Everything is wrong with me
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
 
freakin' out
I got nothing for you today.

Tomorrow, I have to give a presentation to about 50 lawyers: mostly old, mostly white, very rich men (mostly). I have no idea why I got picked to do this, but I can not express what a phenomenal error in judgment this is on the part of my superiors. Me, the guy who spends his day thinking of and then transcribing jokes about retards for the internet, talking to a room full of NYC power-brokers whose combined wealth hovers around, if not well over, the one billion dollar mark.

So I'm in full panic mode, and completely freaking out. Usually, I never get nervous, because being nervous means you have to care about something, and, well, you know. The last times I was nervous were a) my driver's test ("God, I really need to get started on this whole 'drunk driving' thing") and b) the first time I fingerblasted a girl ("How am I going to know where the hole is? Will it just slip right in? What happens if I get hungry during it?").

But I'm feeling it. And really, it's my fault. The details are too boring to get into, but I was supposed to have been familiarizing myself with the topic of the presentation starting three months ago. Last Friday, I realized, "Holy shitballs! That presentation's next Thursday!" and looked at the material for the first time.

So I'm totally fucked. Totally, totally fucked. This isn't like college, when you can not do shit all semester, then snort a bunch of Ritalin at 11pm the night before a test, read 500 pages in four hours, and then kick ass on a test. These are some of the brightest minds in America (and England and France and Germany), Ivy League grads and Rhodes Scholars, rocking my world during the Q&A session, as I stand there with sweat rings that start at my elbows and connect in the middle of my belly, giving answers like, "I'm going to have to look into that and get back to you" or "Look, you know I don't know the answer, so why the hell are you asking me the question?" or "Is this thing over? Fuck this all. Fuck it all to hell."

And I don't even know where to start this thing (the presentation itself). I was thinking of something like, "Any Yankee fans in the house?" Then I thought that I might as well fuck the whole thing and say, "Do you guys know what a 'blog' is?" and put this site up there for them to read while I wolfed down the free salmon salad, knowing it's the last free meal I'll ever get on corporate America.

So I have nothing for you except my own neurosis, insecurity, anxiety, and physical discomfort (that Chipotle burrito I had for lunch is not sitting well).

So I'll get you back tomorrow. In the meantime, if you have a god, pray for me. If not, send me naked pictures of yourself dancing with a monkey and holding a fire hose. You know, or whatever.



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