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Murdering Songs and Policemen
Nov. 11th, 2005 11:14 pmBefore last night, I had no idea that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quadralien had quite such a large following at karaoke. I knew about the Facebook group, but still wasn't prepared for the enthusiastic crowd that gathered in the Union, or the version of "Pretty Fly for a White Guy" personalised in his honour. It seems that he's become the new Benedict, which is possibly the greatest achievement that either of us will achieve at university.
I decided to have a go myself, but wasn't confident enough to attempt a song myself as I was unfamiliar with pretty much everything on the list. Eventually I found The Final Countdown, which was just about the only song to which I vaguely knew the tune, even though Whitney is of the opinion that it's dreadful. I managed to come up with a performance to match this opinion.
I know that being "good at" karaoke relies very little on actually being able to sing, but I like to think that I have at least some ability for it, and every time I perform karaoke I manage to provide a huge amount of evidence to the contrary. There always seems to be very little relation between what I think I'm singing and the horrendous noise blaring out of the speakers. It might have helped if I'd heard the song in under a year, but I sat down afterwards thinking that I'd somewhat dented Jamie's reputation.
The next morning, the three of us drove back up to Inverurie once again. On the way we were subjected to a surprise roadside safety check. Actually, the officer who waved us in to the layby seemed to be taking the "surprise" element all too literally, as his method of getting our attention was to leap out of the road in front of me and wave his arms wildly. I braked as safely as could be expected in the generous second-long reaction time he'd given me, but he still had to leap out of the way as I sailed past. It's just as well, because I imagine that having bits of him sprawled out on my bonnet as the check was carried out might have reduced my chances of passing somewhat.
After driving slowly in a daze and wondering what to do, I reversed into the layby from the other end. He didn't seem all that bothered by his brush with death, and sent another officer to my car to perform an extensive set of checks on functions of my car, some of which I didn't even know existed. At the end he concluded the car was fine apart from the horn and one of the lights at the back. "I should give you a 21-day ticket," he said, "but I'm not going to bother." Stellar police work. I drove out again, the only after-effect being that I was still slightly shaken by the encounter with the suicidal police officer.
quadralien had quite such a large following at karaoke. I knew about the Facebook group, but still wasn't prepared for the enthusiastic crowd that gathered in the Union, or the version of "Pretty Fly for a White Guy" personalised in his honour. It seems that he's become the new Benedict, which is possibly the greatest achievement that either of us will achieve at university.I decided to have a go myself, but wasn't confident enough to attempt a song myself as I was unfamiliar with pretty much everything on the list. Eventually I found The Final Countdown, which was just about the only song to which I vaguely knew the tune, even though Whitney is of the opinion that it's dreadful. I managed to come up with a performance to match this opinion.
I know that being "good at" karaoke relies very little on actually being able to sing, but I like to think that I have at least some ability for it, and every time I perform karaoke I manage to provide a huge amount of evidence to the contrary. There always seems to be very little relation between what I think I'm singing and the horrendous noise blaring out of the speakers. It might have helped if I'd heard the song in under a year, but I sat down afterwards thinking that I'd somewhat dented Jamie's reputation.
The next morning, the three of us drove back up to Inverurie once again. On the way we were subjected to a surprise roadside safety check. Actually, the officer who waved us in to the layby seemed to be taking the "surprise" element all too literally, as his method of getting our attention was to leap out of the road in front of me and wave his arms wildly. I braked as safely as could be expected in the generous second-long reaction time he'd given me, but he still had to leap out of the way as I sailed past. It's just as well, because I imagine that having bits of him sprawled out on my bonnet as the check was carried out might have reduced my chances of passing somewhat.
After driving slowly in a daze and wondering what to do, I reversed into the layby from the other end. He didn't seem all that bothered by his brush with death, and sent another officer to my car to perform an extensive set of checks on functions of my car, some of which I didn't even know existed. At the end he concluded the car was fine apart from the horn and one of the lights at the back. "I should give you a 21-day ticket," he said, "but I'm not going to bother." Stellar police work. I drove out again, the only after-effect being that I was still slightly shaken by the encounter with the suicidal police officer.
