Red Day and the Stuffed Animal Incident

Whether we want to admit it or not, karaoke is an American staple despite it's Japanese namesake. There is something about going to a bar on a Thursday night, getting hopped up on Potato Skins and Draft Beer, and humiliating yourself in front of friends and strangers alike. There are false theories that say that Karaoke is Japanese for "Tone Deaf", but if I had any say in it, I would vote for "Gay Drunken Stupor". Anyway, my first taste of karaoke was at an amusement park, as a spectator.

Do you remember that episode of the Brady Bunch where the Brady's went to an amusement park? You know, Mike Brady gets a job building an addition for an amusement park, but his important blueprints get mixed up with Jan's Yogi Bear poster, and hilarity ensues? That was King's Island Amusement Park, located near Cincinnati, OH. At the time that episode was filmed, the park had just recently opened, but now, it has been bought by Paramount, and is now a showcase for endless movie promotions, and movie based rides to make a newborn yawn. But this isn't a critique on the park, it's a story about pride, song, and a poor defenseless stuffed animal. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Several years ago, I was at King's Island, andi t was "Red Day" at King's Island. The entire park was awash with red shirts and rainbow necklaces. Red Day was considered an "unofficial" gay day at the park, in which Gays and Lesbians wore red shirts to show their pride on the first Sunday of July. For the most part, the rest of the attendees of day were caught completely unawares, often staring in astonishment as men and women in red shirt stood showing affection to their boyfriends, girlfriends, or people they just met out in the parking lot.

At the time, the park had a Karaoke stage which had a showcase of talent from people who volunteered throughout the day. The stage was set near the base of the park's one third scale model of the Eiffel Tower, which was one of the parks oldest attractions. About an hour before the show, they would start taking names, and every hour on the dot, a new karaoke show would start and a crowd would gather.

On this day, however, the area in front of the stage had a sea of red shirts, camped out as if Woodstock was about to start. Gays, Lesbians, and Transgendered people waited to either perform, or to cheer and jeer the poor sap who got the guts to perform. There is something about karaoke that draws homosexuals like mosquitos to puddle of water.

There was an emcee, named Geri, who was perky. Very perky. Katie Couric at an Espresso Bar perky. I could picture her being the host of a cable access kids Christian TV show. I could also picture he going home to her one bedroom flat after a long day, popping a couple of Xanax and opening a bottle of Brandy. Slowly sipping, she would go into her bedroom, take out her pistol, and just sit on here bed, gun in one hand and snifter in the other. Just sitting there and debating.

Anywho, I appeared for each show on this particular day. this was several years before Reality TV hit the airwaves, so gawking at the unfortunate was considered a fresh form of alternative entertainment. I have to say, that most of the performances weren't bad, from a lesbian couple singing "Summer Nights" from the musical Grease, to a lumberjack-type bear, complete with flannel shirt and cowboy boots, singing "On My Own" from Les Miserables. Then there was the guy who decided to do Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." He was a husky guy wearing a baggy, hole ridden white T-shirt, cutoff shorts, and brown workout boots. He carried up a large white stuffed bear he must have won at one of the countless game kiosks scattered throught the park. Geri gave an extra perky introduction with something like, "This is Randy from Cousinluvin, Ohio!" or something like that. After setting down his toy and picking up the mike, the music began and Randy began to sing.

When he opened his mouth to sing, those who were standing near the stage instantly checked their foreheads to see if their eyebrows were still there. This guy was belting out the tune with his arms flailing, and legs kicking. He was like a cross between a lawn sprinkler shooting fire, and Rip Taylor on a bender. However, things came to a head when there was a guitar solo, and without anything to top the cartwheel he just performed, he picked up his stuffed bear, dropped it on the floor of the stage, and began to dry hump it to the music. Geri suddenly looked as though she wished she was at home with her Xanax and her endless internal struggle. The audience gasped, and then burst out with cheers and raucous laughter, myself included. In fact, if Randy hadn't stopped when he had, Geri would have exploded, and I could have had an anuerysm from laughing.

Luckily, it was the last performance of the evening, but if it hadn't been, I'm sure the following performers would have conveniently disappeared. I mean, you really can't follow up an act like that, no matter how good you are. It was dusk and the crowd dispersed, off to tell their friends who decided to wait in line for two hours to ride The Beast about what just happened. Then, while telling the story, would squeeze into the line. I, however, thought it was about time to head home. While on the way home, I thought about Geri, Randy, and the poor Plushie that was violated on stage. I pictured Geri back at home with her pills and her dilemma. I envisioned Randy out in the parking lot of the park, hooking up with some stranger in the back of his dad's cargo van. And the Plushie? Well, I'm sure it watched on as Randy and his new friend played naked Twister, grateful that the baton was passed, and it could go on just being a cuddly toy.

Just an footnote: I actually had to look up the specific details of that Brady Bunch episode, since I had only seen the episode once, and I was half asleep at the time. Just a disclaimer absolving me from the fate of being labeled as a Brady Bunch fan. This is coming from someone who plays Dungeons and Dragons and drinks Diet Rite. Proudly. I would rather attend the Republican National Convention in drag with a Pro Choice bumper sticker on my ass. *That's* how much I hate the Brady Bunch.

Thank you for your time.