I finally played Rock Band for the first time over the weekend. Oh, good times.
MOB and I swung over to Bruce's pad on Sunday night, where he had a microphone, drum set, guitar and liquid courage awaiting our arrival. I was timid at first, only agreeing to serve as "drummist" (yes, it is "drummist," not "drummer," where we come from), but after a couple glasses of wine I was belting out some angry Alanis Morissette with the best of 'em.
I was a little handicapped from the unfortunate horse incident earlier in the day, so once romping around with the microphone stand ceased to be a possibility because of incessant ankle pain, I belted out lyrics from the recliner, splayed across the seat like a sloppy drunk with a bag of frozen meatballs icing my injury, while MOB rocked the drums and Bruce tore up guitar solos.
Damn, we were good.
Turns out MOB also has quite the Cockney accent. He scored 100 percent singing "Wonderwall" by Oasis. I think his dream of becoming a rock star increased dramatically that night.
By the end of the night we were exhausted from our rocking exertion. Glorified karaoke is hard work. But I tell you, we'd all make a killer band. You just wait.