After the initial celebrations, we hit the local karaoke bar. I love karaoke. Everything: the performance, the amateurs, the cliche songs, loud laughs, smell of beer. A young man who looks like he’d pick a Beck song sings Jim Morrison instead. A heavy fella sings Gravity with weight, with beauty. A squeaky blonde sings with her soul. An old man sings Just Gigolo and freestyles the chorus. It’s a beautiful night.