Wednesday, 13 April 2011

Singing Confessional

          For anyone who has spent more than a few minutes with me knows that I enjoy indulging myself vocally. What most people don’t know is how tame this version of my voice is. For sake of not embarrassing myself to the point where I have shamed my family’s name, I tend to keep my singing within reason.

(To bad Rebecca Black doesn't share the same philosophy)
           BUT! The second I’m in a car, alone, on the highway (like for 5 hours on the 401) all bets are off. What changes most is my song selection. Instead of sticking to some nice John Mayer, I tend to start belting out songs from Disturbed or System of a Down. In these moments I hit pitches that my ear drums don’t even know what do with. I miss notes like Shaq misses at the free throw line. I create noises so infuriating that babies stop crying just long enough to tell me to shut-the-fuck-up.

           The pinnacle of my car-singing occurs whenever a Michael Jackson song comes on… I just can’t help myself.  Best case scenario is my “MJ” voice sounds like Mika but with severe laryngitis. At its worst, my MJ impersonation sounds a lot like a post-stroke Bruno Mars suffering from facial paralysis but trying to perform anyways.

“Id catshhh a grelllaedeee foh yu”
I think what I’m really trying to say here is: Please, please, don’t set up a voice recorder in my car. Just don’t.

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