Though I recently broke my vow never to perform karaoke inside the lower 48 recently (short story: excellent co-performer, and frankly, I'll continue to believe that I nailed the line "Tin ROOF...rusty!" until video surfaces to prove otherwise), there is something liberating about singing in the relative safety and anonymity of one's own car.
A person does get busted from time to time, belting out something while stopped at a stoplight.
During my Puddle of Mudd phase I was piloting my trusty minivan through South Tampa with the windows down –– totally owning every bad word in "She Hates You" –– when I glanced to the side.
The word "horrified" doesn't begin to cover the emotions writ large on the faces of the mixed bag of college-age guys in the muscle-car idling next to me. What, they didn't imagine I'd have felt those naked and frank emotions? Or expressed them with such raw honesty? Beige-haired lady in a minivan can't hate? Jeesh.
Bring on "Carpool Karaoke," a late-night television feature that's displaced my previously top-seeded musical favorite "Lip Synch Battle with Jimmy Fallon."
Oooh, which one to choose? Chris Martin of Coldplay on a longish road-trip?The one where Iggy Azalea and James stop to try on bridal dresses? James driving Michelle Obama around (Secret Service in pursuit) and picking up Missy Elliot? Man-wrestling with the Red Hot Chili Peppers?
Too hard to pick, but here's a trio of my favorites:
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