Anyway, what did I do this weekend? Nothing special. Friday night I hung out with Ribs. We got a little brainstorming done for some of the projects we're working on. We also created a short film that is so good I'm afraid to link to it here. Yeah, so good I'm afraid to link to it. Sure. Then we went out and sang Karaoke. Well, Ribs did, anyway. I don't mind smoke, but my throat reacts pretty badly to it. This means that if I spend more than fifteen minutes in a bar, my already atypical vocal range gets cut in half. I managed to warble out a rendition of Werewolves of London by Warren Zevon, but until Strictly Genteel by Frank Zappa starts showing up on karaoke, I'll probably just be a spectator. Actually, I didn't think to see if they had any Crash Test Dummies -- I like some of their earlier work, and it's all *perfect* for my vocal range. Before you think I'm bragging about my deep voice, consider the fact that I can't hit the higher notes in Don't Fear The Reaper. Depressing but true.
Saturday I went grocery shopping. That's about it. I did some housework, and made peace with our cat (this happens a couple of times a week). Then Saturday night I attended Rocky Horror, and that, as usual, was entertaining. I have a new callback to try out, but I was hopped up (or rather, hopped down) on allergy medication, and missed my chance to say it. The couple of cast members sitting in front of me (hi Liz) caught it, but I was late enough that it wasn't worth shouting for the whole theater to hear. It went over well. We'll see how it goes over next week if I'm more awaker.
Sunday I went to my parents' house, where I helped my dad move some stuff out of the basement and into storage. I hadn't gotten much sleep since Rocky Horror, so I was really tired by the time I got home. It didn't help that I'm battling allergies, and I had a splitting headache. My plan was to go home and pass out, but I stayed up for awhile, watched Kids In The Hall: Brain Candy (which you'd really like, despite the admonishings of nearly every movie critic you've ever heard of (remember, they all hated Willow, too)) and THEN I passed out. The fact that I'm feeling wide awake and otherwise pretty good should probably tell me something about getting more than five hours of sleep on weeknights, but nah...
Oh, incidentally, Modest Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition kicks more ass than yo' mamma. Especially his original piano arrangement. Rimsky-Korsakov's orchestral arrangement, by the way, sucks like a Hoover.
The Emerson, Lake & Palmer version is okay.