The Red Balloon

My family has been joking about having the redneck Olympics for a couple of years now. You can turn your nose up at it all you want but in your hear of hearts you have to admit that there is something entertaining about the idea of toilet seat horseshoes and shot gun shoot outs in a front yard full of rusted out old cars.

Maybe not classy but entertaining.

Last night my girlfriend and I experienced the epitome of suburban redneckism in the form of The Red Balloon.

The Red Balloon is a karaoke bar at 75th and Antioch, where they still allow smoking, only take cash, and shirts, shoes and teeth are optional.

It was an experience. Women clad in sweat suits did the shuffle with tatted biker chicks who appeared to have done their share of meth. Men in see-through wife-beaters played darts with barely-legal girls in tie-die and camo, while effeminate on-lookers squealed over the chance to do a number by Kelly Clarkson or Madonna.

There wasn’t one “type” in this dive. Ages and races and sexual orientations all mixed together in a spirit of commeradory that may have had less to do with the public displays of humilation and more the $2 mini bombs (Yager and Sprite for those not in the know).

My girl friend and I attempted to sing, “Let’s talk about sex,” by Salt and Pepper. Funny, I never realized it was a rap song. It didn’t matter. The boys drinking 40 cans of Paps Blue Ribbon crowed anyway.

I left stinking of BO and cigarettes and had to shower for over an hour before the smell even began to evaporate.

It didn’t matter. It was fun and I developed an appreciation for cheap beer.