I’m taking my act on the road, and I’d love to see you see me there! The tour kicks off in my home town of Philadelphia, where I will be yelling “Time’s up!” at various A.T.M.s. If you can’t join me for opening night, you can catch me on a rush-hour train the following morning, manspreading the pages of my well-worn copy of “A Vindication of the Rights of Woman” (1792)—a seminal volume.

Next, I’ll hop across the pond to the United Kingdom, where I’ll be lingering in front of the London Zoo, telling visitors who didn’t ask about my personal hero, Lucy Evelyn Cheesman, O.B.E., who was the first female curator of insects. I’ll probably close the show with a ritualistic rending of my garments for the big cats locked away without legal representation—a little thing called doing the work.

Then on to a secret show (you heard it here first!) in Hamburg, Germany. I can’t say exactly where it will take place but, hint, hint: People shopping at a certain gift shop of a certain club will be informed of John Lennon’s (ahem) cavernous history of emotional spousal abuse. My German isn’t so strong. I’ll mime the accusations if I must. And I must.

People probably want to ask me, “Will you ever perform again in Paris?” Of course I will—eventually. But it really comes down to demand for the show, so please contact your conseillers municipaux and ask that the bannissement d’un idiot be lifted, rapidement. I was a student at the time. The whole thing was years ago.

Regardless, a week of rest is scheduled prior to my return stateside. I deserve it, and thankfully hostels are safest for men with gauged ears travelling alone. Though, knowing my passion for justice, I won’t relax much. I’ll probably spend the whole time doing something silly, like volunteering at a blood bank while simultaneously donating blood and providing physical security for ladies at that same blood bank. It’s called intersectionality.

Then, rested (if a little dizzy), I’ll embark on a trip to the belly of the imperial beast/my grandparents’ house in Scranton, Pennsylvania, where I’ve been asked to provide my services to an elderly woman in order to relocate some of my personal archives to a more suitable location. I’ll be going it solo, because I don’t believe in groupies and the environmental impact of flying with them would be staggering. I’ll probably just post up in the back of a Greyhound and stream Caitlin Clark interviews at full volume. As those who have ever accidentally made eye contact with me are well aware, I’ve always supported women’s baseball.

The second leg (sexist term) of the tour will be announced soon. In the meantime, I’m just doing a few intimate gigs, playing the hits: stapling an oversized copy of “The Feminine Mystique” (1963) to my forehead outside of the D.M.V., et cetera. Stay tuned! ♦