Steve Prince is a jet setter with music on his mind. Too bad for him, that's not all.
Bullets and Bracelets... and Lube
By Steve Prince
I didn't want to roll over. I didn't want to see it... taunting me. I sighed, finally deciding to turn over and look.
There it was... 2:37am. Dammit.
I'd been laying in bed for two hours now but just couldn't fall asleep, and of course I had to get up early the next morning. I didn't want to keep looking at the clock, but I had to. Unfortunately, it was getting later and later.
Finally, I decided to call it a loss. I turned on my bedside lamp and threw back my covers. I walked to my desk and grabbed my MacBook. I figured I'd bore myself on the Internet until I lulled myself to sleep. Okay, let's be honest—I was gonna look at porn and beat off.
I opened my computer, greeted by the familiar glow of my desktop. Much like a mood ring, my computer desktop usually embodies my current loves or obsessions. Sometimes it's Justin Timberlake, or sometimes it's a picture of me with my friends, or sometimes it's something that makes me laugh. I usually change it once every month or so... except for my Christian Bale phase. That was when I first moved to Los Angeles, way before Batman Begins. I happened to meet him while working at a makeup counter; I sold his wife bronzer. I remember talking to him and thinking, "On my computer desktop right now, I have a picture of you from American Psycho where you're in the shower, naked!" I left that picture up for about a year. Hey, come on... it's Christian Bale.
I looked at my clock (glowing 2:45), then back at my screen saver—Wonder Woman. Y'all already know that I love Wonder Woman. She's an Amazon princess cum super-heroine, and the fact that my last name is Prince is even more serendipitous. But not only do I love Wonder Woman, I specifically love Lynda Carter. I remember every Saturday afternoon at 6pm re-runs would air. Often, I'd be outside playing in the later afternoon, but when 5:59 hit, I'd haul ass into the house, jump in the air, and land on the couch—just in time to sing the theme song.
I moved my computer cursor to my Internet icon and paused. Hmm... I wondered what Lynda Carter was up to these days. I decided to Google her.
The first site that came up said Lynda Carter had a cabaret show. What? I knew Lynda Carter could sing, but I thought she hadn't in years (for those of you who own her album Patience, I love you). I clicked on the site and as it came up, I gasped so loud that I worried I'd wake my roommate. I blinked in the dark, focusing to see if I was dreaming.
Lynda Carter was doing a cabaret show in San Francisco next week. Shit the bed.
Sometimes things happen in life and you just act without thinking. Jumping in front of car to save a wandering child's life, donating money to starving children in Africa, doing the jock's homework just so you can suck him off in the high school locker room—these are all reasonable acts of instinct. However, I'm so gay that in four minutes flat, I'd bought my Lynda Carter cabaret ticket, booked a hotel room, and bought a flight without even realizing that I'd have to work that day. All I can say is thank God my boss is Jay Day, because she understands such matters. A week later, I was busily trying to get my work finished so I could get my ass to LAX and catch my 45-minute flight to San Francisco.
The plan was this:
My flight got into Oakland at 6pm, and then I'd take the train to San Francisco. From there I'd take a cab to my hotel, which happened to be the same place where Lynda Carter was performing at 8pm. Perfect.
Or not. I think my favorite part of the trip was sitting on the runway at LAX for 45 minutes because the plane had too much luggage. What kind of a fuckin' excuse is that? Too much luggage? Come on Southwest, be prepared! Ugh. By the time we touched down in Oakland it was 7pm. I had an hour to get to the theatre. I ran through the airport like Catherine O'Hara in that scene from Home Alone. I had to get to my Lynda on time—I didn't want to be late. I ran past a McDonalds and my stomached lurched. I was starving. Work was so busy that I didn't have time to eat. I made a mental note to stop and eat at the hotel.
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