I did it my way...

No one ever sings Frank Sinatra's "My Way" at karaoke bars in the Philippines. It's just unheard of. They really love their karaoke over there, and they take it personally if someone hits a bad note or goes flat singing a classic. There's a lot of machismo hanging heavy in the air, and some of the clubs that feature both female prostitutes and karaoke, also hire a gay man or two — because they're not seen as rivals for the womens' attention, and they are able to use humor to diffuse fights between customers. Seriously, it's true. These bars seem to be everywhere, and can get pretty "hood" in rougher parts of town. Fights happen, sure. But stabbings are the thing to worry about.

I was reading about all this in the NYTimes and I thought I'd share it — if only to show that the old days ain't gone. The days of mowing your lawn while wearing your tie, shaving with one of those huge razor-blades, sipping a whiskey on the rocks while 'the Misses' laughs girlishly over a cocktail. Back when everyone played football, or at least baseball, when no one went outside without a hat, and every body smoked all the god-damned time. Where men went ice-fishing, quail-hunting, body-surfing and inner-tubing on vacation. When your dad let you fire the .22 at cans out back, there were no vegetarians at the Thanksgiving table, and everyone knew not to sing "My Way" unless they were really, really good.