Borrego karaoke

Looking out the window at the mountains, which rise up all around Borrego Springs, I feel more than a little frustrated. I want to get out there and hike. On the other hand I don’t want to die.

Yesterday in the afternoon, when the temperature reached 117, I went out on a brief walk in the field next to the house, among the creosote and brittlebush. I stood still and felt the unrelenting sun, felt the heat pressing in on me. It would be easy to panic if caught somewhere far from shelter. Last summer a man died when he tried to walk just a mile from his disabled car to refuge. He even had a bottle of water with him, though I suppose it didn’t help that he lacked shoes.

Around lunchtime, another friend of Larry and Sinda’s, Maggie, arrived from San Diego. She’s a colleague at San Diego State University (where all three teach in the English department) and had come out to the desert to celebrate her 60th birthday.

After a lunch of crab quiche and salad, we spent much of the afternoon in the living room, talking, listening to songs that Larry thought we should hear (including several by the band Gogol Bordello), and watching part of a documentary on The Who, as well as footage of Larry and Sinda’s granddaughter, Ella. Gin and tonic flowed freely.

At the pool in the early evening I tried to work off some of my unused hiking energy, swimming several laps. Then I put my hat back on and cowered low in the water to limit my exposure to the sun. Even though the temperature had dipped to 110.

After the sun set we headed to Carlee’s, a bar and restaurant in town, for food and karaoke. When we arrived, a young man with a goatee was singing “Strangers in the Night.” He hesitated momentarily when he got to the line “doo bee doo bee doo,” but then had a self-conscious go at it. In the course of the evening he would be the only person under sixty to perform, and the only one to show even the slightest timidity.

We sat at a table just a few feet from the karaoke corner, where the young man stood behind a small monitor singing Sinatra. I politely divided my attention between him and the menu.

When he finished, the karaoke master (or whatever the term is), a stout woman with tall white hair, called out the name Leon. A man with a white beard and a Hawaiian shirt tight around the middle performed two Eagles songs, including “Peaceful, Easy Feeling.”

Next was Todd, a man with long, lank hair, a ragged beard and sun-cured complexion. He took the microphone and proceeded to slur his way through The Temptations’ “My Girl,” skipping words and lines when he got behind, sticking with a monotone delivery throughout. Larry, always generous, said he liked his style, describing it as “dadaesque.” Later, Todd performed an understated version of the Trogs’ “Wild Thing.”

The karaoke master, Donna, sang too (as did her husband, Harold, who sat at the bar and filled in during lulls, choosing talky standards). In response to a request, Donna sang her signature song, “Live Close By,” striding up and down, belting out the chorus with an infectious brio:

Live close by
Visit often
That’ll work
That’ll work for me

Live close by
Visit often
Save us both a lot of misery

Larry took a turn, singing two songs and not bothering for either to look at the monitor. His first number was Dean Martin’s “Memories are Made of This.” He glided about the small performance space with the élan of an experienced crooner, switching the microphone from hand to hand, hitting each vocal mark spot on: “one man....one wife.... a love that lasts through life.” For his second selection he chose Elvis’ “Love Me,” a song he often sings on karaoke nights. When he returned to the table Sinda took his hand and said, “that was really good, Larry.” He looked a little abashed but also pleased with the compliment.

We watched a woman named Darlene sing “I Fall to Pieces,” then left just as Harold was coming to the front to have a go at “Georgia on My Mind.”