This Friday: Last chance to qualify for Bungalow Idol, and a warmup act for bungling the jungle in front of some opinionated judges brought in by HudsonWiNightlife

This Friday: Last chance to qualify for Bungalow Idol, and a warmup act for bungling in the jungle in front of some opinionated “judges” brought in by HudsonWiNightlife. And I know, you’re reading it again, but this mentioned phrase is worth repeating. Actually, think about the emcee off on the side, stage right, with those big theatrical curtains hanging just kinda, sorta in front of him. Bungalow Idol has this version that promotes individuality by both the singer and emcee, very big dance area, and place where the machine that spins the instrumentals at this point has been used so many times it has taken root, and limits (are there any?) are delineated by carefully laid and separate styles of flooring, apt for cutting the rug.
This is not your father’s karaoke, or maybe it is, so just hit it. And so goes all you need to know about the remainder of Bungalow Idol, held all this month on Friday night, so you can still weigh-in — along with some non-official judges, brought here by HudsonWiNightlife and giving their commentary only there. So there may be those truly quasi-celebrity judges in the audience, whose opinions really mean nothing as far as naming the real winner, that will reign in on the sidelines with those select few who actually are the judges and have views that count, and carry more weight then, say, an emcee,”as I will keep on rambling on.” The two additional possible principals who are likely to show, after being on the road, come from very different worlds that start way back: The guy who can give you the ultimate Iron Maiden lowdown for virtually every one of their 180 songs but loves all types of music, retools his views to the point that the ol’ AC/DC is a meeting in the middle, and a woman whose choices are defined by four words To Sir With Love. And there may be added stand-ins who prefer something middling as far as volume, and between the polar ends is yes, Bungalow Idol minds and music. So lets all get together in Lakeland for the Bungalow Idol finals! This Friday is the last of the chances to qualify for the finals, on the first Friday in February. Music starts shortly before 10 p.m.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. Heh heh, heh heh, Butthead, look...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top