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Oie, i didn't keep a journal, so I have to go from memory.
I left Houston at around eight, tired from lack of sleep and hungry from hurrying to airport and only eating a quick cup of cerial. During the flight they served these nasty snacks that were really greasy; they call it sausage, I call it a waste of money. The flight took about three to four hours; I slept most of the away. I arrived in LA upset due to two factors: 1. On the way, I looked down at all the sand and desert, and out of nowhere all these ontological ramblings poured into my head. Did I have paper? No. Could I even write anything legible on a bumpy airplane? No. So there went a slew of ontological and time-continuum ideas right out the window. I shrugged it off and went on. 2). In LA, I got stopped by some Harr Kreshna guy who gave me this book to read about his religion. I thought, "cool" and tried leave; but he stopped me and hounded me for money. After repeatedly telling him no, he took the book back and gave me a pamphlet instead. JERK, I thought. I shrugged it off and went on.
Well, I got to the hotel--after almost diying (is that spelled right?) on the way there because of the driver who kept telling all the passengers stories about his Fatherland (Germany) and whole bunch of other stuff I didn't care for while he was NOT paying attention to the road--and found my friend Ryan from Dallas.
Well, because of this mix-up with our rooms, they wouldn't give us the keys, so I had to go find the guy whose name the room was under (Sean "Brooklyn X" Donagher) so he could prove to the clerk that we were supposed to be in the room. We decided to get our badges for the Gathering first, and, to our surprise, Sean was volunteering to give out the badges. He got us our keys, and we went down (not up where everyone else was) to our room.
After throwing everything on the floor, I wasted no time in blowing my money on junk I really don't need (cards, a CD, a place mat, a puzzle, this wierd french game with a marble, and a color print of Gabriel).
After throwing all that with my other crap I went back to audition for the radio play. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and so I was really panicky. Of course, all the ontological mumbo-jumbo came flooding back in like burst damn...and I was reading the script, second in line--what luck. After skimming the script, I get called in. As soon as I walk in, I see Greg and start thinking, "If my being is met with bad-faith---oh crap, it's Greg Weisman, uumumum--but then my being is thus permeable to the I-it--sh*t, who am I gonna' read---oh crap, it's Thom Adcox, uhuhuhuh--quick, sit down!!" After sitting down, I was told to stand-up.
"OK, who are you going to read for us?" Greg asked. Sh*t, you didn't even decide who to read. Goliath--no. Brooklyn--maybe. Elisa--ha! Xanatos--no. Goliath--no. Xanatos--might as well.
So I read; I thought it went fairly well.
"Uh, do you think you could read that first paragraph again," Geg asked me, "except louder this time?"
"Uhhh, yeah, I guess." Damn him! [No offence, Greg:)] I read louder.
"Stop. You need to project." I read even louder. "Project!" Ah! Damnit, I bet that was too loud, I thought.
I finished. I felt better after barking like a dog and wimping out of my cheesy Celebrity Jeopardy Sean Connery impression.
The rest of the day went by like a flash. All I remember is getting Fabberbakke's autograph on my Gargoyles poster, some of the opening ceremonies, wondering when Yama became a bad guy, being happy at being an understudy, working-out at their crappy gym, and hating Bush for not putting a price cap in California since I had to pay 2.50 per night for electricity. I didn't talk to anyone since I really didn't know anyone; so I mostly just kept to myself, thinking, "So that's what you look like," anytime I saw someone's name I recognized off the 'Net.
I read a little bit of The Fall that night and decided I was just too tired to read any; so I went to bed, eager to jump into the next days activities.
There's almost no way under those circumstances that you could have been TOO loud.
Yama's paying for a mistake he made by the way. The original title of Bad Guys was "The Redemption Squad". I was told that sounded too religious and not catchy enough. The execs at Disney wanted to call the show "Bad Boys". I refused. Bad Guys seemed like a good compromise.