I have made it no secret that I was a tween and a teen during that magical musical time known as the eighties. Back in my day, we had fabulous magazines like Teen Beat and Tiger Beat and Bop!. The sole purpose of these fine periodicals was to deliver glossy photos of hot young movie stars, hot young TV stars, and hot young musicians. The teenage girls into whose hands these hot young photos were delivered would immediately cut those images out and tack them to their walls. I was one of those girls. It seemed to be a required step in the puberty process.

I’m sure, if you’ve ever read this blog before, you can guess who was on my wall: Duran Duran, the cast of The Outsiders, more Duran Duran. But also Adam Ant, The Pet Shop Boys, and this funny British guy with crooked teeth.

Yes, that is David Bowie. Why is he holding a cat? Who knows? I didn't care. Keep in mind that I was still a tween. I loved my British pop stars, but I also loved kitties. I might have had this photo framed.

I’d love to tell you that I admired Bowie because of his voice: so instantly recognizable, yet ever-changing; or his expansive talents—actor, artist, space alien. But I was a young, hormonal girl. Here’s what I loved: his hair, his eyes, and his teeth. He was hot.

His hair, because it always looked perfectly spikily coiffed, something that (despite my best efforts with Dep gel and Aqua Net) I could never achieve. His eyes, because they were not only two different colors, but one pupil was permanently dilated, and thus endlessly fascinating. And his teeth, because they weren’t perfect. (I had never been self-conscious about my teeth until a dentist suggested I have my front uppers and lowers capped to straighten them out. I didn’t do it—up until that very moment, I had never given their crookedness a second thought—but now I am painfully aware of my jack-’o-lantern smile.) Famous people with imperfect teeth hold a special place in my heart (Ethan Hawke, I salute you). If they don’t care about their haphazard grins, why should I?

My point is, as a teenager, I thought David Bowie was handsome and sexy and enigmatic. 

Eventually, I got through puberty and grew up. And happily, as an adult, I found David Bowie to be brilliant and crazy and bizarre and beautiful.

David Bowie was always part of the backdrop as I aged. While I was agonizing over pimples and bad dates and bad marriages and a mortgage, he was singing and acting and reinventing himself over, and over, and over. And in every interview, every video, every movie he popped up in, I thought Hey, there’s my old friend, David Bowie! I love that guy! And once: Hey, what the—did he fix his teeth? How could he?

Waking up Monday morning to the news that David Bowie had left the proverbial building was saddening in a way I wasn’t prepared for. My old friend was gone. His absence was immediate and huge.

Except . . . it isn’t. I have a lot of Bowie on my iPhone, and played his music all week while driving or at my desk. I put on Basquiat Monday night and watched him play one of my other favorite artists, Andy Warhol. Social media and the online sites have been posting tributes all week to this amazing man. And even scrolling through some of my old blog posts, I found references to Bowie that I’d forgotten—my love of his duet with Bing Crosby, only because it’s David Bowie. My love of Labyrinth, even though, let’s be honest, it’s not the best movie in the world. References to “Space Oddity” and “Changes” occasionally made because I’d assumed everybody knew these songs and would get the reference.

I have one coworker that is as deep in mourning as I am over the loss of Ziggy Stardust. We started talking about how absolutely brilliant he was to release Blackstar so close to his death. His swan song has skyrocketed in sales this week, and there has been endless speculation and interpretation around the lyrics and videos he left us with.

“Typical Bowie,” my coworker said. “Leaving us all guessing and wanting more.”

This is true. Typical Bowie—in that he never did the typical or expected.

I’ll miss you, old friend. 

I’m off to put on my red shoes and dance the blues.    
__
This week from The Storyside:
Fabulous free fiction: "That Sounds Familiar" by Stacey Longo (hey, that's me!)
An overview of how to get your book written and published: "From Idea to Printed Page, Part 1" by Ursula Wong

Remember a few years ago when everyone had to get a digital TV converter box if they still wanted to get over-the-air local television, like CBS or ABC? There was a big panic and kerfuffle as people fought over boxes like 1983 Cabbage Patch dolls. Riots occurred in the streets; mothers wept; children were sold into slavery in exchange for a Roku box . . .

No? That’s not what happened? I wouldn’t actually know, because my house is located in a black hole that no digital television signals can penetrate. I have been unable to watch local television or even the news as it airs since I moved off of Block Island over ten years ago. And I’ll admit it: it’s kind of nice.

We’re not total Neanderthals. We had satellite TV until the trees around the house grew so tall that we could no longer get signals. We scrapped the dish, signed up for Netflix streaming, and called it a day.

Our lives changed for the better. Netflix, you see, allows for on-demand viewing, so you can binge-watch, say, all eleven seasons of M*A*S*H in one weekend. I can stream Netflix on the iPad, so I could watch old episodes of Forensic Files while scrubbing the toilet. If the power went out, I could watch old episodes of Forensic Files while heating up dinner over a Sternocan. On any given weekend, you’d find me folding laundry, old episodes of Forensic Files looping from the iPad propped up on top of the dryer. Life without regular television isn’t so bad.

There are more bonuses, too. I can’t watch the news, so I never get worked up over politics or people behaving badly. If I can’t see or hear you, Donald Trump, I don’t have to waste precious energy hating you. I plan on buying a copy of Time magazine when the election gets closer to learn about the candidates before voting. Doesn’t that sound lovely? No commercials, no CNN, no Fox News. It’s a peaceful life I lead.

I will admit that there are a couple of television shows I can’t live without. One of them, Downton Abbey, is available for free online at PBS.org the day after the newest episode airs. For the others, God created the miracle known as the iTunes Season Pass, for He is a generous God. Sure, I have to pay $20 a season to watch The Walking Dead and Survivor, but again, this still beats rolling over a CD every month just to pay the cable bill. Plus, no commercials!

Some of my friends would say that because of my lack of regular television, I am alarmingly uninformed regarding current events. This may be true. But my blood pressure was 118/60 the last time I went for a physical. Did I miss a wildfire out in California that I can do nothing to stop, or the GOP debate? I sure did, and that’s just fine with me. I’m not completely uninformed, however. I do read the Block Island Times online on a regular basis. I’m well aware that Mark’s Beachcomber Hair Design is seeing an influx of windblown hair tragedies this week.

I feel for the windblown ladies—I really do. But life is short. And it’s just a little sweeter when I don’t have the weight of the world blasting at me from the television.

I don't like watching the news. It's depressing, and I don't enjoy doing anything that consistently makes me feel worse about life after doing it. Because of this, I tend to get most of my news from Facebook. And you people post some weird things. Let's take a look at what's going on this week, shall we?

1. Is Andy Kaufman Alive?
Earlier in the week, at the Andy Kaufman awards, a woman announced that comedian Kaufman was alive and well, and also her father. Can it be?
I'm a huge fan of early Saturday Night Live and remember Kaufman's performance of the Mighty Mouse theme as pretty funny. However, I also read a biography of him and quickly realized the man was nuts. So it's plausible that he might have faked his own death.

The most compelling evidence I ever saw on this matter was this picture to the right. There's Andy, bald from chemo, yet with eyebrows and a full chest of hair. However, one photograph proves nothing. So I did a little research. By this, I mean I went to snopes.com and read one article: 
http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/hoaxes/kaufman.asp

Sorry, folks. Looks like he's dead again.

2. Man Forced to Dig Up Wife's Body in Yard
WFSB (Channel 3 Eyewitness News in Connecticut) is reporting that an Alabama man is being forced to dig up his wife's cremains, which he planted in his front yard in 2009.
http://www.wfsb.com/story/23978925/man-forced-to-dig-up-wifes-body-from-front-yard

People cremate their loved ones all the time. This guy's mistake was plopping down a big old tombstone in his yard, which I'm sure the neighbors found a little creepy and gruesome. However, one neighbor stated that this guy's house was definitely the most popular on Halloween.
I'm disappointed that this guy cremated his wife. Personally, I'm all for people burying fully-intact bodies in the yard. It's kind of like a fun puzzle, when the dog brings home a human jawbone and the family has to figure out where or who it came from. Cremation is just a waste of a good scavenger hunt opportunity.

3. Toronto City Council Strips Mayor of Some Powers
http://www.cnn.com/2013/11/15/world/toronto-mayor-rob-ford/index.html?hpt=hp_t2

Who is this guy? How does his drunken crack-smoking affect me, my loved ones, or the U.S. economy?
Not at all? Moving on.

4. New Photographic Evidence: Andy Kaufman Lives
Close inspection of a seemingly innocuous photo that appeared on http://sfrunningguy.blogspot.com revealed startling proof that Andy Kaufman is, in fact, alive and well and living in San Francisco.

Wait, wait. This just in. Looks like it was a hoax after all: http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/tv-movies/andy-kaufman-alive-daughter-claims-article-1.1516707

Never mind.

5. Vaguebooking: I Hate You.
In other Facebook news, K. is going somewhere exciting, but can't say where; L. had a late-night phone call that was really great, but won't say from who; B. has big, big news, but isn't allowed to say what is just yet. You people are annoying. If you can't give us all the details, don't say anything at all. And if you're a repeat Vaguebook offender, rest assured, I have blocked you from my feed and just don't care anymore.

There you have it: all the news that's fit to blog about. Tune in next week, when I pitch my new show idea to Animal Planet. Finding Andy Kaufman: More Elusive Than Bigfoot.