I have always felt a special kinship with Brenda. I have frequently succumbed to the impulse to impersonate her by donning a wig, a frock, a sash, a crown, and butt-pads. The whole megillah. At one point in the early ?80s, I was making a semi-regular income from my appearances at Hollywood discos and clubs in full Brenda drag. In the year 2002, I was persuaded (it took at least 17 seconds) to reprise my Brenda look-alike role and cut the ribbon at the new Barneys Co-op store on Wooster Street. I was conveyed to the red carpet in a bicycle rickshaw, crown horribly askew, thanks to the awful jiggling of my vehicle on those ancient Soho cobblestones. Every expense was spared. I was Brenda on a budget.
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