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I was born with music inside me. Music was one of my parts. Like my ribs, my kidneys, my liver, my heart. Like my blood. It was a force already within me when I arrived on the scene. It was a necessity for me - like food or water.
I grew up in Doraville, Georgia and I ate barbecued ribs and chicken fried steak, and all kinds of cheesy grits, you know, and I never even thought twice about it.
Ringside seats mean you hear the breaking of ribs, the splattered cartilage of what was once the boxer's nose, the dislocation of the jaw, the horrifying 'ugggh' that the boxer utters milliseconds after receiving a crushing left hook to the solar plexus or kidneys or head.
I was always shocked when I went to the doctor's office and they did my X-ray and didn't find that I had eight more ribs than I should have or that my blood was the color green.
Hmmm... cooking with wine? I usually drink wine while cooking... I do a good braised short ribs with cabernet, though. We're big red wine drinkers here. All that research showing that it's good for you takes the guilt away.
When I'm on the road traveling, the things I miss most are my two children and barbecuing with friends. Rack of ribs, lamb and veal are my specialties.
I know my husband really loves me because he takes me to have ribs. He says I'm the only girl he ever took out who actually ate anything on her plate, as opposed to pushing it around.
I should get a few ribs taken out, because I'll be in a corset for the rest of my life.
Bread pudding makes me weak. I have been known to be moved to tears by cookies and ice cream, and ribs are a spiritual experience for me.
I've broken my nose, I've broken ribs. You name it. In fact, we just got back from South America, and I fell over a monitor speaker on the stage and almost ended up in the front row of the audience. I managed to sprain my wrist on that one but luckily nothing was broken.
