Just wrote you a nice big blog about how much fun it is to walk in Burbank and watch people try to process that, and how agonizing rehearsal is (I think there’s no way I’m going to remember what I’m supposed to say when…and how many people I met when they were here taping and rehearsing…. and the whole thing crashed and burned….links and all. There’s no time left to rebuild it before I leave either. (I have no idea how old I will be when I remember to hit “Save” often enough.) Instead of rushing or screaming or losing my cool about this…I’m simply going to say “oh Crap” and move on. Better post tomorrow.
The producer who rehearsed my highly unreliable self yesterday says I’m totally ready for taping today. I don’t know if she can be believed. I mean, it could very well be that I’m ready and doing a good job, but if I wasn’t …would she say so? I mean, what sort of a person would turn to you at the end of a rehearsal and say “Well. You suck, and I don’t know who the hell booked you on this nightmare, but we’re out of time to try and sort it all out. Unfortunately for us we’re just going to have to hope that your too-short for Hollywood self improves in the night and you get some kind of a freakin’ clue or you and I are both going to be sucking up whatever this train wreck of an appearance does to both of our careers. Sleep well Yarn Harlot, and don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out.”
Or maybe it’s fine. I’ve gotta go. Thank goodness that there’s only one day of rehearsal. I don’t think I’ve got the psychic strength for more.
(PS. Vicki Howell is sort of short.)