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.