It finally happened. I turned into Kenny Rogers. The guys and I have been smoking many cigars while drinking Johnnie Walker Red on the rocks. Oddly enough, the slow disintegration of my throat and lungs has left me with a fine singing voice. For those who don’t know me, I can also scream like a six year old girl falling into a pit of black widows. Let’s put it all together now:
2 + 2 = I can sing the male and female vocals on Islands in the Stream.
Am I proud of it? No. (Yes.)
In other news, while listening to Brandy, You’re a Fine Girl by Looking Glass, we decided that our friend Kazi is the cherubic sailor whose life, his lover, his lady is the sea. Doo-da-dit-da-dooda-dit-dit-dit. Basically, he only comes onto shore when a beautiful, lonely waitress has a moment of absolute clarity on a solemn winter’s morn. And for no apparent reason, he’s always wearing British Knights, a denim pirate shirt tucked into snakeskin jeans, three Olympic bronze medals from the 1968 Summer Games in Mexico City, and a train conductor’s hat. The kicker is that he isn’t really a sailor. His real job – as in he receives health benefits, a paycheck, and a 401k from Franzia – is glueing down the flaps on box wine.
