Discovering International Lounge
Watch out everybody, Shin's got the floor....
So a group of my friends are karaoke enthusiast. Its like some sick addiction to sing songs in front of people at all stages of intoxication. Anyway, the 'ringleader' as she will be referred to in this blog, decides to round up the gang and go out for karaoke on a Sunday night. For those of you who are not familiar with Okaloosa County, there is absolutely NOTHING going on Sunday nights. Its the most awkward day to "party" of the week, and this fact does not phase our fearless ringleader. She dials bar after bar searching...no hunting...no even better...scavenging for the scent of a microphone, cigarette smoke, and words on a screen from a hit 20 years ago.
She strikes gold...maybe silver...actually aluminum. She describes a hole in the wall bar with karaoke on Sunday nights...knowing its going to be occupied with random hood rats and all sorts of vagrants...its also known as the International Lounge. I arrive, a little less enthusied by the look of this place. I scan the cars in the parking lot, and not one of them looks like it was made after 1994. This is going to get interesting....I open the door, the airborne nicotine smacks my face and burns my eyes as I scan for the posse and a place to sit. I've obviously interupted a secret meeting for "the trash brigade", but its too late now...they let me in without a fight. I peruse through the place, looking for some sort of redemption. I've been in many hole in the wall bars in my day, and sometimes, you just have to find that one item about the place that makes it worth staying. Not only did this place 'misplace' its item...they had a couple that made me want to leave immediately. Then, without any warning whatsoever, a man of oriental decent appears on stage with a microphone...his age is questionable...from 67 - 159....you can't really tell. He smiles and begins belting out an ode to Diana...a song I've never heard before, and pray that I never hear again. His voice cracks, he sings louder...people talk over him, he sings louder still. Right as my ear drums could no longer withstand the bleeding...the song ends, he chuckles to himself and has a seat. The Ringleader and posse enter moments later, not realizing the horror they just missed. It was quite a night, I'll tell you more about the misadventures of The International Lounge in a later blog. I'm starving. mmmm...beef.
So a group of my friends are karaoke enthusiast. Its like some sick addiction to sing songs in front of people at all stages of intoxication. Anyway, the 'ringleader' as she will be referred to in this blog, decides to round up the gang and go out for karaoke on a Sunday night. For those of you who are not familiar with Okaloosa County, there is absolutely NOTHING going on Sunday nights. Its the most awkward day to "party" of the week, and this fact does not phase our fearless ringleader. She dials bar after bar searching...no hunting...no even better...scavenging for the scent of a microphone, cigarette smoke, and words on a screen from a hit 20 years ago.
She strikes gold...maybe silver...actually aluminum. She describes a hole in the wall bar with karaoke on Sunday nights...knowing its going to be occupied with random hood rats and all sorts of vagrants...its also known as the International Lounge. I arrive, a little less enthusied by the look of this place. I scan the cars in the parking lot, and not one of them looks like it was made after 1994. This is going to get interesting....I open the door, the airborne nicotine smacks my face and burns my eyes as I scan for the posse and a place to sit. I've obviously interupted a secret meeting for "the trash brigade", but its too late now...they let me in without a fight. I peruse through the place, looking for some sort of redemption. I've been in many hole in the wall bars in my day, and sometimes, you just have to find that one item about the place that makes it worth staying. Not only did this place 'misplace' its item...they had a couple that made me want to leave immediately. Then, without any warning whatsoever, a man of oriental decent appears on stage with a microphone...his age is questionable...from 67 - 159....you can't really tell. He smiles and begins belting out an ode to Diana...a song I've never heard before, and pray that I never hear again. His voice cracks, he sings louder...people talk over him, he sings louder still. Right as my ear drums could no longer withstand the bleeding...the song ends, he chuckles to himself and has a seat. The Ringleader and posse enter moments later, not realizing the horror they just missed. It was quite a night, I'll tell you more about the misadventures of The International Lounge in a later blog. I'm starving. mmmm...beef.