Sensing Self/ Or Self Censor

With muffin tops and and spaghetti arms he painfully demonstrated the most un-sexy version of sex appeal I had ever witnessed, let alone pay $22 to see. With falsetto as his hoop trick and power ballads from kick ass 80s rockers for me to mouth to, he attempted to put his face/name/persona on the map of creativity and star performances by licking his fingers and gyrating his dumpy ass up against his microphone stand.



Desperate for applause, he would make unnecessary costume changes and reveal himself like a Barker beauty miming the outline of a refrigerator. This would only garner the most polite amount of applause that an audience of 50 could muster. Three intermissions and three citron/sodas later, I was barking incessantly about how unprofessional the 37 minute late start time was. About how three intermissions is a lot to ask for when you are a virtual unknown. About how a performer of his age and experience can still be so uncomfortable in his own body. How has he worked at all if he can barely lift his boots to stomp to a beat during Pat Benetar's Invincible.



Don't get me wrong. I love risks and bravery in the arts. But, this guy is ludicrous. Somebody, somewhere told him he could sing (which is all he can do) But, to have to sit in a stuffy theatre in seats that don't give, that I paid $22 for and listen to an adult man of questionable sexuality and gender, flaunt his mediocre vocal stylings while having no sense of self, is the most dreadful time I have had in the theatre in quite sometime.

I know this rant is arrogant in some tones. But, I can't help but feel sorry for his own self-perception or lack there of. Sincerely.