Okay, Rolf and I barely had a chance to stretch our legs and catch our breath after a grueling winter spent
kissing in the hammock writing How Not To Act Old, The Book, when we find ourselves forced back to active duty, covering the international phenomenon of Susan Boyle.
You’d think that a chimpanzee had recited Hamlet, or a statue of the Virgin Mary had climbed down from her pedestal and said Mass, so stunned is everyone that a 48-year-old woman — make that a 48-year-old not-so-attractive and not-so-thin woman — might actually have some talent. Might have, for reasons related to home and family, chosen to stay home in her village rather than hoof it to Hollywood. Might deserve our attention.
And just when the world was ready to round up all 48-year-old women and take them back behind the barn and shoot them! What are they good for, anyway? They can’t have babies anymore. They’re not sexy. At work they’re just annoying. And let’s face it, unlike Susan Boyle, most of them can’t even sing.
I, along with the divine Lisa Schwarzbaum over at EW and millions of other people, found tears springing to my eyes when listening to Susan Boyle. And then I slapped myself. Of course, she’s fabulous. Naturally, I’m pleased that her light has finally emerged and that she’s meeting with public acclaim.
But let’s not act as if she’s a freak or a miracle. When all the Susan Boyles routinely get a turn on stage and when the world expects them to be interesting and valuable rather than a joke, then I’ll cry tears of joy.