OK Karaoke

Normally, karaoke repulses me. The very idea - a mob of people who collectively could not hold a note if their lives depended on it subjecting an audience to banshee-like renditions of "Living on a Prayer" because they have consumed enough alcohol to blur the line of what is acceptable in society and what is morally reprehensible - elicits a visceral response from me that is one notch below nausea.

However, I learned (late) yesterday night that, when confined to a private room, karaoke becomes acceptable and, dare I say it, fun. Peter, a bunch of his friends, some randoms we met at Tortilla Flats, and I spent hours in this trippy karaoke bar in the East Village/Alphabet City assaulting each other's auditory sensibilities and loving every minute of it. Performances ranged from pathetic to rousing, with the gold star going to Peter for his table-top Bon Jovi impression. Also noteworthy: a tear-jerking "Lean on Me".

Good times.