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It’s also the second night of Hanukkah. This will always be my favorite night of Hanukkah because it’s when, at 8 years old, I got a pink Nintendo DS and the Nintendogs with the Chihuahua. Why have Santa when you can be thankful for your actual parents? Whatever. I’ll put the weapons down on my war on Christmas.

I got a random DM today from a guy I went to high school with but never spoke to that was a video he made, the bottom half a cartoony first-person shooter I don’t recognize and the top half a podcast of a guy at first talking about how bad Israel is and then about how the Jews control the banks. Get more creative!

He seemed sane from afar but started DMing me in 2023 food review reels he made with no context. Why review food when you can review Jews? I assume he was sending these food reels to a bunch of people, considering him and I never spoke in school. I wonder if other people are getting his antisemitic conspiracy x gaming videos or if I was just God’s Chosen People. And just like his food videos, I left it on read.

Anyway, Beehiiv (the platform I’m writing to you on) did a Wrapped this year, and I learned that I’ve written over 443,000 words to you. That doesn’t even include the final issues of this year or the ones from the start of this year when I was writing on a different platform. I hope to not break that record next year!

My company doesn’t do a holiday party, but my boss and I go to one every year held by one of the vendors we work with. After being the two most charming people at the party, we postgamed with some Turkish food. A normal person would end the night here, which is what Matt did. But I wasn’t done. I knew what I had to do: solo karaoke.

Part of doing The Artist’s Way is taking yourself on an artist date each week, which is an activity to feed your inner-artist/child and must be done alone at a suggested duration of two hours. It can be anything creative, and creative can be defined broadly. Sure, you could go see a play alone, but you could also bake yourself a really fun dessert or go hit a bunch of golf balls. It’s supposed to be a release, something intuitive.

I’ve been misanthropically searching for somewhere to sing all year that isn’t a cringe and/or church choir. I haven’t been searching hard enough, just complaining about it to you instead. The Artist’s Way has made me, at the very least, think about singing a lot more. I just need to do it in a focused way alone for an artist date.

Where would that be? Growing up burby, I could just belt around the house with reckless abandon. My apartment neighbors do not deserve the same burdens I shouldered my parents and Ben with. I can’t belt outside because of being a member of polite-enough society. Where, how, and why would I rent a practice room somewhere? Actually, there are practice rooms all over the city that people use all the time — they just call it karaoke.

I love karaoke in all its forms: crowded bars or private rooms, sad songs or fun songs, solos or duets or screaming groups. I have a few go-to songs I love to sing that I also can sing pretty well, or at least challenge myself to see if I can hit the high note at the end. Some of my best memories with my friends are bumbling through a song we thought we knew but didn’t — or shrieking through a bop we know way too well.

A lot of my artist date ideas are things I like to do with others that could also be fun to do alone. What better to do than private-room karaoke, a space where I can accessibly sing to whatever I want with an accompaniment I can start, stop, or change whenever I want?

Matt and I parted ways in the Lower East Side, which aligned perfectly for my plan. A few blocks away, I entered the portal that is Karaoke Boho Orchard. KBO (I am abbreviating because I don’t want to keep writing it out) has that general grime, youth, and utility of most Lower East Side businesses. You enter to a bar with public karaoke you can sing from your barstool or from a teeny wooden platform that is supposed to be a stage. Other than the lone drunk internationals slurring through their songs, most people opt for one of the plethora of private rooms.

I am okay with shilling $30 for an hour of having my own room. I grab a Modelo that I’ll nurse during instrumental breaks, and I’m ushered to the basement with my own room that could semi-comfortably fit four. This is probably the most sober I’ve been here. Hearing from the rooms around me, I don’t think anyone else can relate.

A karaoke spot can be made or broken by its music selection as well as its selection’s accessibility. Have they updated their songbook in the last 20 years? Is it a physical songbook? Do I have to download a separate app? Is their database easily searchable, and does it provide any song suggestions? KBO has a site and two books, one alphabetized by artist and the other by song.

I always opt for artist. Linda Ronstadt is one of my comfort singers, so I go straight to L and start with her cover of “Ooh Baby Baby,” which has been on my mind lately. A lot of the songs I like to sing can be real buzzkills during public karaoke. They’re often old, sad, slow, or — worse — are from musicals. “Ooh Baby Baby” fits three of these four buzzkill criteria, which makes it perfect for crooning alone.

No one else is taking a turn after me, so I keep going through the Linda songs I like. I pick songs I’ve never sung before, not even to myself in the shower. This is a practice room where I can practice. My choices aren’t impacting the vibe of my group. I can really make tons of crappy mistakes instead of the endearing ones you naturally make in group karaoke.

I hate hearing songs from musicals at karaoke in the wild because they are so indulgent. They are often long and not entertaining to those that aren’t afflicted with the theater bug. It’s also back to the ever-tricky balancing act we all play at karaoke. No one is going into karaoke with a grading rubric, but it’s nice to hear good singers sing well. It’s also fun to hear bad singers sing poorly. What is the absolute least fun it to hear people who think they’re good singers sing poorly. It’s embarrassing, and I think we hear this a lot with the theater-at-karaoke lovers. It’s a way to say Look at me! I know a lot about singing! and no one wants to be educated at karaoke. We just want to have fun.

But I’m alone and only singing for me, so let’s meander into Kiss Me Kate and Anything Goes. Can I still hit those notes? I go to the back of the book and see their newest additions. “Alright” by Victoria Monet? Alright! This is not a good karaoke song. How does my voice sound when I try to take away any sort of classical training and try to sound poppy? How does it sound when I really try to remember everything my high school voice teacher taught me?

I felt like I was relearning how I sound even though I’m singing to myself all the time. Did I feel like I gained any sort of skill? No. Did I feel really comfortable with myself singing in a way I haven’t in a long time? Totally. I’ve never met anyone that’s rented a karaoke room alone, and I think everyone would benefit from trying a practice room you can even drink in. Something karaoke and practice have in common: it doesn’t matter if you’re bad, and hopefully you feel good when it’s over.

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