With a fascination for teen pop starlets that's as well-documented as it is unhealthy--we wasted a whole music issue on it, for godssake--it should probably come as no surprise that I nearly wet myself (not that way) when I read the preliminary dates for Ashlee Simpson's first national tour a few months ago. Ceremonially circling the blessed day on my calendar--Friday, February 25, the year of our Lord 2005; Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall--I began to silently formulate the ammunition I would undoubtedly employ for a laborious, quasi-meta pop culture critique sub-headed with some bullshit like "In Defense of Ashlee Simpson." My entire piddling life had been simply build-up for this perfect moment. This would be my time. This would be my time to shine.

Imagine, then, my genuine disbelief when, on one of my regular visits to www.ashleesimpsonmusic.com, I was met with a glaring oversight in an updated version of Miss Simpson's itinerary--between Seattle's date on the 24th and Vancouver, B.C.'s on the 26th… nothing. I couldn't believe it at first--googling desperately for any official information to comfort me, fruitlessly showering reps at Geffen with ever-more urgent emails about a possible secret appearance--but it appeared that my day in the sun would not be. With little regard for the bereavement of thousands of anxious teenage girls in Beaverton and Gresham (not to mention the starry-eyed enlightenment of my ever-dwindling readership), Ashlee Simpson had left Portland by the wayside. And I don't know if things'll ever be the same.

I mean, come on Ash--how can you pull this shit now? Like, I've totally watched every episode of the Ashlee Simpson Show, bought the irredeemable album that spawned it, stood by you through that whole Saturday Night Live debacle, sympathized over the Orange Bowl, overlooked your canoodling with Ryan Cabrera--I didn't even get all grossed out by that acid reflux shit. And you spit on my dreams for, what? An extra day at the Space Needle or some shit? I feel like I don't even know you anymore! Well that's it. No more. From here on out, you and your hopelessly unruly stomach bile are on your own, sister. (Ashlee, I'm just kidding! REALLY! I didn't mean it! Please call me back! Pleeeease!)