Ftrain, by Paul Ford

Every time before performing, esp. such personal material to a collection of utter strangers, I succumb to a mini-panic attack. About an hour before I am to arrive at the venue I suddenly feel confused by bright lights and have difficulty focusing my vision. The page is barely legible, the screen even less so. I remind myself that this is normal and drink more water. In this case (and this one only) it is appropriate to have a cigarette. Sometimes I lie on the ground with my eyes closed. Sometimes I go and talk to people. I am proud that I have learned to panic ahead of time, and in a predictable and calm manner.

Even so, I enjoy it. I need to make sure that I am not asking the audience to like me, that I am not pandering. Hector the slends? I do not know. Bits need polish. Etc, etc. Twelve trillion other adjustments could be made, dials and knobs turned. Almost by accident I did some Photoshop work for U2 so I have tickets to tonight's show at Giants Stadium. Looking forward to vanishing in a crowd.

"Good luck on the next 40," someone said to me.

"Thanks. And the next 40 after that," I said. But this not really being the point. Asked to stand up and do my ten minutes, given a choice of what aspect of myself to magnify, I only want to magnify my humility. It's a challenge.

Weight: 318 lbs