As is sometimes prone to happen here on the bloggie, I sat down this morning with the intention of writing about one thing, but another subject kept pulling for my attention. The muse is funny like that. When she says, “jump,” I say “how high?” Next week, I will indeed resume with a new post for “Our Creative Lives,” but for the present moment, the muse and I are marching down another path. On Sunday night, I watched the Golden Globe Awards. From mutilation via…
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…
