By Rob Siebert
Editor, Fanboy Wonder

After seeing the new movie earlier this week, I’ve been on a huge Muppets kick. My YouTube account has been flooded by old Jim Henson content, and I even downloaded “Rainbow Connection” on to my iPod. Because yes, I’m a dork like that. What can I say? I was touched by the film.

All this Muppet-related hype makes me think back to a moment in my distant past, way, way back in 2009, when karaoke night at a local bar suddenly found itself hosting a round of kids songs, courtesy of yours truly.

I really don’t do karaoke. The deeper I venture into it, the more I see people who take the whole thing way too seriously. I’m pretty sure a couple of drunk chicks getting on stage and belting out an old TLC song isn’t supposed to be considered serious art. To top it off, a large percentage of karaoke nights take place in bars, and I’m not always at ease in that atmosphere. When I’m in a bar, I can’t help but think back to some of the ones I went to in college. In my experience the thing about most college bars, and I suppose a decent amount of regular bars, is that at least half the people in the building are trying to have sex. I know because I was often one of those people. And the thing is, it never really worked out for me. Bars may be forever ingrained in my mind as the places where broskis go to pick up chicks with fake tans who’ve had too many appletinis. Nothing against appletinis, of course…

In any event, one fateful night in April of 2009, I went up to one of my hometown bars with some buddies, a few of whom were girls looking forward to singing karaoke. And of course, you can’t be in a group with girls who sing karaoke without being asked: “Why don’t you go up there?” at least once. I seem to recall being asked quite a few times, because it’s common knowledge that I have a flair for theatrics, and generally making an idiot out of myself.

So I started flipping through the big book of karaoke songs. Where does a beginner even start with one of those things? They’re bigger than phone books, with an apparent emphasis on twangy country songs. I swear to God, every time I’ve been to a karaoke night some chick has to get up there and sing “Man I Feel Like A Woman” by Shania Twain. I needed to find a song that fit my personality and didn’t make me look like a typical karaoke tool.

Then, just like that, it was there. “It’s Not Easy Being Green” by Kermit The Frog. It was perfect. In that environment it would be silly, in a non-conformist sort of way. It had been a long time since I’d heard the song, but nevertheless, I wrote it on that little slip of paper  that karaoke DJs hand out to people, and turned it in.

Oddly enough, when the song came up, I was in the bathroom taking a pee. All of a sudden I hear people outside calling for me, and I think the karaoke guy actually said something into the mic to the effect of: “Rob, come out of the bathroom, you’re up!” So in mid-flow I stopped what I was doing, zipped up and got out there. I got through the song pretty well, using my best Kermit impression. Obviously, no one outside of my party knew what to make of the whole thing. But the people I knew were laughing, at that was the whole point. If the only two or three people laughing in the crowd are people I care about, I’ll gladly take that ratio. Someone would later tell me “That took balls, man.” A kind sentiment, if not an altogether true one.

But then, something wonderful happened. About two songs later, a token karaoke fanatic who’d done a few songs earlier got back up on stage. But he wasn’t singing a hit single, nor a twangy country song that make you want to get to know the business end of a power drill. Amazingly, this karaoke broski began to sing “C Is For Cookie,” in his best Cookie Monster impression! And now both my group and his group were eating it up! I was flabbergasted. I didn’t even know this dude, but he’d taken the Muppet baton and run with it. I shook his hand when he got off the stage.

That would have been enough for me, but to my continued shock that wasn’t the end! Moments later, the karaoke DJ himself took the mic and said: “I’ve got to finish this.” I’ll be damned if he didn’t start singing “Rubber Duckie You’re The One,” courtesy of Ernie from Sesame Street. He had a hard time keeping it together during the song, but he made it. Afterward he pointed at me and said: “Hey, you started it, man!”

If I’m hogging the attention here, I apologize. But that was a pretty cool night for me, so I can’t help remember it fondly. For just a few minutes I took one of the prominent bars in my hometown, which consistently hosts a typical flock of over-bronzed broskis and chicas, and turned it into a place of childish fun and tomfoolery. I took that as a small personal victory. It just goes to show you the influence you can have on people when you don’t take yourself too seriously.