New Orleans, LA!

I had a blast reuniting with my old friend James who was in our band back in the 90s: I was the lead singer; he was the shirtless sax player. Such great times.

Chances are you probably saw our music videos and/or heard our cover songs – from the Backstreet Pups to the Spice Dogs. We were an overnight sensation! The sky was the limit. The crowds were massive!

Sadly, we quickly discovered how fame is fleeting. The VH1 “Behind the Music” documentary about us showed how fans went from packing our concerts and throwing Milk Bones at our venues … before we were suddenly upstaged by a stupid poodle who went viral for singing Frank Sinatra tunes. It felt like we became passé just as quickly as we arrived. But that’s showbiz.

Lessons learned, my dudes.

Tonight, James and I belted out “My Way” in the French Quarter as a tribute to our brief moment in the spotlight!

But … here’s the thing. As much as I loved our reunion and the nostalgia, the fact is we live in a pandemic world and things are weird. So was James was being careful? Sanitizing his hands?

I had to give a few sniffs during our jam session to make sure he was OK.

Needless to say, I killed the vibe.

Good news! Everything is fine. James is healthy, Covid-free, and will headline a local venue tonight.

Meantime, I’m still waiting for my Star on the Bourbon Street Walk of Fame. I don’t understand the holdup and may file a petition to make it happen. Who’s with me?

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