sing for the laughter, sing for the tears

So over the course of the last few years, I've learned a little bit about my personal limitations. Now, I'm not one to advocate squelching the ability to be all you can be, but I realize that within my very real realm, there's just a few things I'm not meant to do.

For example, a raging fear of heights that makes me wary of even step ladders means I'll never climb Mt. Everest. My distaste for blood and internal organs ensures that if I'm ever on a crowded airplane and a stewardess calls out, "Is there a doctor on the plane?!" when another passenger falls under the madness of a mystery illness, I'm just going to keep flipping the pages of last month's Glamour. Of course, the fact that I lack a medical degree may have more to do with my apathy then the fear of blood, but you get my point.

Additionally, I'm not much of a singer. Sure, I'll perform straight up rock star style while alone in the mini, and in my house as I do my little chores, but you're never going to see me on the YouTube, busting a love song for my paramour, even though I'm sure he'd love my interpretation of Total Eclipse of the Heart and tell me how hot I am and what a good job I did. I know my limitations, and believe me, singing is a huge 'oh, hell no!" This, of course, makes fronting Penchant for Panties - my all girl (and one token guy on bass who we're all doing ala Fleetwood Mac circa Rumours, which makes us seethe with emo jealousy and yet fuels some of our greatest hits, most notably "Hold up, G, that ain't my g-string, yo") - a smidge difficult, but for my art I shall suffer and for my art I would make you all suffer, too.

(side note: I discovered last night that I can play a stunning rendition of the Mac's Tusk on my young son's tiny heiny. I call it "Tush")

Keeping my public singing in check means I've never done karaoke. Ever. Not even in my drinking days, when the fuel of $1.50 rum drinks prompted me to unbutton my shirts more than my inhibitions. This does not, however, mean I don't have a set list worked out should I ever say "screw it" one day, toss up the rock hands, and take the stage like some self assured Joan Jett and rock the house.

Then I would pause, ask the crowd if saying "rock the house" was still cool, then charm them with the tale that, in eighth grade, I had Joan Jett's hairstyle, but rather than looking tough, yet sexy, I looked like a skater boy punk.

Anyway, back to my set list. I've tried to compile one that doesn't contain worn out classics you can always count on when the karaoke kicks in. There is no Patsy Cline, no "I Got You Babe", nor (even though this pains me greatly) "Summer Nights". Instead, raise your lighters and cell phones for the following:

• Mr Jones by Counting Crows. Mr. Jones and me tell each other fairy tales, like the one he always tells me about how I rock and how cute I am, thus making me giggle. He likes it when we stare at the beautiful women. Mostly because he has this lipstick lesbian fantasy he keeps trying to get me to bust. Whatever, Mr. Jones. Whatever.
• Standing Outside a Broken Phone booth With Money in my Hand by Primitive Radio Gods. Mostly because I like songs where the title is never mentioned. And I've been downhearted, baby, ever since the day we met. Ever since the day we met.
• Popular by Nada Surf. My mom always said I was a catch. Moms pretty much have to say that.
• Going The Distance by Cake. Because of cake. Cake is good.
• Jukebox Hero by Foreigner. Everybody dreams of being a rock star, right? Some people just never get outta their house and go do it.
• Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson. How can I put it? This song makes me bang my head and maybe gives a nod to my stalker tendencies. If I had stalker tendencies.Which I don't, thank you. In fact, I'm happy to say I have very few tendencies of any kind. I'm so movin' on.
• I'm moving on to You Don't Bring Me Flowers by Barbra and Neil. Single names. Doubly wonderful. Clearly, performing this means I need a duet partner. Don't tell me used to be's don't count anymore, Numby. When it's over, you can just roll over and turn out the light.

This is the show I perform at least once a week while en route to work. Groupies are rocking the sides of the mini by the time I arrive, and my crew sells concert t-shirts out of the back. Old school baseball shirts with iron-on transfers of Penchant for Panties. I may one day be convinced to perform it in front of other people, but truly, it would likely take alcohol to convince me and maybe you should go back up and read what happens to me when I drink.

However, I would listen to you sing off-key renditions of popular hits, and shake my head adamantly when you begged me to come up on stage with you to sing a duet, telling you "No, no, there's no way I could do that! My voice is the only flat thing about me! I don't want to steal your spotlight!" So tell me what's on your karaoke set list.