The Bull Pen

On my days off from the bar I work at, it’s hard to motivate me to go to karaoke. After all, it’s my job. The magic has worn thin. So my favorite pastime from the past
has found its way to the bottom of my activities list.

However, there is one thing about karaoke that I will always love. - the strange people it attracts. I could watch social outcasts waiting for their turn to sing all night. So, whenever I find myself outside of LA, I am drawn to any dive bar with those red letters on the marquee - KARAOKE.

This weekend, I found a shining example of such a bar during a trip to Seattle for a family reunion. My brother David, my boyfriend Dan and I were staying at a hotel in SeaTac when we saw that marquee atop a restaurant/ bar simply called The Bull Pen

We made a unanimous decision to skip the posh downtown Seattle scene, in favor of a joint that we could tell from outside would be full of redneck wonder.

It was a Thursday night and we were recovering from a delicious buffet style meal at my
Aunt Pat’s. I couldn’t wait to see the inside of the Bull Pen, so when I looked at the clock on my phone and it read 9:30, I gave David and Dan the signal and we were out. We also managed to convince a few family members to join us.

When we walked in, the décor was everything we suspected. A dingy, dark-wooded establishment ringed with red booths. I was actually surprised by their karaoke set-up.
There was a large stage complimented by an even larger dance floor. Full lighting, disco ball. It led me to believe that once upon a time this was a venue for some honky tonk red neck act until karaoke came along and killed live music.

As it happens, the now-karaoke bar was previously a Mexican restaurant, and the karaoke stage was once home to a mechanical bull.

The tables were moderately packed with what I suppose are Sea-Tac natives: a few groups and some solo acts. A black man named Charles set up camp at small table right next to us. A lighter skinned black man with a beaded rat-tail and sunglasses sat with his girl at a booth on the opposite wall.

The Karaoke Host was Mikee!! That’s right, no typos there. Mike with an extra “e” and a few exclamation points at the end. He was a middle-aged guy who I later found out had been at The Bull Pen for 15 years. On personality and presence alone, I suppose he was comparable to any karaoke host at a Divey bar. However, Mikee!! is special. Maybe even unique!

He’s a multi-instrumentalist who finds an opportunity during karaoke songs to back-up the back up - so to speak - by adding anything from killer guitar riffs for folks singing hard rock songs to (clumsier) sax licks on mellower tunes. The wall is full of different instruments. Numerous guitars, including one with two necks, mandolins, a saxophone, a trumpet, a trombone and more. And for absolutely zero dollars, Mikee!! will play them for you. With you. Totally weird… totally awesome.

Me? I warmed it up with a little “All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You” by Heart and about six drinks and 3 hours later, finished my night with the old stand-by “Midnight Train to Georgia.”

After my second song, the gentleman with the beaded rat-tail came to our table and introduced himself as Baby Mixx. He went on to tell us he’s a producer and sound engineer and that I should really be pursuing music as a career. I laughed my polite laugh, exchanged Myspace info with him (He claimed he was too young to have a Facebook page - he was 32) and finished the double Red Bull and Kettle my brother and I were sharing. By that time, I was ready to go, but I decided I would be back.

Two days later, we returned to the Bull Pen with the majority of our Family Reunion. When Mikee!! saw me he quickly exclaimed that he had “something for me” and went behind his booth and returned with 2 CD’s of songs and a DVD. The first CD was covers of his favorite songs that he had recorded at The Bull Pen and the other was full to the brim with his “originals”. The DVD was video recordings of him performing at the bar.
I thanked him for these treasures. Needless to say, I have hours of entertainment thanks to
Mikee!!

If you find yourself in Sea-Tac on a layover or for a Family Reunion I suggest you visit this little gem. You may even get some Mikee!! CD’s (in addition to a hangover, a hoarse voice and a full stomach – the kitchen serves the fried stuff until midnight). Priceless.

The Bull Pen Pub Bar and Grill

20011 International Blvd
Seatac, WA 98198

(206) 824-4070


Graphic of the Week:

Mrs. Jones doing Laundry.

My new friend (and producer-to-be?) Baby Mixx sang this song. The chorus croons “Me and Mrs. Jones.. we got a thing goin’ on,” clearly insinuating that the singer and a married woman (Mrs. Jones) are having an affair. The video suggests otherwise, featuring someone who the viewer can only assume to be Mrs. Jones performing various household chores, such as laundry. Exactly what kind of thing do you and Mrs. Jones have going on? A maid service? I want in!

Crazy 50 Something Santa Monica Guy with a Message

Watch out for this one. He looks harmless. Like he’s going to cut loose a little and sing a mindless song for the drunken masses. You’re so excited he chose American Pie. You’re waiting to join him at the chorus and BAM! He’s changed the words on you! The whole song has been turned into a political parody about 9-11. “The Day the Towers Fell” he croons. He heads into the verse with new fervor and lyrics ranging from Obama to Hummer’s in Iraq.

I don’t know how this gentleman does it. But he finds a way to connect four years of
conspiracy theories into 6 verse of American Pie! (God, that song is long). He’s not just making it up on the spot. This guy spent months, maybe years writing and memorizing these alternative lyrics and he makes sure to spread his word every night to a bunch of UCLA Sophomores who can’t hear a damn word he’s singing. This guy could be your father or your uncle. He looks completely normal. But he probably lives in some remote part of Malibu on some solar powered ranch/ mobile home and spends his day sending out far- fetched mass e-mails about how the government is corrupt.

God help me if he I ever end up on his mailing list.

United Colors of Benatar

The longer you work in a karaoke bar, the easier it gets to guess exactly which song a specific person will want to sing. Sometimes you know what they are going to sing before they know. A lot of times people will ask me for suggestions and I pride myself on being able to pick the perfect song for just about anyone. Most of my choices are met with enthusiasm. However, sometimes an attention-starved person will hover over you as you work, begging to hear an audio version of the 20,000-song karaoke book that is RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEIR FACE.

Here are just a few things that I’ve learned:

If it’s a young white man in his 20’s, you might suggest some Bon Jovi or “Sweet Caroline.” (Thanks a lot, “Beautiful Girls”).

If it’s a white guy in his mid-sixties who is wearing a suit and lots of gold rings, go with “My Way” by Frank Sinatra or “Beyond the Sea” by Dean Martin.

If you’re looking at a cute, twenty-something girl who’s dressed for Friday night on Monday and who’s thinking way too long about what she wants to sing, there are a couple of possibilities. If this girl asks you what she should sing several times and rejects an obvious initial suggestion like the Divinyls’ “I Touch Myself,” you have a more serious problem - more so if she’s got friends.

But all is not lost: if you want to get her and her two back-up singer friends out of your face go straight to Benatar. It’s a not-so-secret weapon, probably because it works just about every time. All you have to say is, “How bout some Pat Benatar?” The girl’s face will light up like a Christmas Tree, she will have chosen her song, and she will quickly vanish to drink more sugary shooters at the bar.

However, in extreme circumstances, she may be a fickle one who probably didn’t get much attention as a little girl, and she will continue to waste your time by asking for more: specifically Pat Benatar’s discography.

At this point, you might want to tell her to go fuck herself, but if you are the Eternally Nice Karaoke Host that I am, you may want to ask her a few questions about what’s going on in her life currently. Is she going through a break-up? (Heartbreaker) Is she having a realization about how awesome her relationship is? (We Belong) Is she mad at a guy she’s been sleeping with who turned out to be sleeping with everyone else and she wants to sing about how she’s not hurt because she’s better at sleeping with everyone else than he is? (Hit Me With Your Best Shot). Has she been in a relationship for a good amount of time and it’s hit that point where it’s a lot of work? (Love is a Battlefield). Or is she feeling a little political? (Invincible).

Hopefully, she will pick one of these choices, but chances are, she’ll just scrunch up her face, shake her head and sign up to sing “I love Rock ‘n Roll” by Joan Jett.

I do fun for a living.

That's right, you heard me. Two days ago, right smack dab in the middle of my six-hour shift, I had an epiphany. I looked up at one of my regulars, who was hovering over "the list" in an attempt to gauge how long it would be before he would have his moment, and shared my revelation.

"I do fun for a living", I said in awe.

He looked at me as if I'd gone mad, then laughed and walked away. I get it, this particular regular - or “normal, “ as I as I like to refer to the saner ones - thought I was being my usual sardonic, tongue-in-cheek self. That is, saying I was having fun, but secretly counting down the minutes until I could get in my car, turn the radio OFF, drive through McDonald's for a late night binge and be home by 2:30 am to cry on my couch about how my life is a waste.

You see, I deal with a lot of shit as a karaoke host and after a year and a half of catering to crazy street people, college kids who swear they sing the best version of “Don't Stop Believing” and delusional old men who swear that they’re still gonna make it in the music biz, a karaoke host like me can lose their passion for song.

However, this week was different. I was genuinely having a good time and in the midst of having fun, I thought of my old job waiting tables at a 50's diner, made a quick comparison and decided that my current job was kind of, well, awesome. Of course, I know, this feeling won't last. I've been through the ups and downs before and hosting karaoke in Los Angeles (the capitol of self-absorption) will get the better of me again in due time.

For now though, I’ve decided to dance with the crazies, to try and speak their language, to make the college kids feel special for those four short minutes they have on stage, to listen to the newly divorced lady cry through her rendition of “Superstar” by the Carpenters.

And if you should come into my bar, I’ll look at you with adulation. I’ll listen and give you the attention you crave, I’ll help you with the high notes when look at me, terrified, and I will sum up each and every one of your performances with a “great job!” No matter if the job was poor, great or mediocre. For three-and-a-half minutes, I am your friend, I am your sound engineer, I am your vocal coach, I am your therapist, I am your emcee, I am your audience.

I am your karaoke host.