Lately, I’ve been slammed: psycho slammed. I’m working on a sizable writing job that will pretty much go until the end of the year. I’ve got another big ass job for one of my regular freelance clients. On top of these demands, I’ve been gigging a lot and also just trying to stay on top the usual life stuff of being a mom, driving the carpool, feeding the teen animals and paying the bills on time. And of course, there’s the added frenzy…
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…
Today’s post is about going the distance. Let’s face it: the universe does not always shower us with inspiration and flowers on a daily or, sometimes, even weekly basis. Every artist that I know occasionally goes through periods of seeming stagnation; long stretches of waiting for the phone to ring or the grant monies to come through; uncomfortable dry patches with no gigs in sight and no love from the club owners that are normally happy to book you; or an abysmally slow month…
There are obviously a lot of opinions about the effectiveness and relevancy of the growing Occupy Wall Street movement. Some view it as a disorganized protest that lacks a cohesive message. Others see it as a significant outcry against an economic/political system that is run amok by greed and corruption. The debate ticks on. But meanwhile, the movement is spreading to major cities (and one Alaskan tundra) throughout the world. Even though the big picture ramifications are still uncertain, the spirit of Occupy Wall Street…
An Open Letter to Mademoiselle Critic If nothing else, you are indeed predictable. I had only been off the bandstand for a few brief beats and you were right there, clicking and clucking away at me. Per usual, your hair was pulled back in a tight bun. A pencil skirt hugged your freakishly thin frame. You peered over stylish glasses which were perched authoritatively just so on the end of your upturned nose. The sharp manicure made your hands look like weapons, especially…
