The amps are tuned. The stage is set. The audience is primed with pre-funked 20 somethings ready to be rocked by me. I tune my axe, the club's lights dim, and I'm ready to be worshiped at the altar of music.
Okay I'm not a musician. Yes I was playing Rockband 2 last night.
I was opening up songs on the game alternating between the drums and the guitar. I noticed myself becoming somewhat decent at the instruments and decided to make the game more interesting. Instead of doing the normal strums and drumming I thought it would be a good idea to add a little Wiwille flavor to the video game.
Yes I was rockin. I was twirling the sticks, banging them together during brief interludes, and singing along with the songs. On the guitar I would rock out moving my body with the beat, headbanging, and pretending that I was indeed part of a real show. It was glorious as I was belting out tunes from The Smashing Pumpkins, Bob Dylan, Paramore, and Motorhead. In my unstable mind I was a rock god and no one could tell me any different.
That is until I realized the curtains were open. Not only were my antics in full view of the passerbys of my apartment complex and my neighbor from upstairs did not just glance in at a grown man playing video games, but she thought she was entitled to a free show. I stop, we both stare at each other, she giggled, and walked away. Bitch didn't even pay a cover.
Of course she has to be hot which led to further humiliation and less chance of a date. You would think from previous experience that I would know better than to leave a window open while pretending to be rockstar.
"People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, then repent." - Bob Dylan