I'll stick to my Day Job

Last night I had the privilege of being invited to a birthday celebration for one of the employees in our Revenue Management Department, Mr Minh.  He was celebrating his 29th birthday, so several co-workers decided to take him and his wife out on the town to celebrate.  Mr Minh is one of my favorite Air Mekong employees here in Hanoi; he's a bright, happy guy who spent time going to school in London.  As a result, his English comes with a pretty stiff British accent so I'm forever "pip, pip" and "cheerio"-ing in my head whenever we talk. 

I wasn't sure quite what to expect out of the evening, which included dinner and karaoke-ing.  Upon arriving at our restaurant, my apprehension increased slightly upon learning that the average age of my fellow party-goers was about 26 (Chi and I secretly went around the table and she provided the age and birthyear of everyone in attendance; I say birthyear because I found out that in Vietnam, it's a more common means of expressing one's age than the actual age).  It was at that point that it occurred to me that perhaps my invitation was simply out of courtesy; how else to explain their inviting a man who was twice their age much older than they were.  I'm mean, I'm hip and all, but how many 20-year olds want to party with their dads?  :o)

Anyway, dinner was held at Tom Bao Quan, a restaurant I'd visited (and wrote about here) a few weeks ago.  The menu was largely the same: peanuts, cucumbers, fried corn kernals as appetizers, steamed greens with garlic, salt-fried chicken and a delicious hot pot (unfortunately, I'm not sure what last night's ingredients included, but it was tasty).  We also toasted and drank lots of iced Ha Noi Beer.  The frequent toasts only served to remind me of the vast gap in age between me and my fellow toasters.  And karaoke was yet to come.

After we finished off dinner, we hopped on our scooters and made our way to the second half of Mr Minh's birthday party.  Karaoke appears to be as popular in Vietnam as it is in Japan and just around the corner, there's a whole string of brightly-lit karaoke clubs.  We zoomed past them all; we were going to one of the better clubs in downtown Ha Noi.  

We pulled up to the club, parked our bikes and made our way inside.  After ascending several flights of stairs, we were shown to our own private room which consisted of a flat screen TV on one end, a u-shaped sectional couch at the other with a table, a couple of microphones and a few sparesly-placed birthday decorations. 

Before our hostess could deliver her fresh fruit (watermelon, pineapple and jicama) and beer, my party-mates were all eagerly pouring over a lengthy list of karaoke songs.  That's when I knew there'd be trouble.

Now karaoke is not something I'm particularly fond of.  About the only singing I do is in the shower and given how much I detest "standing out", I've done my best to avoid this activity wherever possible.  On those rare occassions when I've been forced to participate in the States, it's obviously been much more about berating the singers and their horrible voices than has been an audition for some talent contest.  And I've been more than content to stand at the back of the room, doing my best to disappear...and I had hoped to do just that last night.

Things got off to a good start.  Unlike my previous karaoke experience, however, this was serious karaoke.  Each of my party-mates took their respective turns and belted out their various Vietnamese tunes with great earnestness.  There was no laughing and no poking fun.  It was my own Vietnamese Idol!  This was all great by me; even though I didn't understand a word and knew none of the songs, I was more than happy to sit, listen, enjoy their efforts and, most of all, be glad I wasn't singing.

After several songs and a few more beers, a birthday cake Chi had purchased earlier (a cute pig, in honor of Mr Minh's birthyear) was introduced.

Mr Minh's cute pig cake

Twenty-nine candles were lit, Mr Minh blew them all out, we sang "Happy Birthday" and ate cake.  All good by me: more time "happy birthday"-ing and less potential for me to have to sing.

After the celebration, more songs were sung and I was perfectly content to listen and watch the interesting and often amusing (not intentionally, I don't think) video which accompanied each song. 

This blurry picture largely reflects my state of mind
at this point during the evening

Unfortunately, it became apparent that the "dad" in the room hadn't yet done any singing, so it was suggested that I pick a song or two.  Mr Minh and I went over the list of English songs and, not wanting to offend, I took Mr Minh's lead and went with his suggestions.  I recognized some, but not all of the songs.  Or at least I thought I did; with no singer referenced, it was hard to be entirely sure what was being ordered.  When asked for my suggestions, I attempted to pick songs which I thought they might be familiar with and which I couldn't butcher too badly.  

The songs which made the play list last night? "Raindrops keep falling on my head", "Mamma Mia", "My Girl", and "Take me home, Country Road".  As I sang, I realized that they probably had never heard of, much less, heard, a single song on the list I sang.  It was bad enough that I tortured them with my singing, but worse still, with songs from the ancient American past. 

Worst of all, somehow, lifelong wallflower and one-to-avoid-ridicule-at-all-costs, Steven Hart, concluded his one night appearance with a solo version of the theme song from Titanic, "My Heart will go on".  How that song made the list (I hate Celine Dion!) and how I ended up singing it alone, without so much as cracking a smile, is beyond me.  How no else bolted from the room, either screaming in agony or short of busting a gut, is an even greater mystery.  All I can say is that my party mates were exceptionally polite hosts...and hope that I wasn't the source of those quiet chuckles in the office this morning at work.