During my street sweeping days the Beer Garden had a slew of regulars: stage moms and daughters belting out Mariah Carey, a middle-aged man who told me he invented the light up shirt , and a duo of bros who rearranged the lyrics of "Sweet Caroline" to sing about their genitals ( Sweet Caroline! LICK MY BALLS!). Cleaning up after the Beer Garden drunks is where I developed my early disdain for Niagara.

In the decade since I’d attended the Beer Garden not much had changed. The vibe of the place was still wallet-chain chic. Light up shirt guy was still around. But the most interesting thing about the Beer Garden was the host. Song after song he encouraged the drunken tourists while they butchered radio hits. After a truly uncomfortable rendition of “Gold Digger” from a white guy, the host belted out a tune of his own as a palate cleanser. He had a great voice and stage presence. Watching him I realised this is what you can do with true musical talent in Niagara. You can host karaoke.

The kitsch of Margaritaville and the inherent sadness of R Bar had left me melancholic. I drank two shots of tequila and decided to sing Billy Joel. My talk-sing version of “Piano Man” went over like a lead balloon. Apparently the sad meandering of Mr. Long Island wasn’t what the Affliction_—_clad crowd desired. Slumping from the stage I asked the karaoke host to send me to Niagara’s worst bar. Without missing a beat he smiled and gave me the finger guns.

“Bro! You gotta go to Big Tex.”