Twitter, misleading hash tags, karoake night and dead divas.

–1.29.12–

I’m kind of into Twitter. I get on there from time to time, putz around, click links to important articles a good citizen of a democracy would read…get a paragraph deep, open a new tab with the intention of reading it later, then leave it untouched for three days until finally surrendering and closing out of it.

Sometimes I do read the articles though. And they are usually pretty good.   I use Twitter more as a resource for finding information and/or videos of monkeys throwing poop, than a platform to speak from.  I don’t tweet that much because either I don’t think of tweeting or I do think of it but I have absolutely no fucking idea what to tweet about.

That is…Until karaoke night.

–          10:46/ @bingbang12: gonn get myy song bird of a generation on tonigtht bitches!!!@ 😀

I actually said those words. God, if a future employer…nevermind.

(Kids, this is why you go to some sort of bible college miles and miles away from the nearest county that distributes alcohol.  Or you have a breathalyzer installed on your iPhone, its up to you. )

Anyway, every Wednesday night, Milwaukee’s finest descend upon the ‘Up N Under’ Bar of Brady Street for their three to five minutes of slightly inebriated fame. This includes some friends, myself and all others in attendance–except the sixty year old who came in, did Sinatra’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” to perfection, dropped the mic like Eminem in “8 Mile” and walked out. That guy was legit.

11:03/ @bingbang12: jiss met Sinatra?

(Seriously, breathalyzers.)

The rest of us are off-key, slurred hacks for the most part but it’s all in good fun.  So after a few smokes and a bunch of laughs and a lot of drinks, I approach the proverbially somewhat-cool, somewhat-creepy DJ and take the microphone.

Handing a drunken guy a microphone is in a weird way a representation of the internet. We throw our inhibitions to the wind and just belt out whatever we are feeling because we feel untouchable. Online people are anonymous and there’s a comfort level associated with that. That’s Twitter in a way. Twitter is drunken karaoke night.

11:22/ @bingbang12: All that glitters is Gold!!!

This is a quote from “All-Star” and I thought I should tweet a somewhat obscure line from this ten year old song why? Because someone was singing it and I was certain all 7 billion people on earth wanted to—nay—NEEDED to know.

Twitter breeds narcissism.

Anyway, I step on stage and do my best to carry a tune. This particular eve I was feeling nostalgic so I sang a song that reminded me of good times,  friends and growing up.  It was a country song.

Remember, I’m on Brady Street—home of $2 Pabst tall boys, rolled-up corduroy pants, horn-rimmed non-prescription eye ware, flannel, excellent mustaches and 1970’s bicycles.

This is not Kenny Chesney’s demographic.

11:49/ @bingbang12: New musicalc genre: Punk Country

I honestly don’t even know what that meant.

Despite not being able to hear myself while I was singing due to some acoustic anomaly, I was told by my polite acquaintances that I sounded—well–not horrible. Naturally I was ecstatic and thought it wise to sing another ditty because I did so well the first time. I was not the only one in the bar with this ideation.

The friendly, bearded DJ who always said nice things but was inexplicably wearing windbreakers in a bar had a very bureaucratic method for deciding who would sing next involving a series of 3 X 5 note cards. I determined that I was going to be at the wrong end of the pile, meaning I’d sing last.

Yet, still in my reverie, I scribbled down a song from a musical I wasn’t in (but secretly wished I was) my sophomore year  when my high school put it on.  I’m guessing you’ve heard of it.  Just think 1980’s Travolta….Wait for it…There ya go.

Whatever happened to Travolta anyway? Is he hanging out somewhere with Sharan Stone?

Nevermind.

So I’m waiting for my turn to sing. I’m going to wow everyone, I know it. Meanwhile, I’m mingling with my friends and its good vibes.

Until it wasn’t good vibes.

I found myself nodding my head to a friend like ‘yeah man I totally know exactly what you mean’, when, in reality, I couldn’t hear a word he was saying because three girls were belting out a tribute to Etta James  so loudly and horribly that a homeless guy in an adjacent alley choked himself out with a discarded lamp cord. (Not really.)

I shouldn’t say things like that …That’s wrong… joking about throwing away a  perfectly good lamp.

We gotta recycle people! Go green or go home bitch.

In all seriousness though, Etta James was a legend, a real voice. After she passed, on Twitter, there was ‘trending’ topic or a hash tag of #RIP Etta James.

That was actually how I first heard about her death.  I saw it on Twitter. Obviously, I didn’t believe a word of it.

Celebrities die on Twitter like every day. Did you know Bruno Mars and Johnny Depp both died in the last month? I’m serious look it up.

Tonight a trending topic was #RIP Adele. I saw it and panicked! What? Adele—dead??

Was it drugs?

Did her plane crash?

Why do singers’ planes always crash?!

John Madden is so right about flying.

I’m buying a bus.

But it turned out Adele was not and is not dead.

I discovered that RIP—instead of standing for ‘rest in peace’ like it has since, I don’t know, the first person died?–now stands for ‘Really Inspiring Person’.

REALLY.

INSPIRING.

PERSON.

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW–

Are people serious with this shit?!

You don’t go changing acronyms! That’s like changing K.I.A.’s meaning to Kittens In Attics or WW2 to Wayne’s World Two or NWA to Neighbors with Allergies.

Pretty soon News Anchors will be saying things like:

“Osama Bin Laden was K.I.A in Pakistan today…three small Burmese Kittie cats were found clawing up the architect of the 9/11 attacks’ arm chair and scratching his personal copy of “Eat. Pray. Love.” Sources indicate the Taliban leader is rationing their kibble for at least 7 to 10 weeks…etc…etc…”

But seriously.  Are you that desperate to start an internet trend, random dude who started the RIP thing? You have to trick people into thinking Adele died? What do you gain from that?

Okay, so it took off and a lot of people saw the #RIP Adele hash tag. You had an anonymous fifteen minute stretch where people all over the first-world clicked on something that sounded newsworthy and important only to find out its some dumb, fluffy, pretentious Lady Gaga-everyone-is-amazing bull shit!

So great job, you had your moment. Good for you, I’m sure all your co-workers at Video Games, Etc. were really impressed. Your grand kids will be proud when you tell them the story…in your blog…that nobody reads.  I only hope you weren’t too disappointed when the #thingsIreadwhileIpoop  hash tag passed your meme ten minutes later.

We gotta stop crying wolf on Twitter or some serious shit is gonna go down with a nuke in Iran or something and Obama’s gonna see it on his news feed and be like “Whaaatever”.  Then we’re all dead. Great. Civilization will be destroyed because of #RIP Adele.

(I have no idea how the Mayans saw this coming, but kudos.)

Even if we survive the pending nuclear holocaust, then what? If people stop trusting Twitter, what will ESPN use as a source for ALL of their stories?

I’m kidding, I love SportsCenter, and for the record, I love Lady Gaga.

Anyway, back to karaoke night!

Sorry about before. I get really emotional about the misuse of acronyms.

So I’m waiting my turn to sing and partaking in some good old fashioned debauchery when my friends decide it’s time to go home.

What?! Home?? Its not even bar time and I’m supposed to sing! 

It’s always the women in the group who get to make this decision to leave the bars.  The guys agree to it because our dumb brains think the girl wanting to go home somehow  translates to us getting action–when in reality the girl is probably bloated from all the cheap beer and wants to go home, pee for like twenty minutes and then pass out with her shoes on.

I don’t remember why we had to leave exactly– somebody’s girlfriend had to baby sit in the morning or something like that—it’s irrelevant.

But the group leaving put me in a sticky sitch. I’d made a gentleman’s agreement with the creepy DJ (he turned out to be totally weird.) but still. I wrote on the dude’s note card. That’s a contract.  I swore an unholy oath to rock my socks off onstage and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to break that accord. Needless to say, I was at a crossroads.

Do I take the sober ride home with my friends and call it a night? Or wait it out, sing my song, and take a cab?

Life is in the decisions we make, and now–thanks to Twitter–there is a permanent record of mine.

Awesome.

12:38 @bingbang12: Just sang both parts of a duet. Suck it.

1:09 @bingbang12: Cab drivers hatew waiting for you at the ATM

1:14 @bingbang12: Especially when your card is denied and you run away! Hahaha!!

1:40 @bingbang12: This sucks I’m only halve way home.

2:01 @bingbang12: Its sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo GD cold in wisconSIN!

2:08 @bingbang12: made it g’nite.

—-

Note:

Now “RIP Justin Bieber” is trending. I’m sure its fake, but a guy can dream can’t he? ; )

-bing

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