the ocean

I've just rescheduled my show that was supposed to debut on March 17, 2020, otherwise known as the week lockdowns hit Chicago. So if we end up with another round of global disaster prior to April 3, 2022, we'll know this whole thing was my fault. 

I will admit that I did initially take the first cancellation rather personally, as though the waves of severe illness and death worldwide were just an elaborate plot to derail my promising performance career. Sort of like when Willa Ford blamed 9/11 for the failure of her musical efforts subsequent to "I Wanna Be Bad." I mean, maybe? But also, like, maybe the pitch of "like Britney, Christina, Ashlee Simpson, Mandy Moore, and the rest, but hornier" wasn't destined to have staying power regardless of Osama and company? But as it turned out, several months at home with limited human contact were a pretty good reality check. And not just a great opportunity to try and fail at bangs. Anyway, I shelved my impending stardom in the interest of, like, not killing people by convincing them to watch me sing song parodies where I rhyme various things with "balls."

But now the case counts are dropping and, let's face it, people are doing much stupider things than spending an hour at my cabaret show. (I mean, Lollapalooza happened, and somehow did not herald then end of mankind, just civilization, as usual.) So if you're in the area and so inclined, I'm doing a thing: