“The local” is a Brit-centric term that refers to a person’s local pub, usually the pub you prefer to frequent. For Lisa and I, our local is a little dive bar called Double Shots (or Hot Shots, the place seems to have multiple names). The place is great. A nice Vegas dive bar (but not too divey, like the infamous Vegas dives known as The Dive [not kidding] or the Double Down Saloon – that place serves a drink called Ass Juice, after all) which, like so many dive bars, has its collection of regulars and derelicts who you can pretty much always count on seeing there. Come to think of it, I suppose we’re a couple of them now.
Double Shots is where we used to engage in our pub trivia fun that I wrote about before, as a matter of fact, and we are definitely regulars there now. It’s one of those “where everybody knows your name” places like on Cheers!
Needless to say, Lisa and I love the local. Although the pub trivia there was cancelled, we still like to hang out there, socializing with some of the fellow drunks that frequent the place, making new friends and generally having a good time.
With the trivia gone, Double Shots has expanded its dedication to its other main passtime; karaoke. Double Shots hosts a karaoke night as often as four nights a week these days, featuring as many drunken renditions of Pour Some Sugar on Me or Friends in Low Places as you could ever possibly want to hear. It’s not as though karaoke at the local is about who is the best or worst singer. This is not American Idol or Star Search, after all. It’s not even that movie Duets with Gweneth Paltrow and Huey Lewis. Its more about having fun and making an ass of yourself, which we do on a weekly basis pretty much.
I like to say that I sing like an amputee. I can’t hold a note, I can’t carry a tune. But that’s okay. I’m not trying to prove anything. Because I am… let’s say, lyrically challenged, I tend to choose songs that I feel I can pull off. A few of my regulars include Act Naturally, the Buck Owens tune that the Beatles felt safe letting Ringo sing, Ballroom Blitz, the Suite classic that you really don’t have to “sing” at all, and Dragula, a Rob Zombie tune that is more shouted than sung. So I’m not trying to be Freddie Mercury or anything.
Lisa takes it a step further. She likes to sing Natural Woman, a song most closely associated with Aretha Franklin. I love Lisa to pieces, but I don’t think she’ll be too offended if I point out that she is no Aretha Franklin.
Because that’s okay. She sings the song because it makes her happy. She sings the song for me, she says. She claims that when her soul was in the lost and found, I came along to claim it. Awwww. She loves me. She also likes to sing Xanadu and Waterloo. My my! Lisa can’t sing any more than I can and she knows it. You know what though? It doesn’t matter. She just loves doing it and as far as I am concerned, that’s all that matters. I love when she sings those songs because she just looks so damn happy when she does. She tells me that I tend to look like I’m enjoying myself when I belt out something like Ballroom Blitz. And… I am. Fuck you.
***************UPDATE 8/10/2014 6:08 PM PST***************************
It has come to my attention that my description of Lisa’s singing voice as “no Aretha Franklin” and my stating that “Lisa’s singing is no better than mine” could, under certain circumstances, be taken in the wrong way and perhaps indicates that I am of the opinion Lisa is a terrible singer.
I assure you, dear readers, nothing could be further from the truth.
After all, I’m not stupid.