The 5-Minute Rule
LOST. I miss that show so much. And despite incredible television still being made with shows like Homeland, Breaking Bad, and Parks & Recreation, there will never again be a show so beloved, so hotly discussed, and so beautifully imagined and executed as LOST.
In the pilot episode, during Jack and Kate’s debut interaction, Kate must stitch up a gaping wound Jack received when the plan went down. Kate is reluctant, woozy, but reassured when Jack tells a story about letting the fear in.
Take a look:

… but only for 5 seconds … 1, 2, 3, 4 … 5.
Kate later uses this tactic during her first terrifying encounter with the smoke monster.
Thursday’s show at Good Hurt was terrible. Well, it wasn’t terrible, but … it wasn’t perfect. Things didn’t go as planned, and for me … that’s terrible. We had received the physical copies of NLFTE literally minutes before we needed to leave emberghost HQ, some great French bands were going to be playing, quite a few of my friends were coming out, Alex Ramone would be singing with me, and in the vastness of my vivid imagination, I saw an adoring crowd and a long line at the merch table.
Alas …
The venue didn’t let us in until 15 minutes before I was supposed to go onstage (despite instructing us via email to be there an hour before our set), and I wasn’t allowed to soundcheck until literally 2 minutes before I played. Most of the bands hadn’t arrived yet, and it was just a few of my friends in an otherwise empty venue, which, if you’re a performer, you know that it’s a lonely way to play. Still, if I was only playing for my friends, I was going to give them a good show.
I opened with My Wilderness, a new song that I’d never played before, and it went well. Very well. I even caught myself admiring in real time how great it sounded. Afterwards, I invited Alex onstage so that she could sing the female vocal for What Should be Familiar. She forgot a few of the lyrics, but it was an otherwise solid performance.
That’s when my vocal processor started acting up. See, I like to have control over the effects and ambiance on my voice; some songs need more reverb and delay, others less … either way, I hate having to rely on some disgruntled soundman that is sick of wannabe divas demanding more vocal in the monitor. Anyway … the thing just shut off.
I knew this was going to happen. I knew it. I should have just bought that power adapter (it was running on AA batteries).
Sweating profusely in an awkwardly silent room, I fiddled and fiddled, wasting about 10 minutes of my settime until I just decided to sing straight thru the house system and have soundguy throw some reverb on my voice for Monsters (I had skipped Marching and Battlefield, which was terribly disappointing for me). I sang uncomfortably throughout the song, and was painfully aware that my ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend had witnessed my meltdown/lack of professionalism/technical difficulties … what a nightmare. By the time the song had concluded, so had my allotted set time.
My friends mercifully cheered me on for more, but it was a no-go, insisted disgruntled soundguy.
Dammit.
I thanked the audience and made awkward statements about our CD being for sale, all with a flustered, defeated lack of confidence. And despite having sweated a fifth of my body weight off, I put on my hoodie, and in a Charlie Pace-esque defense mechanism, I pulled the hood up over my head in a futile effort to hide from everyone in the room while I broke down my gear.

I needed an exit like Jason Bourne in an embassy …
I futilely hid in the car before I realized that, you know, cars have windows. I walked across the street to nowhere in particular in the creepy Venice darkness, hoping to shake the shame and disappointment, fighting flattering text messages along the way:
Don’t be too hard on yourself. You sounded great.
I sounded like a bumbling idiot.
Stop it. Everyone is telling me how impressed they were with you. Others said they thought you were amazing. And it was a technical issue, it wasn’t you.
Thanks, but I’m not going to be convinced otherwise.
I called up partner-in-crime Daniel Alden to vent my frustration, and in his ever-disarming-way, he cooled me down and told me to head back in and have a beer with my friends and try to enjoy the night. We discussed a show we had played years ago in Tacoma, which to this day, is still the most awful show we’ve ever played. But instead of moping all night, we opted to drive up to Seattle and try to have as much fun as possible. We did. Total anarchy ensued, including getting chased by custodial staff under the Space Needle, and running amok in the hotel hallways in our underwear. It remains one of the best nights of my life.
So with some prompting from Nare, I made my humble way back to the venue. There I explained my brief disappearance to my friends, including aforementioned ex and her BF, who responded with empathy and understanding.
There will always be bad shows. There will always be technical issues. There will always be disgruntled soundguy.
These things I cannot control. What I can control is how I deal with it, and if the sound system explodes, I need to learn how to bust out the acoustic and serenade the audience in the dark …
And when the show is bad, when no one cared, when I performed poorly, etc., I still need to come out to the merch table and greet friends and fans enthusiastically and with a smile on my face and sell some f—-in records. Because unless we’re selling records and making fans, we can’t keep the lights on in this operation.
So from this moment forth is decreed the Five-Minute Rule, wherein Parker will receive exactly 5 minutes, no more/no less, in complete, undisturbed isolation to mope/cry/scream/punch walls/kick babies/tear hair out/panic/be insecure and neurotic/laugh maniacally/etc. Once the allotted five minutes is concluded, Parker will then reemerge refreshed and ready to conquer.
5 minutes to let it in, to let it take over … but that’s all I’m gonna give it.