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Last night we had a rehearsal for the big Sandman event tomorrow.
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redstapler in what seemed like, and in many ways was, a very wise decision, rented us space at a booth karaoke place under the theory of cheap, convenient and comfortable.
Now, I don't do karaoke, and I've never been in one of these places before, which was up this random sketchy staircase and had a reception area that reeked of air freshner. Between that and the friendly hostesses offering us drinks from the underused bar before they showed us back to our room in the warrens of halls it was very hard for me not to think "sex industry" over and over and over again.
We get to our room. Orange walls, TV showing random anime, fake leather couch thing -- OH MY GOD, this is so some sort of low-rent delusional Los Angeles pitch meeting that's about to go horribly, horribly wrong. Also: sex industry.
So we start the reading. And realize we have total mega sound bleedthrough from the room next to us. Now, I have pretty superhuman abilities to focus when doing acting work. It's one of the things that I'm really proud of. It makes me handle crazy shit on stage well, and it's why I can do and like film.
But seriously, there are limits. Especially in a first read-through at a table. Jesus! And it sort of went from "oh hey, they're singing Country Roads" to "heh, love the Joan Jett" to "Jesus Christ, Barrack Me Like a Hurricane was bad enough, but now they're just wailing incoherently and I'm not even sure there's any music on."
Oh My God.
And then the nice hostess girl comes to knock and tell us we have five minutes left. Say it with me, kids: sex industry!
Walking to the train I stopped at Starbucks (a fatal mistake -- despite checking their gluten policies/ingredients, I always get sick from their stuff it seems) and they were playing Son of a Preacher Man. One of the best compliments I ever got was an ex telling me I walked like that song.
And then I thought... hrmmmm, maybe I should get some people together for booth karaoke and sing _that_ song. Because, you see, there are two nights of karaoke at Gallifrey One. And come on, that's funny, right? And maybe, just maybe, if I practiced getting trashed and making a fool of myself, I'd be better at it (or, you know, able to do it at all).
redstapler in what seemed like, and in many ways was, a very wise decision, rented us space at a booth karaoke place under the theory of cheap, convenient and comfortable.Now, I don't do karaoke, and I've never been in one of these places before, which was up this random sketchy staircase and had a reception area that reeked of air freshner. Between that and the friendly hostesses offering us drinks from the underused bar before they showed us back to our room in the warrens of halls it was very hard for me not to think "sex industry" over and over and over again.
We get to our room. Orange walls, TV showing random anime, fake leather couch thing -- OH MY GOD, this is so some sort of low-rent delusional Los Angeles pitch meeting that's about to go horribly, horribly wrong. Also: sex industry.
So we start the reading. And realize we have total mega sound bleedthrough from the room next to us. Now, I have pretty superhuman abilities to focus when doing acting work. It's one of the things that I'm really proud of. It makes me handle crazy shit on stage well, and it's why I can do and like film.
But seriously, there are limits. Especially in a first read-through at a table. Jesus! And it sort of went from "oh hey, they're singing Country Roads" to "heh, love the Joan Jett" to "Jesus Christ, Barrack Me Like a Hurricane was bad enough, but now they're just wailing incoherently and I'm not even sure there's any music on."
Oh My God.
And then the nice hostess girl comes to knock and tell us we have five minutes left. Say it with me, kids: sex industry!
Walking to the train I stopped at Starbucks (a fatal mistake -- despite checking their gluten policies/ingredients, I always get sick from their stuff it seems) and they were playing Son of a Preacher Man. One of the best compliments I ever got was an ex telling me I walked like that song.
And then I thought... hrmmmm, maybe I should get some people together for booth karaoke and sing _that_ song. Because, you see, there are two nights of karaoke at Gallifrey One. And come on, that's funny, right? And maybe, just maybe, if I practiced getting trashed and making a fool of myself, I'd be better at it (or, you know, able to do it at all).
