I’m a wannabe crooner. I love songs. I love to sing. I sing in the shower. I sing while making dinner. I sing while exercising.
“Honey, are you OK?” my startled husband asked me the other day in the fitness gym.
“Fine,” I answered as I took off my headphones. “Why?”
“Oh,” he answered. “I thought you were in pain.”
OK. I love to sing, but, I admit, I don’t sing well.
But, what I lack in talent, I make up for in enthusiasm. So, when a friend of mine invited my husband and me to karaoke, I answered with a very excited “genki desu.”
I love going with genki. After nearly three years of attempts, my brain has proven to be impervious to the Japanese language. This conclusion was quite apparent when I introduced my husband (shujin) as my prisoner (shuujin).
“Sorry, dear,” I said as I shrugged.
“It’s OK, warden,” he answered.
So now instead of struggling through my limited sentences, such as, “The weather is nice today isn’t it?” or “That is a pen,” I am just going with genki—it’s simple, it’s upbeat, it’s enthusiastic, it’s easy. It’s genki.
“Genki,” I said to my friend. “But, by the way, I’m not really a good singer.”
“C’mon,” she said. “Karaoke is a Tokyo must-do.”
“You said the same thing about an onsen,” I said. “And, that was quite the learning experience.”
I remember my onsen lesson very well.
Lesson #1: the towel is small. Minuscule. “Excuse me,” I had said to the receptionist. “This is my towel? I think I’m going to need at least three more. Actually, why don’t you just give me the whole basket of towels? And, if you don’t mind, I’ll take your window curtains too.”
Lesson #2: At an onsen, you leave your towel and your inhibitions at the door.
Lesson #3: It’s really not the ideal place for conversation. “So,” I had said to my friend after we soaked in the onsen for a few minutes, “How do you cook your pot roast?” I really couldn’t help myself. It felt awkward to be in such an intimate setting without chatting. I figured at the very least we could swap recipes.
"C'mon," my friend said again.
I’m a wannabe crooner. So, I agreed to join my friend at karaoke. I stood on the stage. I sang. I even tried out an air guitar power stance.
However, apparently, even at karaoke, there are some singing standards. Soon after my set, the manager turned off my mike and handed me a tambourine.
I may be a wannabe crooner, but, apparently, I should stick to percussion.
