Nothing.

Sit in the back and do not say a word until you leave the karaoke bar.

Keep ordering and drinking beers with your friends until you are completely confident that you are the best singer in the place. Don’t worry about the 60-year-old woman’s hauntingly beautiful rendition of Sarah McLachlan’s Angel. You could totally destroy that crap with your version of Limp Bizkit’s Nookie.

After killing it, you walk off the stage like you own the place. You mistake people’s polite ‘please leave the building’ smiles for silent ‘your version of Limp Bizkit has restored my faith in humanity’ smiles. You assume that the cute waitress is now ignoring you because she is so nervous and no longer knows how to say, “Beer?”

You drunkenly text a girl you went out on a date once. She has to hear you sing Metallica tonight. I learned a good tip the next day. If you do send a drunken text to a girl, do not include the word Metallica. If you’re going to piss her off, at least have the decency to include some sort of good music. For example, a drunken text that simply reads ‘the Beatles’ probably can’t hurt much. “The Beatles,” she’ll think. “They’re pretty good. I should probably go out with this guy again.”

For most of the country, winter can be a long, dreadful, depressing time.  Especially here in New York where the weather seems to go from one extreme to the other.

One day it is 30 degrees and snowing, the next day it is summer and time to break out those shorts!  I can’t stress enough how frustrating it is that the two best weather seasons, fall and spring, are almost non-existent here!  But I digress…

With summer comes great summer dating ideas and today’s suggestion is to bring your date to a concert.  This works especially well if you are dealing with someone who is clearly passionate about music in his or her profile.

This is a great date for two reasons.

1.  It is a fun, exciting date.  The goal of being a master at planning dates is to plan dates that are a cut above the rest of the crowd without having to break that wallet wide open and looking desperate to impress.

2.  The high energy, inflated sense of having a good time, and good feelings, will be carried over once the date is over.  The date may have ended days ago, but those good feelings will be permantly interconnected with you, leaving your date desiring a second date.

So hit up those concerts and rock it out.  And don’t forget that good night kiss.

There’s a scene in the film, The Bourne Identity, where the love interest, Marie, asks the title character what kind of music he likes.  Despite the fact that he is a thirty-million dollar weapon trained by the US government currently dealing with amnesia, we can all connect with him having had that question thrown at us.  Everyone hates hearing that question.  It unearths all of our personal insecurities about our taste in something that can often be very personal.  Also, it is always embarrassing if you like country music or rap.  Everybody always has the same answer: “I like everything.”  Everybody is lying.  Jason Bourne’s answer, however, is genius.  Instead of using a blanket statement based on lies, he says, “I don’t know.”  Marie obviously thinks that this answer is lame but, in all honesty, he really doesn’t know.  Again, he has amnesia, and can’t remember anything before two weeks ago.

I wish I was an amnesiac.  I would have much better excuses for so many things in life.  Why are you not buckled? Why haven’t you seen The Princess Bride?  Why are you running out of that store with stacks of cash?  I know there’s technically not a rule about wearing pants to work, but why?

Anyway, I think the question, “What kind of music do you like?” should be struck from the lexicon of American conversation.  People hate having it directed at them.  The person asking the question is clearly out of things to say.  Why make the situation even more awkward and tense?  Let’s let people like whatever music they want and if they feel like they want to share this personal bit of information, let them tell you first.

There’s an expiration date to various music. Songs you can no longer listen to post-partum from some significantly twisted tryst. I am the said survivor of a certain sexperience. I’ve recently found out that the expiration date for said song’s hiatus should not exceed four years. I came to this conclusion when I no longer had to swiftly change stations upon the uninvited airwave appearance in various acoustic forms. That’s the best slash worst part of all music, its ability to DeLorean you back to some significant time without warning. And, as much as this little lyrical lifestyle allows for the resurgence of something entirely blissful, it can just as easily invite the unwanted resurrection of something a little less than holy. So when the City of Angels is suddenly overrun by an unavoidable soundtrack to your life, hurry up and switch stations at supersonic speed, lest your sample CD gets stuck on repeat and you become one of those misguided mademoiselles fervently stating that they just don’t make music like they used to.