"Somos lo que somos" We are what we are. That's what the man who works at the concession stand told me. He's the whimsical bright-eyed sort that I'm sure was a magician in another life. We are what we are. And in addition to the many things I am,
I am behind in my blogging. Way behind. It may take me days to write about all of this-so hold on to your socks. I may post mini-blogs so that you guys can read along as I go through the past few weeks. How long has it been? almost a month?? sorry--but you will know that the blog is officially done when I put the poem up. So keep checking below because entries are going to keep appearing below.
Let's start with Shania. A few weeks ago, I found myself in a lovely little karaoke pizza bar in concepcion with a truly international crowd: my friend Kazu who is Japanese, my friend Kristin who is Canadian, and my friend Felipe who is Chilean. And for the first hour this man with greasy hair is paid to sing by himself-I've talked about this Chilean phenomenon before. And then after his hour of glory in the spotlight he opens up the floor for eager singers. Now in my limited but rich Karaoke experience in Birmingham Alabama, mostly in a classy Karaoke joint called Stars, people LINE UP to sing--I'm talking about wait three hours to sing one song kinda intensity. And these people ARE NOT joking around. Alabama is home of the american idols right???? And these people--the people that sing Karaoke at home, they are american idols in their dreams--heck--they probably tried out--you probably saw them on television and thought, "Now that is a Karaoke God" or not. The point is that Karaoke is serious business at home.
Here, not so much. My friends were loudly urging me to sing. For those of you who know me--occasionally I have been known to bust out a solo stage presence or the habitual group "You're so Vain," but only after I have been there for a while, have heard enough people to let the fact sink in that I couldn't possibly be the worst of the night.
But at this place (I can't remember the name) the guy opens the floor and gets crickets. Nobody wants to sing, and I am for a minute confused about whether or not Karaoke translates to something different in spanish, until my friends start pointing at me, and I get to be the FIRST one on stage. Actually, I was still looking through the book, so greasy hair kept singing until I was ready, asking me after he finished each song. Soooo--I chose Man, I Feel Like A Woman--I know, I know what you're thinking:
1. did you forget that you're an alto and the ohh whoooaaa ohhh oohhhh's are pretty high up?
2. Did you really sing Shania?
3. Man I feel like a woman???
But to answer those questions:
1. When you sing in your head it's always in the octave you're most comfortable in, and you forget that the song has its own notes
2. Yes-I felt that Shania not only honored my great Canadian friend Kristin, but also represented my alabama roots well
3. They didn't have "Whose bed have your boots been under" and people seriously actually sung along.
Let's just say it wasn't a disaster. It was pretty fun--I made a lot of instant friends, and. . . the best part is. . . I got a free pisco sour. They actually gave me something for singing!!! What country am I in again??
Kristin took some pictures, and I promise as soon as they surface I'll put them on. It was actually a total blast. Felipe sang too, but a chilean song that I didn't know. We still pretended like we knew the words anyway--at least that's one thing Karaoke here and Karaoke in the states have in common.
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