This went way better than I feared it would. Bongo Java is a teensy performance space, and I like it that way. OTOH it's too darn hot; I thought I was going to collapse from heat prostration right in the middle of my first song. I wanted to trade costumes with the dancing girls; ya'll wear this heavy jacket, I'll wear the skimpy fishnets. Anything to stay cool. Anyway, if you go to Bongo Java, try the granola. Yum!
The feedback I got from the family and friends who saw it was that it was quite good but about three weeks too long. "Leave 'em wanting more" is not the credo of our little group. More like "Pound 'em into submission." But it turns out I enjoy the stress and payoff of taking the show on the road. My voice is shot (mostly because of the transition from cold weather to hot) but now I'm looking forward to doing it again in Atlanta.
Also I publicly (and onstage) declared my big crush on fellow cabaret performer Kimberly, regarding which the reader is referred to this post.
Meanwhile, the prayer vigil for my neighbor continues. Never before have I heard him when he was in his apartment and I was in mine, but last night I clearly heard him doing what he does best: cussing real loud, apparently into his phone. Does this burst of renewed vigor indicate that he's in better health than ever, or is it the Thorn Bird's Song? Here's hoping it's his dying throes. Keep praying