last call

tonight's the night.

tune the strings, power up the PA, worble through the first few notes, then procede directly to kick ass!

Oh . . . yeah . . . I've been a wreck all week.

The butterflies in my stomach are playing Wagner and looking for a good place to surf.

But there are a few truisms to consider before letting go of the turkey sandwich I had for lunch.

One . . . sucking won't kill me. In fact sucking may be the very message from god that I have been looking for. The message that tell's me "Sweety, you're so out of your league" So then I can rest, catch up on a few novels, take my kid to the park, buy my wife something pretty that doesn't make her feel fat, and retire with the full knowledge I did my darndest.

Two . . . kicking ass won't kill me. It'll make my future prioities a little skewed. It might even force me to make sacrifices that up until this point I've been putting off. It'll make me get in shape, stop smoking, make me take my job less seriously, you know . . . good stuff.

Three . . . mediocraty won't kill me. Wait, yeah, that one would probably kill me.

Also I have some words of wisdom:

Laurence Olivier (Say it like you're french) used to step out onto the empty stage an hour before every performance and say this,

"Tonight you are about to see the greatest show of your theater going lives . . . oh you lucky people."

It's not arrogance, which is just a shield for insecurity, it's just pure pride. It says be proud of yourself and what you're about to do.

That's nice.

"Hey now, you're a rock star, get your game on"

That's nice too.

Lastly, however, is my wife's words an hour ago.

"Get over yourself."

Sorry boys . . . she's all mine.