The bad part about growing older is I'm going bald. The good part is my nose seems to be getting shorter.
My only writing ritual is to shave my head bald between writing the first and second drafts of a book. If I can throw away all my hair, then I have the freedom to trash any part of the book on the next rewrite.
I went to Ethiopia, and it dawned on me that you can tell a starving, malnourished person because they've got a bloated belly and a bald head. And I realized that if you come through any American airport and see businessmen running through with bloated bellies and bald heads, that's malnutrition, too.
Fortunately, it doesn't seem to have made a lot of difference to my audience that I'm as bald as a billiard ball!
I'm not recognised that much. I'm just a bald man in glasses and there's a rash of them in Dublin. It'd be different if I had a mohican.
When I was 41, I found a lump the size of a grape in my right breast. I ended up bald, sick and exhausted from surgeries, chemo and radiation treatments. Ah, but I got to live.
Wind energy threatens golden eagles, bald eagles, burrowing owls, red-tailed hawks, Swainson's hawks, American kestrels, white-tailed kites, peregrine falcons, and prairie falcons, among many others.
Anyone can be confident with a full head of hair. But a confident bald man - there's your diamond in the rough.
When I was bald, I went through a period where I seemed to do nothing except TV programmes about being bald.