers, let alone that they think about me at all, but if you do, then surely you must consider me young of heart. But I am actually twenty nine years old, an age that frightens many unmarried maidens and unaccomplished lads alike. I am especially distinct in that at twenty nine I am both unmarried and unaccomplished. That’s completely my fault, like world hunger and racism. If I weren’t so lazy I’d be married (or civilly united) and accomplished, and everyone would have full bellies and no one would be afraid of the black guy in the bar parking lot at 2 AM (in most cases, it’s just Shay macking on a semi-sober sorostitute).

But the world is not perfect and I’m not either. So at twenty nine, on the verge of thirty, I have done none of the things a less lazy person would have on a list of things to accomplish before aging three decades. I don’t have such a list– I’m too lazy to write one. But I’m trying to overcome my own mental inertia. My complacency is on my mind daily, but more so because of my birthday. I try not to think of aging negatively– rationally, the older one is, the more experience and knowledge one has. Realistically, the older one is, the more regrets and mistakes one has. But those regrets and mistakes are important in that no matter how much I wish I had accomplished I wouldn’t be here today without all the bumps and potholes that have modified my path. Sure, where I am is not where I want to be, but at least it’s not where I’d hate to be. I’m not dead, a meth addict or working a dead end job I hate. I’m alive, a pot head and working a dead end job I can tolerate. So at least I’m better off than a corpse. They don’t celebrate birthdays. In that respect the dead are like Jehovah’s Witnesses.

At some point birthdays lost their specialness for me. They became ordinary days, just like Tuesdays, tax days, election days and holidays. I don’t celebrate any of those, though I of course observe them. That is to say I know each of these “special days” are actually special, more important than regular days, like Tuesdays, though I would argue that Tuesdays were, until recently, one of my favorite holidays. That was the day I went to O’Corley’s for the dynamic duo of bar games, trivia and karaoke. Trivia challenged my mind– it pitted my intellect against the intellects of my fellow bar patrons, giving me a realistic view of where I ranked on the IQ scale. Some nights I’d go home feeling thoroughly defeated, others pompously triumphant. Karaoke challenged my inhibitions. It pitted my self-consciousness against my love for music and self-deprecation– singing badly never bothers me when I’m drunk. But at the end of July the music died. Since I can remember Mad Jim has MC’d karaoke at O’Corleys, but he took his last waltz last week. Tuesdays will never be the same.

When I first moved to Valdosta oh-so-many years ago I wouldn’t be caught dead on stage at a bar. I’d have been mortified to do karaoke. I drank less then, too, and the two are not unrelated– I needed more than a little encouragement from my friends Jack, Jim and Jose. Actually, I exclusively drank vodka and cranberry juice back then. I convinced myself that cranberry juice was good for my kidneys, thus mitigating how bad vodka was for my liver. I don’t remember the first time I actually sang karaoke, but I remember the song– Love Shack by The B-52’s. I also remember Mad Jim distinctly– he’s hard to forget. The tall man with a striking white mane of hair and beard, if he were in robes instead of a top hat, could pass for Gandolf the Grey. Always the showman, always the congenial host, Mad Jim will always be the first name I think of when I think of karaoke. Even when I didn’t deserve it, even when I made a complete drunken ass of myself, he tolerated me. That’s more than I can say about my family. For eight years Jim made Tuesdays important enough to request that day off from work every week. But all good things must come to an end. Jim is retired so now Tuesdays are just like birthdays to me– not special, just another day.

As for my unaccomplished, unmarried, lazy, twenty nine year old self, I’m okay with everything I haven’t done since coming to Valdosta seven years ago. Maybe it’s fitting that karaoke is no longer a part of Tuesday-holidays for me. I’ll use the last year of my twenties to work on conquering my various vices, though to do so I’ll have to stop letting my subconscious bully me around. Easier said than done– I envy anyone with a peephole through that locked door.