Today is my 55th birthday. The Sammy Hagar tune “I Can’t Drive 55” keeps running through my head. It occurs to me that someday my kids will take my car keys away from me. After all, I am creeping closer to that golden age. I just hope to God that when they do, it’s the result of a high speed chase across multiple counties and not because of some embarrassing fender bender in a Costco parking lot. But back to the birthday, it’s a weird…
Chloe is a retired sumo wrestler who lives in my head. I brought him on board about a year ago. Although he’d recently retired from professional wrestling, he was still looking for some action and I needed help. Chloe provides a security detail of sorts. I have these little thought bubbles that often evolve into full-blown characters. Once this happens, they create all kinds of trouble. Individually, they’re unhelpful misfits. But they tend to run together in an insidious group that I can the…
OK, here it is: I hate to get dressed for a gig. I should probably be more specific. I intensely dislike the process of getting the glamour on for a performance. The business of hair, make-up and fashion is bewildering to me. I’ve said it many times before; I find the feminine arts to be, well, stressful. This has been a lifelong difficulty for me. I’ve always been too big and clunky to fit into our cultural ideal of beauty. I have broad shoulders, a…
