As I prepare to deliver another heartfelt rendition of this loveliest of Christmas songs to an assembled crowd, I am always struck by my panic, left over from my singer-in-training days, that I will not get the high note. The one everyone waits for, and the one that makes the song. The version tonight is in a fairly safe key, but like most people's fear of public speaking, I too have the fear of Public High Note Shaming. Kelly, my realistic, ever-grounded fellow singer, always tells me that we are our own worst critics and that the majority of people don't know from bunk if you mess up. Maybe I have too much faith in my fellow man, for I imagine everyone in the audience with a pen and paper in hand, writing extraordinarily-crafted, detailed critiques of my every diaphragmatic offering. (A flair for exaggeration? Yes, I do have that.)
However, nothing makes me feel more at ease - or makes me nearly lose control of my bladder - than this. There is no possible way that anything I could sing tonight could come remotely near it. And if it did, I would sell it and make millions off of my comedic genius, like this singer should have done a la William Hung and Florence Foster Jenkins.
1 comment:
How was the singing? I sure it went well. I am excited to see you on Sat. How does 4pm sound? that way we can eat and hang for a while. (ps if i suggested this time already, it is dec. so my mind is mush, so please forgive me).
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