My Mount Everest! My Niagara Falls! Please Be Kind To Me!

Apparently it's called glossophobia: the fear of public speaking. Some would also call it performance anxiety but I don't really cotton to that term for obvious reasons.

The thing is, I have typically been an acute sufferer of glossophobia. I mean I get it in spades I tell you. Some of you who know me, however, probably find that hard to believe. I can be a bit of a ham. I like to deflect all serious inquiries with humorous asides and wacky nonsequitors. I have at one time or another, and occasionally still, held the desire to try my hand at stand-up comedy, improv and acting. It is all true. Embarrassing though it is. And yet this fear has plagued me all my life. Why even as a lad in elementary school I was so riddled with stage fright that I bowed out of my scheduled performance as one of the three wise men in a nativity play, leaving poor baby Jesus without any myrrh.

Since then I have avoided any situation that would require me to perform in a public setting. In fact, if you want to get deeper, I'm sure this all stems from some deep-seeded, all-pervasive, root fear - a general fear of failure the likes of which has caused me to quit everything before I've had the chance to succeed or fail...but that is neither here nor there.*

The reason I bring any of this up is to tell you, kind readers, that I have begun a three part program to cure myself of this ailment. And it goes thusly:

Part One: Sing at a karaoke bar. Part one has been accomplished...twice. Feeling a little bit more comfortable up there. Thanks to Billy Kernkamp, whose gig hosting a karaoke night at Harvey's opened the door for me, and the support of various friends and acquaintances who made me feel like comfortable up on that stage: Justin Deckert, Mary Bell, Steve Carson and of course my lovely girlfriend, Krystal Flevotomos.

Part Two: Sign up for an acting class. Part two has been partially accomplished. I am currently enrolled in a beginning acting class. I've only finished one class thus far but I will have you know that I did have to descend to the floor, move about on "all fours" as they say, and pretend to be, variously, a puppy, a kitten, a chimp and a lion.**

Part Three: Perform stand-up comedy at an open mic night. Now this is my Mount Everest to climb. However, it may just prove to be my Niagara Falls to go over in a barrel. We shall see.


* It is somewhere though. Probably in my frontal lobe.
** I was also paired up with a forty-six year old, ex-gang member, Compton bred, self-proclaimed "hustler" and recent stroke victim, named Paul, for an "open scene" project. I may conquer my fear of public performance but I believe my fear of shady black people may prove to be life-long.

Fate Is Pulling At Our Coat Sleeves

Okay, so I got a bit of a late start here on the New Year but dagnabit, I'm doing it! What is "it" you say? "It" is yet another feeble attempt to keep the creative sauces boiling by starting, and more importantly, maintaining a blog. So I need you, dear reader, to leave comments, send emails and make personal phone calls, reminding me I need to post something at least once a week. Yeah, that's right, I'm asking you to get involved. This isn't gonna be easy, folks. We're all going to have to make a lot of sacrifices. We may even develop a mutual hatred for each other but slamdunkit, we're going to make something out of this blog! So let's put on our boots, pull up our sleeves, and get to work!