“You can rely on the pizza money! You can rely on the pi-zza money!”

The owner of the local pizza shop was belting out Rich Girl and celebrating his success by changing the lyrics ever so slightly. Outside all us girl belters were discussing our karaoke philosophies for song choice.

“Something you remember but forgot about is what makes a great karaoke song–“

“I don’t care if you’re tone deaf, but keep up with the lyrics!”

“I only like to sing in groups–“

“But not everyone singing in unison! It overwhelms the mics!

I was thinking about my personal song choices and how they would flow through the evening: Wishing Well by Terence Trent D’Arby for a good strong vocal warmup, but easy and bouncy enough to sing along. Then Foolish Games by Jewel–a little early for the big 180, but you only get so many chances to sing. Diva by Beyonce, my signature karaoke song. And now the big finale, Zombie by the Cranberries.

I took the mic, and the current reigning karaoke Queen, (a person who can only be described as a “Tough Mama,” with her red bandana across her forehead and a deep voice like the love child of Stevie Nicks and Darius Rucker. She struck me as someone who might hand you cookies or wrestle you to the ground with equal probability), noticed the song name on the screen.

She grabbed me and pulled me into a headlock of a hug and growled in my ear, “You better rip this song apart. You better not let me down. You fucking kill it. Don’t you fuck this up!”

I stepped into the ring like a prizefighter and pounded the song into oblivion, and then tore it’s  head clean off. The crowd went wild.

I. Love. Karaoke.

Generally speaking, if a town has a good karaoke night weekly, then I think the town is gonna be okay.

There is no better community arts project. It makes money. It is open to all (over 21). Everyone is a star and everyone is an audience member. It is always entertaining, sometimes very moving, and is the perfect outlet for all of the chaos inside of you. It is, by far, the healthiest and most productive way to get drunk with strangers. You face the fears you have of yourself, and when you fail, nobody remembers or cares about your faux pas, bad note, dumb song. Because we are all failing, we are all trying, we are all singing, and we are all in the same production. And we’re all happy to be here.

But you do remember the show stoppers, the big performers, the silliness, the fun.

And yet, it’s deeply aggressive. People into karaoke rarely pick the easy song. They pick the one that challenges them, that they practice in the shower. And when they hope they are ready, they make a decision to stand in front of a crowd, and take the challenge on. Changing a high note to something more manageable for your vocal comfort is simply not done–the audience won’t let you . You will reeeaach for it! And the audience will reach with you. And somehow you make it. Or don’t. Who cares? It was fun! But the point is, you got up and did it.

God, it’s so fucking satisfying.

City Just Enough For the Living

This is a quiet place, with only two bars in the vicinity. One sucks but is open more often. One is awesome and wildly inconsistent. Both are overpriced. The awesome and inconsistent one has karaoke on Fridays. But last night they had it Saturday instead. They’re keeping on brand.

Going out is expensive here, and there isn’t a ton of money flowing through the town. Most people stay home. And karaoke is so fraught with danger–you can’t get much more loose and revealing without getting into actual trouble–that it’s easy to say, “I don’t do that,” and stay home.

But it’s worth it every now and then to go blow some cash and go nuts with strangers.

Especially now. We need to be reminded that strangers–other people–are not inherently dangerous by virtue of being strange, but may also surprise and delight you. How many people have fallen in love at karaoke? Go to karaoke often enough, and you will.

There is a loneliness epidemic, we are told, and can feel. There are a lot of theories as to why. And yes, our phones, the propaganda, and the constant, endless scroll, telling you that humans are dangerous, humans don’t think like you, humans have crazy notions, humans don’t understand you, you must be crazy, they must be crazy, you need special support, it’s better to cancel plans, stay on the couch, put up boundaries, socialize online–yeah, it doesn’t help.

But diets never work. Limiting your phone use helps a lot of things. But it also leaves a hole, when you’ve spent years devoting your whole life to the scroll.

You can cure the loneliness epidemic if you fill the hole with karaoke. And yes, I’m serious.

If you don’t know how to talk to people, and you fear being misunderstood, pick a song that already says it, stand up in front of the crowd, and sing it. Not only will you not be misunderstood, you will be cheered just for the attempt.

It’s the encouragement we all need.

When I think about city life and all that’s good about it, the setting is always a karaoke night. All kinds of people, coming together, each trying to do something extraordinary.

I’ve always loved cities, which is why it seems strange even to me that I should wind up in California’s most remote places for the past 8 years. I’ve worried that even though the cheap land and the diy/homesteading thing solves a lot of my problems, that I would ultimately be unhappy. I seek novelty, and strangers, and possibilities, and human beings–things that a beautiful view and communion with the animal world can’t quite replicate–though its crucial for its own reasons.

But so long as there is karaoke night, where regulars and tourists converge, that’s just enough city to make life liveable.