Last week, I had a conversation with my triple A man, aged 27 years - "I'm 28 on Sunday" he boasted as he fixed a new car battery.
He then asked me if I liked sports.
Then he asked me if I liked shopping. (I like shopping about as much as I like sports.)
Then he asked what music do you like?
"Well my absolute favorite is David Bowie" I replied.
"Oh" he says "Is he like Michael Buble?"
No, dear sweet, young triple A man - David Bowie is nothing like Michael Buble.
Throughout my life, the incredible music of Bowie has been my partner.
In moods, dance, inspiration, spirits, love, love making, ambition and work.
He is part of some of my favorite memories involving my brother, both of us screaming from a balcony in London as Bowie simply walked onto the stage and began to sing.
(Another terrifying memory was when my brother told me he too was an alien and could pull his face off, after we had watched The Man who Fell to Earth.)
A previous boss & friend of mine communicates a need for help with a Bowie phrase.
I use it constantly to write. I use it to change my mood, to boost my confidence, to simply move.
My connections are deep and wide. That's what we create when we find our musical heroes.
I miss David Bowie. The day he died, my brother and I could not talk.
I thought - no I'm OK, with the experience that I have been through, I'll be fine. I wasn't and seeing his face, and many faces, flash on the breakfast news was too much.
When a hero dies, whom we have never met, it does something to us. It's that bleak reminder, again, that none of us get out of this alive. That we are vulnerable, that there is a ticking clock.
The possibility to meet a hero, to thank them, to have eyes meet, is now over. The anticipation when you get the concert tickets, or hear that there is a new album. The idea that you might just bump into them as you walk through New York City. It all ends when you hear they died. I wonder if it is just another piece of your hope that dies? Especially if they've been a hero since your childhood. It's another recognition that there is no Santa, Disneyland is expensive and easy diets do not exist.
So, thank you young triple A man for at last giving me the boost to post this blog with my humble thank you to my David Bowie.
Plus, what a joy, to find that now, I join the older people bracket and can honestly say - nobody writes music like that anymore.
I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
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