The George Clooney Diva Fiasco

15 May


Monday morning I woke up to an urgent text from Hilary, “Why were not at George Clooney’s engagement party at Cafe Habana?!  BONO WAS THERE.”

Café Habana is the one and only karaoke spot in Malibu and the home of our regular karaoke jam sessions. (Is jam session the right term here?  I’m feeling a bit insecure about it.)  Just like everything in Malibu, karaoke in Malibu is something of a quaint, endlessly rich affair.  Cafe Habana is owned by Cindy Crawford’s husband and is a Mexican restaurant and bar six nights of the week and karaoke-jam-session-host-thing-place one night a week.

(Yep, definitely wrong term here.)

At 10:00PM sharp on Wednesdays, this deliciously older, bearded DJ sets up camp in the corner booth and suddenly Cafe Habana is ready for some bad singing and even more terrible dancing.

At first I was a bit outraged by the set up.  Where was the stage?  Can you even correctly perform Mariah Carey amongst the common people?  Do the diva goddesses frown on such a practice?  And then I tried it, and, well, now I have to say all karaoke should be done without a stage and with college students dancing in your face every time, always.

There are very few things that inspire me to leave my little cave and be social, but Wednesday night karaoke at Cafe Habana  is definitely one.

I love the little white-haired man that Caitlin gets into dance competitions with.  I love the guy who sings “No Diggity” and compliments my Fergie rap when it’s particularly Fergielicious.  I love the homeless-looking person I’ve been assured is a secret billionaire.  I even like the pageboy-wearing hipster who pulls a harmonica from his pocket and belts “Piano Man” from the tabletops.

(Caitlin doesn’t like that guy much, though, see the above picture.)

I’m not joking you when I say this line-up is fairly static.  Cafe Habana karaoke is as certain as taxes and stretch marks, and I’m all about it.

And now back to that fateful Hilary text.

“WHAT?!?” I responded.  How was it possible that Bono was in Malibu?  Why didn’t we know?

Hilary texted frantically, “I just feel so mad at whoever was in the area and not starting worldwide Twitter trends.  Once, Ryan Gosling was rumored to be at a Bloomington bar and I was woken up in the middle of the night to drive by.  HE WASN’T EVEN THERE.  WHERE ARE PEOPLE’S PRIORITIES?”

Hilary continued on, morosely, “Bono probably sang ‘Zombie’ and brought down the house.”

This was a low blow, really, for last time Hil and I were at Cafe Habana we attempted to sing a “Zombie” duet and it went over rather poorly.  In fact, after the performance we comforted ourselves with Diet Coke and Hilary said, “Some people just don’t understand rock and roll.”

I couldn’t stand the texts at that point.  “Ugh, don’t, Hil.  Don’t go there.”  The thoughts of Bono at my karaoke place singing my karaoke song were just too much for my 8:00 AM brain to handle.

Hilary continued to send sobbing emojis.  I went back to sleep.

I woke up four hours later a little worried I was getting up after noon.  “I just woke up.  Should I be concerned here?”

Hilary responded, “Nah, the George Clooney fiasco required a nap for emotional recovery.”

“You’re right,” I said. “You’re so right.”


I should probably go nap again.


PS: SheKnows?

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2 Responses to “The George Clooney Diva Fiasco”

  1. lauren packer May 16, 2014 at 7:54 pm #

    that is indeed a total fiasco. i would need a nap too.

Trackbacks and Pingbacks

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