Last night I biked down to Georgetown in Seattle for my friend Andy's birthday. Normally I wouldn't blog about such pedestrian affairs, but this was not any normal birthday party. See, for the past year or so, Andy has been learning the guitar and he's really been digging it. So for his very-milestone-worthy 35th birthday he decided that he wanted to spend his birthday pretending to be a rock star. How pimp an idea is that?
He rented out The Mix Lounge and just rocked out on stage, complete with beautiful women holding up applause and laugh signs, and played the hell out of some David Bowie and some Cracker. He was clearly nervous, a little raw, and he took as many mulligans as he damn well pleased . . . but it was awesome. All of his friends - myself included - clapped and cheered him on the whole night. And I think he drew on that; as the night went on, he got better and better.
Andy, I like the cut o' yer jib, as they used to say in ... uh, well, somewhere. Seriously, I'm inspired. I've been playing guitar since I was 11, been singing for even longer, and I never go to open mics or even do karaoke. Why? Well ... because I'm afraid. I could dress that up with a lot of excuses and half-baked reasons masquerading around as logic, but it's really just that simple: I've been afraid - of failure, most likely.
Maybe I should do something about that. I dunno if I'm quite ready for an open mic set, but I can start by practicing some songs, like maybe some of these:
Who knows, maybe I'll work up the courage to go to an open mic someday. Maybe even sooner than I think.