I tell you, there is virtue in singing badly.

I had dinner and some drinks with my good friend Erika tonight, one of my best friends in the world. We compared notes on the whole 'being-a-grown-up' thing. We ate pizza and drank beer. And then, because it was right next door, we went to the karaoke bar where I introduced her to that strange little piece of me that loves to sing badly.

I pulled out my old standard, Ray Charle's "What'd I Say", because it's still my strongest piece. And I tried Rick James' 'Superfreak' for the first time, which sucked, but it was still great fun. And then we played Pac-Man for a bit and then I came home.

In my job search, as in any object in which I approach things as a supplicant of some kind, it takes something from me to humble myself before someone else's requirements. I'm not saying that's a bad thing; it's good, indeed, to submit in a fair exchange of labor and experience. But it costs a little something from me, and it was important to have a good meal with a very close friend and then to unleash my inner soul brotha even if only for long enough to know that I will never make it to Motown in this life, alas.

Erika had never seen my karaoke-monster before. She was very pleased at my appetite for public humiliation.



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