Well, I did it, in a most spectacularly underwhelming fashion. Went back to Karaoke Dokie for Seb and Gill's birthday party (after spending the day tramping around Fitzroy in the hot sun looking for birthday presents, falling asleep at my computer, and drinking godawful gallery-opening wine - I think I was delirious). For some reason the DJ kept playing people who had put their songs in before me, and nothing wrong with that, except that I got progressively drunker and tireder watching some very talented media types work the mic. By the time my name was called I was halfway out the door to catch the last tram, but came back, took a last swig, got up on stage and sang the shortest karaoke song known to man, hit - and bruised - some extremely delicate high notes, and made a semi-triumphant exit.
Why am I telling you this? I don't know, why do I tell you people anything? I thought you would be chuffed that I'm attempting to craft some sort of cohesive narrative from my fear of public singing, but maybe I'm being that aunt that gave you socks for your birthday when what you really wanted was a Transformer. Also, I'm hungover, and the thought of writing anything more than a snippet at the moment is daunting and head-pain-inducing. I'll try to write something later. Something cooler than socks.
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