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I don't pay attention to the number of birthdays. It's weird when I say I'm 53. It just is crazy that I'm 53. I think I'm very immature. I feel like a kid. That's why my back goes out all the time, because I completely forget I can't do certain things anymore - like doing the plank for 10 minutes.
As a very small child I found recorded noise and the solitary singer beneath the spotlight so dramatic and so brave... walking the plank... willingly... It was sink or swim. The very notion of standing there, alone, I found beautiful.
Heisenberg, Max Plank and Einstein, they all agreed that science could not solve the mystery of the universe.
The maid that loves goes out to sea upon a shattered plank, and puts her trust in miracles for safety.
My command, less than ten thousand, had found the battle on the Plank road in retreat, little less than a panic. In a few hours we changed defeat to victory, the broken divisions of the Third Corps rallying in their rear.
A singer for me is more like someone who is standing alone with a microphone like Scott Walker, rather than someone who is bashing a plank and is spitting all over a microphone.
You can't hold back. You can't think of the subtleties of playing. You just have to get out and really bare it all, and hopefully you don't fall off the plank. And if you do, hey, pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and start all over again.
My go-to prebikini flat-ab move is the plank, all different types.
I'm as thick as a plank.
When you're going for a joke, you're stuck out there if it doesn't work. There's nowhere to go. You've done the drum role and the cymbal clash and you're out on the end of the plank.
