Sing It Loud, Sing It Proud

I sing along to songs all_the_time. I have to stifle the urge on the shuttle; if others got to hear the accompaniment (what's playing on my ipod), then perhaps I would sing along there, too. I sing along because it makes me feel like I've contributed to the music--By singing along to Bowie, I'm somehow sharing in the genius of the song--I'm a helper! When I had a piano, I'd play along to songs for the same reason. My friends were cool about it, but gas prices being what they are, the piano's out of the question for the most part.

My college friend, Julia, LOVES to sing along. But she couldn't carry a tune in a lard bucket, and generally can't remember the words exactly. She sings with real gusto, though. Really. As loud as humanly possible without the aid of audio equipment.

Julia used to work in a restaurant in which the staff had to sing those awful "Happy Birthday" songs to their embarrassed patrons while the birthday boy or girl's friends beamed with sadistic enjoyment. This awful birthday song was no exception to Julia's playbook; she sang it loud, off key, and with her own peculiar phrasing. She really wanted to pour her heart into the embarrsassed guest's birthday song--so she gave it all she had each and every performance.

Then, one afternoon, as Julia was putting her things away in the employees' office, she noticed the an item on the agenda for that day's staff meeting: Talk about Julia.

Julia was delighted! One of those wacky kids who would take on the task of watching a pencil for a couple of hours with the enthusiasm of a cocker spaniel, Julia was sure she was going to be commended for her enthusiasm on the job. "Wow! I wonder what I did!?! Ah, another beautiful day to be at work."

The staff gathered around the restaurant manager, and Julia tried her best to supress her beaming pride until the big commendation. After ticking off the other items on the agenda, the manager looked to Julia. "Julia, you're not allowed to sing the Happy Birthday song anymore. Please just mouth the words and clap your hands--wait, just pretend to clap your hands."

To this day, Julia still can't bear to sing Happy Birthday to her friends, or for her friends to serenade her on her special day. This doesn't prevent her from enthusiastically butchering any song daring to play on the radio in one's car, though; so I suppose all's well that ends well...(?)