Schwoo, we're home. Kelly Osbourne was on our flight. I learned some new "advanced"
sexual techniques from Cosmo (my guilty airplane pleasure) and fell asleep listening to The Long Winters. Speaking of which, Gary Benchley namedrops The Long Winters in his latest column. My boys done made it bigtime.
So we got the bunnyraping Highlight spot on air, but barely. We had a feed scheduled for 10:30pm (Cali time) and we had a massive snafu involving sponsor logos (I was willing to draw the GM logo by hand) and the minutes were slipping away and we were freaking out. Because a satellite feed is all sorts of spency and intense -- someone in space beams a satellite down to the satellite from which you are feeding and there's only this brief period of time in which the satellites are aligned and we were going to miss it. Chaos ensued. Kelly (Johnson, not Osbourne) was using my phone, I was using her email account and Tom was wearing our underwear. Metaphorically. Then, saving the day from back in NY, Louis hipped us to the fact that it was digital fiber feed -- no space satellites involved. Sad that outer space was now out of the picture, but more rad that everything was going to be okay. So we got giddy. There is nothing as intoxicating as relief.
So sometime after midnight I set out to find the feeding facility and get the fucker on air. I had directions but they didn't specify cross streets and I got really really really lost. Like, driving around a deserted downtown LA in circles and circles and circles lost. After many failed attempts, I finally found the place and was waiting in this dark parking lot for someone to let me in and I was totally convinced that some scary Los Angeles person was going to jump out and mug me. On SVU, there's always bad shit happening in dark parking lots. But all was well! The spot's airing. Schwoo.
Anyway. This LA jaunt was a sorta bummer -- we worked really hard and were really tired all the time. For whatever reasons (jet lag? no smot to poke?) I always have really vivid dreams when I'm there. (It might also involve my cat-free hotel rooms, so I sleep a full night). The night before the show, I had this long involved dream wherein I befriend this ponytailed guy who was Peter-Buck-but-not and ended up hanging out with that person during the show, which was more of a Tibetan Freedom Concert style rock festival, and there were lots and lots of band playing and there was a massive crisis at one moment because this band that looked like the Goo Goo Dolls was singing that "Closing Time" song by Semisonic, and they were leading the whole million-person crowd in a massive singalong (there is nothing better than an all-crowd singalong) and then the circuits blew and all the lights went out and everyone was flipping out and then suddenly, a voise rose above the clamor and it was someone standing on the side of the arena, playing a guitar and singing a folk song. I was like -- THAT is the type of person I want to hang around with. With whom around which I'd like to hang. It was awesome.
At the real show, I spent the entire time watching and logging the livefeed on a monitor beneath the stage. No palling around with rock stars, although Kelly and I made friends with these sound techs who were watching with us. No one blew their sound systems, although Josh Duhamel (pronounced du-MEL and don't you forget it) (just like Jim Caviezel rhymes with weasel! things you must learn when you work at vh1) had a dead mic at first.
I had another dream about watching a scary Puritan Preacher beat and torture his young son, trying to prove to his congregation that they ought to purge their sins by torturing their children, just like God did to Jesus.
I dunno. I was stressed. Just watch the fucking show, already, people. It's tomorrow (sunday) night at 9/8c (7pm mountain time if you're receiving the Eastern feed. I don't know how it works for you people up there).
and my work therein is done. TIME TO PARTY HEARTY! Josh and da boyz are throwing a "Pearl Harbor"-themed party (wesleyan alums heart theme parties) and this event will mark the end of the self-imposed social exile that was working-on-big-in-04.
watch me tonight! 20 Awesomely Bad Songs of 2004 premieres on vh1 at 10pm. I haven't seen it yet, but that was the interview I did when they called me in a desperate panic because they needed to use a funny chick and I rambled off the top of my head for two hours with no preparation. See if you can tell when I'm bluffing.