Recently, I've been reading "Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love and Karaoke" by Rob Sheffield. And, I really want to love the book. But, I don't. It is about love and karaoke, two of my favorite things. But, I just can't relate to much of what Sheffield writes about. His experiences are entertaining and sometimes heart-wrenching, but I just cannot connect to them. His karaoke and my karaoke are very different monsters.

Let's start with a confession. I have a serious karaoke problem. I grew up in a musical family. My mother sings. My step-father sings. My awesome aunts and uncles sing. My grandmothers both sang. My father. occasionally, tries to sing (and fails, but he tries). There was always music in my life. My mother and aunt would routinely pick me up from kindergarten with Queen's Greatest Hits turned on full blast. We'd jam out to "Another One Bites The Dust" so hard. I was probably the weird kid.

We'd also have family outings at karaoke joints—a well placed Dave & Busters was our best friend. My whole extended family would sit there and take turns rocking out. When I was a kid, the karaoke guy would roll his eyes at me as I bopped up there with my poorly scrawled song names. I was seven, maybe younger. But, I was pretty good. I enjoyed the look of shock on the host's face as I'd finish up my songs. I would sing songs from Disney movies or the David Bowie catalog, a very odd reputation for a tiny little girl. But, I loved singing.

I also loved listening. My grandfather was fond of Tiny Bubbles, a Don Ho classic. I didn't hear it as much as he got older. But, he'd still sit there just to listen to the rest of the family sing. He enjoyed it. He was proud of his talented progeny. My aunts and uncles would take turns singing from a wide plethora of genres. We'd go from Eddie Vedder to Elvis to Jet to Cher and back again. It was a family affair. And, we were never the type of people to bust out the dreaded karaoke "hits". While "Sweet Caroline" and "Singers in smoky rooms" hold a special place in my heart, we never subjected others to songs that made them want to claw their eyes out.

At some point, my aunt and uncle started their own karaoke business (with a healthy number of 80's hair metal discs). We had our very own karaoke at every single family party. The younger, newer generations of Gleason's caught the karaoke bug as well. I remember singing with my [then] tiny little cousins who are now karaoke-addicted teenagers. As a young adult, I even did my own stint as a karaoke host.

As I grew, my love for karaoke grew as well. I went through this awkward phase in middle school where I had terrible stage fright. I'd get up in front of a room full of my peers and I'd just bust out laughing, uncontrollably, until someone shoved me off stage. But, with karaoke, that never happened. When I was singing in front of a room full of strangers I felt in control, powerful even. I still got that little kick that you get, controlled nerves. But, it was never a hindrance. It was all a part of the karaoke buzz.

When I finally turned 18 and went off to college, my love affair with karaoke got turned up to eleven. My brother and I went bowling one night and heard karaoke coming from the bar-side of the bowling alley. We quietly snuck over and sat at a table in the back of the room. At some point, we signed up to sing. And then we kept on doing it, sneaking into karaoke bars not to drink, but to sing. You always hear about kids sneaking into bars underage. Though, it isn't usually to satisfy their karaoke addiction.

At one point I was going out to different karaoke shows four or five times a week. This lasted several years. I cultivated a list of songs to sing. I listened to music constantly. I came up with a list of things to eventually try out. I still do this. Though, the list has grown and karaoke technology has evolved. So, I do not need to carry my notebook around with me. The karaoke system tracks all of the songs I've ever done. So, I can just go into my history to pick something out.

I am really very thankful for karaoke. It is something that my family bonded over. It is something that has created a lifetime full of memories. I hear songs on the radio now and think of friends and family members who sing these songs at karaoke. And, I like the karaoke versions better. The originals don't sound as awesome as they once did.

I think I stumbled upon something truly unique, and maybe this is why I can't connect to Sheffield's novel. That little bowling alley in a little mid-western town was full of people who could actually sing. The entire lot of regulars, people of all ages, from all walks of life, were (and still are) very talented. I enjoy hearing them sing. I even tolerate Journey when it pops up.

I've gone through many different phases in my life. I've lived in different places. I've met different people. But, no place has affected me more than that bowling alley. I made friends there, karaoke friends, the kind of people that understand the need for a karaoke fix. And, while we don't necessarily have much in common besides our desire to hold a microphone and rock out with our bad selves, we've forged lasting friendships. Karaoke, for us, is like a proverbial Switzerland. It's the intersection of life where the Nascar fans and the punk rockers can sit together and drink beer. It's the place where 21-year-olds and 81-year-olds can bond over their shared love of music. I am always entertained to see all of these different people, with different political views and different religious views, actually getting along. The world needs to be a lot more like a karaoke bar.

The little bowling alley doesn't actually exist anymore. The place was torn down a few years ago, a depressing blow. But, the people and the karaoke live on. We all moved over to a new home, one that may or may not appreciate the fact that we sing songs from obscure 80's bands and angry 90's female pop artists. We all get together on a regular basis to just sing our hearts out. We request songs from one another. We're not afraid to try new things out, even if we really shouldn't. We welcome new karaoke friends into the fold. We can tell a TRUE karaoke person from a poser. Though, we tolerate both.

For me, karaoke has become an outlet. On a bad day, I need to sing. On a good day, I want to sing. But, it is so much more than that. I feed off of the lights and the music. But, I am sustained on the love and friendship that surrounds me each time I go out to sing. I like to try new places from time to time, and I always have fun. It is in my nature to do so. But, I always go back home (wherever that happens to be) to the people that I've shared my life with, my love with, and my heartache with, for the past fourteen years. Part of me likes to think I always will.