What? Me? Svengali?

I spent some time this weekend thinking about Dabysan's profile of B as Karaoke to the Death contender.  Dabysan's probably right about me wanting B to win more than B even wants to participate.  What wasn't noted is that the last time B participated, we'd only been dating a couple of months.  B probably would have done just about anything I wanted at that point.  Now that we're married, I don't wield as much power.  This year, he's participating for his own reasons.

So what is my stake in this?  After all, I never participate myself.  Even though I sang in an indie band once upon ten years ago, I have a limited range and could easily mangle any number of songs, making a real go for the cup.  The truth is, I don't have the guts to knowingly and willfully humiliate myself.  I love it that I have so many friends who have such cajones.  I especially tip my hat to Hotrod who barely likes being in public at all, much less on display.

I like to think of myself less svengali and more like the Quincy Jones or Bela Karolyi of bad karaoke.  That none of you have had the balls to follow my past suggestions is too bad for you.  What's got you scared is that Bob will listen to my wisdom if for no other reason than his knowledge of pop music is severely limited, owing to the fact that he was raised in the outback by a pack of wild dingos. 

I also think that Bill has been the only one to hit a perfect 10 in the competition with his choice to marry bad singing with incredibly uncomfortable material.  In my view, it's the total package that truly showcases complete lack of talent. Anyone can murder falsetto (arguably falsetto murders falsetto).  Anyone can squirm and look uncomfortable on stage.  But few can earnestly belt an ode to the ladies of the night in the first person.  Shit, man, there's a reason the cup is named after the guy.

So my overall interest in this is to bear witness to the worst of the worst, and I think I've found the KttD version of Michael Jackson.  Or Mary Lou Retton.  Or whatever.

As the wife of Aussie Bob, I also have the displeasure of hearing his "singing" more often than I care to.  I am perhaps more motivated than usual to have something good come of his breathy, toneless vocalizations.  If I have to listen to it anyway, he might as well be rehearsing for his championship bid.