I can’t sing. My speech isn’t clear enough to do any kind of reliable performing. I can’t walk across the room or do a Rockette dance kick and my “jazz hands” are a disgrace to performers everywhere. I used to be a performer and now it taxes me to sit in the audience for a whole show. It’s hard as hell to write even this much.
Here is how you can help: Open your arms wide and breathe in the beautiful fucking miracle of your brief existence here alongside the hummingbirds, the butterflies and Johnny Depp. Let your life be the raucous party it wants to be and don’t worry about god calling the cops. I still refuse to believe any god worth a damn is a buzz kill. Stand on your fabulous legs and give your ass a sassy wiggle. Dance, sing, laugh and make-out frequently.
I will join you, and as you can see from the video below, I’ll do the best with what I’ve got. This video, by the way, is a gift from me to you with much, much love.
P.S. Listen carefully to the lyrics, sung by my gal, Aretha.