Ironically, on the drive there I was bellowing like a madman to a bunch of recently-downloaded mp3s. My throat was even a bit sore 'cuz I was singing so loud.

But once in that tiny, claustrophobic cell they call a karaoke room, my throat closed in on itself. It slammed shut like a wall of rock coming down on Indiana Jones, right before he reaches back to grab his hat.

Everyone else was in good spirits and roaring to sing. My spirit was whimpering behind a toilet somewhere, probably puking its guts out in a puddle of piss.

There should have been enough alcohol in my bloodstream to numb the fear, or at least moisten my desert-dry mouth. But darn it, my liquid courage had evaporated.

They plugged in the first few songs, then handed me the songbook. I paged through it with shaky hands. My eyes were glazed over like a frosted donut; I couldn't recognize any of the song titles, much less read them.

The first song came on. One of the guys gave a heartfelt rendition that could have earned him only one or two harsh words on American Idol.

Next up was a boy/girl duet, also done with impressive ease. These people were karaoke pros. My voice was going to sound like puberty, I just knew it.

I was able to hid in the back for a few more songs. But then one of them realized that I hadn't sang yet, dammit. Since I didn't choose any songs, I told them that I didn't know the next song.

Which was the honest truth. At this point, if "Happy Birthday to You" came on, I wouldn't have recognized it. Such is the expunging power of stage freight.

The first few times I refused center stage, they laughed and said, "Fine, next song is yours." But after a dozen or so refusals, their smiles become frowns. Then they finally left me alone.

I retreated to the bathroom, hoping to find my spirit in there. But it seemed my spirit ran off somewhere even further. Outer Mongolia maybe? I don't know; all I knew was I wasn't going to find it tonight.

The agonizing night finally ended. I couldn't look any of them in the eyes, save for a quick glimpse here and there to make sure I wasn't going to walk into them as we exited the studio.

And then, back in the comfort of my own car, I sang again. This time, with maddening volume and tears out of my eyes, to make up for the humiliating night.

. . .

Do you like karaoke?