Whenever a great artist moves on to the next big gig, metaphysically speaking, there is a clamor for someone to fill the void. Nature abhors a vacuum so it must be filled. Who's going to be the next Beatles, the next Grateful Dead, Led Zeppelin, Barry Manilow? People want to know. Like dust bunnies from beneath the bed, up and coming performers start popping up wanting to fill the vacuum. That's the way the biz works.

With the passing of Michael Jackson I finally see my opening. I think I have what it takes. My nose is pretty thin. And it sure is pale. I can't go out in the sun without sunscreen lest I burn to a crisp. I have my own singular way of dancing, for sure. I bet I have a few pairs of gloves with one of the pair missing. Sure I'm not as cool as MJ, and certainly I'm a lot taller, but the trick is not to copy but to fill the niche; to fill the same need without being the same person.

There will be plenty of MJ impersonators. They have their role. What is called for now is someone to be the phenomenon that others want to impersonate. I think I'm up for the job.  So I'm getting out my dancing shoes and doing some thrillin'. Stand back, baby. This is it.