166. tvc15
Caitlyn Moran's "How to Be a Woman" is my latest book; I read a quarter of it on the ride to New York. In it, she talks about masturbation and how her fantasies revolved around both Chevy Chase and Buck Rogers—neither fantasy worthy (or even nice—at least not Chevy) by any stretch.
So I don't feel at all embarrassed to say that my fantasies were two Davids—Cassidy and Bowie. I wanted to have a relationship with the former and just be in the same room with the latter.
Bowie was my first big-girl concert—1976. "Un Chien Andalou" was the opening act. It was the Station to Station tour. I had already loved Bowie for a good five years.
We spent about two and a half hours in the Brooklyn Museum's "Bowie Is" exhibit. I'm sure I cried too many times. Every time a song came on the headset, I thought: "I LOVE this song!" (With one exception: "Let's Dance.") This was an intensely crafted, thorough look at all the things that made Bowie the incredible genius he was, and leaving felt like I was saying goodbye all over again.
In the evening, we went to Marie's Crisis Cafe, a Broadway singalong bar. Despite hating musicals, I enjoyed the bar immensely, especially the colored lights on the ceiling and the friendly patrons.
Again, despite the comfy quarters, I couldn't sleep. I dare say I missed having a TV to lull me.
My depression is deepening, a result of sleeping pills and events. Maybe it is time to try again with meds.
I'm sad. And that just goes to show you that wherever you go, there you are. You cannot get away from yourself.
"One of these nights I may just jump down that rainbow way
Be with my baby, then we'll spend some time together"
—David Bowie
166. tvc15
Caitlyn Moran's "How to Be a Woman" is my latest book; I read a quarter of it on the ride to New York. In it, she talks about masturbation and how her fantasies revolved around both Chevy Chase and Buck Rogers—neither fantasy worthy (or even nice—at least not Chevy) by any stretch.
So I don't feel at all embarrassed to say that my fantasies were two Davids—Cassidy and Bowie. I wanted to have a relationship with the former and just be in the same room with the latter.
Bowie was my first big-girl concert—1976. "Un Chien Andalou" was the opening act. It was the Station to Station tour. I had already loved Bowie for a good five years.
We spent about two and a half hours in the Brooklyn Museum's "Bowie Is" exhibit. I'm sure I cried too many times. Every time a song came on the headset, I thought: "I LOVE this song!" (With one exception: "Let's Dance.") This was an intensely crafted, thorough look at all the things that made Bowie the incredible genius he was, and leaving felt like I was saying goodbye all over again.
In the evening, we went to Marie's Crisis Cafe, a Broadway singalong bar. Despite hating musicals, I enjoyed the bar immensely, especially the colored lights on the ceiling and the friendly patrons.
Again, despite the comfy quarters, I couldn't sleep. I dare say I missed having a TV to lull me.
My depression is deepening, a result of sleeping pills and events. Maybe it is time to try again with meds.
I'm sad. And that just goes to show you that wherever you go, there you are. You cannot get away from yourself.
"One of these nights I may just jump down that rainbow way
Be with my baby, then we'll spend some time together"
—David Bowie