I gave another presentation this morning. This one to 400 freshmen in a high school in Seattle. And I got to tell you, I don't know how stage actors do it. I was on stage, under the overhead lights and in the crosshairs of the spotlights for just 45 minutes and I came off sweating so bad I felt as if somebody was basting me. It's obvious to me that whoever said "never let them see you sweat" hadn't ever experienced the sensation of standing under 8,000 jigowatts of electric output. I felt like one of those fish sandwhiches at McDonalds. Left alone to turn leathery and rot beneath the warming lamps while their more popular compadres either die a quick death in the bowels of hungry carnivores or simply get taken to a place with air conditioning.
Despite the sweat running down the inside of my Men's Wearhouse sportcoat, the presentation went pretty well. Naturally, there were a few girls who were hell-bent on playing the too cool for school routine. Little by little, they tried to be more disruptive but it was clear the class wasn't really paying them any attention. And besides, the class had Spazmonkey to chear on. Nothing like asking for two volunteers and having one of them proclaim that his name is Spazmonkey. No, what's you're real name? Okay, but I don't want to call you Spazmonkey. Can we call you something else? Please? The first kid I picked was named Hunter and everyone thought that was funny and laughed. Including him. Little did he know I would trot out my boy Spazmonkey moments later. Nothing like trying to demonstrate the importance of your freshman year grades on your overall GPA when a kid named Spazmonkey is your example.
At least the three chatty kathy's knew they had been upstaged and were content on being quiet for the remaining 25 minutes.