Suddenly, it’s 1998. Not that I’m wearing nylon pants from Abercrombie & Fitch with the zip-off legs. No. I am talking into the microphone again. Trying to sell someone on guitars, or ointment, or something. And I sound like an idiot.
I’m used to the microphone. I’ve been in radio forever. It’s the commercial voice over process that makes me feel like I slept through an entire semester of doing. I remember this feeling well. I can’t say certain words. I hate the sound of others. As an actor and radio personality, I am doubly cursed. Burdened with the insecurities of two.
One of my personalities should at least have the courtesy to buy the other a drink.