Anyone who meets me more than once can tell you who I love and have loved for YEARS (I discovered him when I was 11) my long time love, my 1st love, David Bowie. I can honestly say “Hunky Dory” peppered with “The Rise and Fall Ziggy Stardust” saved my life for about 4 years straight (also known as high school). He is the one person who never lets me down. Reality is he is not a person. Well, let me elaborate on that… he of course IS a person, a human being with feelings and a life but all I know of him is his music. And this is how I love “him”… his music. I don’t know him personally although I have several friends who have toured, performed, dined and hung with him. I, however, had the opportunity to meet him but declined. I just knew he could never live up to the man I created from the sounds he created. My fantasy of this perfect being who always knew the right thing to say poetically, artfully, articulately, perfectly. He was always there when I needed him. Never judged me and seemingly was always in an equal amount of pain as I was. A poet expressing himself with the timber I felt into my bones. Which leads me to this…
I was at a party at the Chateau Marmont. A reading and book release for Cherry Vanilla’s “LICK ME” It was a fabulous party hosted by Bryan Rabin and Rufus Wainwright. (Rufus actually belted out 2 songs on the grand piano in the lounge which nearly smudged my eye liner).
I arrived and saddled up to the Dj area where Howie Pyro was spinning his usual mix of obscure and amazing. I told him I was going to do a lap to take it all in when he grabbed my arm and with eyes as wide as his turn-tables gasped “ANGIE BOWIE” I took a quick glance at the room and replied “plumage?” (there was a lady standing nearby with her back to me adorning a hat which to me looked like a dead bird dyed 5 shades of purple) “NO” he replied “silver shiny”
And silver shiny she was, still with her famous short hair dyed platinum and in a silver sequined dress I heard her voice booming over the music, cackling as she spun around the room or, more accurately, the back of the room. I attempted to meet her when Michael Schmitt was in her clutch but that clutch was tighter than a death grip and I couldn’t get either of them to pay attention. So I did another lap and when I returned saw Howie had caught her eye and the 2 of them were belly laughing and mumbling something about falling down (turns out Angie had spun Howie around and tripped on one of the low tables and the 2 of them tumbled on top of each other). I looked at her an announced “I want to meet Angie Bowie” To which she replied “You’re FOXY” engulfed me in silver sequins then released me as if we never met. This picture is taken immediately after our embrace, and, she has NO idea I am hanging around her neck… she was already tracking on her next focus. Hilarious. And EXACTLY why I never want to meet David Bowie.
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