You don't want to hear about my weekend. You are not interested in what I thought of the Prids, or tales of the clothing swap, or the House of Usher reunion. You don't want to hear about the awesome DJ at Gossip -- was his name Miles? I think it was Miles. You are profoundly uninterested in my aerial training regimen, or how I missed the Rasputina ( Read more... )

I am not going to tell you about my act. I am not going to tell you about my act. Seriously, I am not interested in building up a whole lot of anticipation only to injure myself or get sick at the last minute. I don't want to stand in another audience at another Hubba watching Miss Information skip the card with my name on it and explaining why I ( Read more... )

I would like to stop being sick. No sooner did I mostly recover from this terribly stomach thing, then I came down with a new round of Death Cough and sinus headaches. Rather than staying home and clutching my head, I was determined to go out. I swallowed my pride (along with some Sudafed) and attended the Hubba Hubba Revue's Prehistoric show, ( Read more... )