HUMOR
Being David BowieAUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND 18 November 2009 |
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I was always envious of those kids who from a young age knew what they wanted to be.
“I’m going to be a nurse.”
“I’m gonna be a schoolteacher.”
“I want to win big on the horses.”
I just never had a strong sense of what I wanted to be when I grew up.
By the time I had reached adulthood, I had tried on several occupations to see how they’d fit.
These are just a few of them.
***
My earliest career aspiration was to be David Bowie. Not just to be like him, but to actually be him.
I wasn’t completely delusional, however. I did have enough common sense to recognise there were a few obstacles in my way.
First, I was only seven. Second, I was a girl. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I couldn’t sing.
But I also knew a good wardrobe would help overcome these shortcomings.
So I raided my mother’s closet and came up with gold:
A pair of rainbow striped culottes.
I would hoist them up around my neck, so that one arm and one leg were stuck together in each opening. I would then paint my face Ziggy Stardust style. I didn’t bother with shoes, because I knew I was channeling Bowie through my heart not my feet.
I would then switch the record player to automatic repeat and gently place the needle on Starman. The first note was my cue to start leaping on and off the bed like a thing possessed. Legs and arms spread wide – I flew through the air, exactly as I imagined a real starman would do.
My mother, alarmed at the noise, would peek around the door to see what was going on.
“What are you doing?”
“Being David Bowie.”
Wasn’t it obvious?
My Bowie phase lasted for about four months until one afternoon I had the sudden realisation that I wasn’t Bowie at all. I was, in fact, Tom Petty.
I don’t recall why I thought I was Tom Petty. I just knew I was. I knew in the depths of my soul that somehow Tom and I were one person separated by time and space, and the Pacific Ocean.
I told my best friend, Rachel, that I believed I was Tom Petty. She looked at me for a long minute and said: ‘But you don’t look anything like him.”
This was true. I decided in that instant that I should be John Travolta instead.
Seriously.
Why couldn’t someone see I needed therapy?
***
My obsession with all things Mafia began when my grandfather and I watched ‘The Godfather’ on television one Saturday evening.
He liked the scene with the horse head, I liked the scene where Sonny got shot.
At the tender age of eight, I knew that I wanted to be a Mafia Don.
I wanted to eat spaghetti that wasn’t from a tin. I wanted to weep and wail over bullet-riddled bodies. I wanted to be a Catholic and get married in the Basilica that I passed each day on my way to school.
I liked the idea of being part of a large family. The concept appealed to some primal part of me. I didn’t mind if some of them shot each other or murdered their enemies. I just thought a big family would mean that Christmases and birthdays would be much more fruitful.
But I knew it would be difficult to find an an opening for a schoolgirl Mafioso in New Zealand – It’s a small country; opportunities are limited.
So I started recruiting bodyguards just like a real Don would do. The best bodyguard I had was an enormous twelve year old named Lisa. I gave her the imaginative nickname of ‘Buddha.’
When I ate my lunch at school, Buddha would stand in front of me, arms crossed, looking tough. If you wanted to talk to me – you had to go make an appointment with Buddha.
No one messed with me and all it cost me was a couple of cigarettes that I stole from my mother’s purse when she wasn’t looking.
If only I’d stuck with it and learned some Italian, who knows what could have happened.
***
My next career choice was a little more achievable and required neither bullets nor musical talent.
I was obsessed with supermarkets. I liked everything about them. I particularly liked the fact that New Zealand had a curious habit of christening its grocery chains with apocalyptic names.
‘Countdown’ and ‘New World’ were just two on offer. And it was at New World that I found the job that I knew I must have.
Inside the store was a delicatessen. It held a staggering array of cold meats and salads and I liked to watch as the girl behind the counter counted out ham slices for her eager customers.
I liked her uniform. I liked her name badge. Best of all, I liked her tongs.
I wanted some tongs. I wanted to weigh roast beef and place it onto greaseproof paper too. I wanted desperately to be a Deli girl.
I asked my mother to buy me some tongs so I could practise at home. Foolishly, she did so.
I spent the next week shifting the contents of our refrigerator into little plastic containers. I carefully wrapped every item in the fridge in paper and then placed them into bags. Back and forth went the food. In and out of containers, back and forth into brown paper bags, until my mother told me to STOP. THAT. RIGHT. NOW.
My obsession with small goods was spoiling everyone’s appetite.
***
After my beloved tongs had been taken from me and my serving girl dream had come to a pitiful end, I gave up thinking about what I wanted to be.
That is, until I left high school and realised I had to do something.
I thought maybe I should be a hairdresser. After all, I liked playing with my hair, so that was a start.
I had also recently developed a penchant for snipping off locks of hair from my boyfriends when they were asleep, so that showed aptitude, right?
So, I enrolled in a course and turned up bright and early with a sharp pair of scissors in my bag.
I looked at my fellow students who all had wacky hairstyles and sat down next to the girl with pink hair.
She had a ‘Guns ‘n’ Roses’ tee shirt and an easy smile, but I was a little unnerved by the large spit bubbles in the corners of her mouth.
“I’m Shelley,” she said to me, spitting in my face just a little bit. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” I said, as I wiped my cheek.
“Who would you most like to fuck? Axl Rose or Slash?”
I had no answer for her. I still don’t.
I left the next day after being taught the correct way to squeeze shampoo into my hand.
***
Consulting my palm for clues, I realised the answer had been in front of me all along. My hands would be the ticket to my fortune.
After all, I had well manicured nails and thin, elegant hands.
I affected a pretentious habit of gesticulating wildly when I spoke, in the hope that somebody would notice my stunning hands and whisk me off to hand model glory.
Nobody did.
That dream was shattered one night at a party when I was comforting a distressed skinhead on a staircase at a party. To thank me for my trouble, he pulled out a switchblade and stabbed me in the back of my hand.
The moral here is: Never offer the hand of friendship to a sniveling skinhead if you want a future selling dishwashing liquid.
***
When I told my mother I was thinking about becoming a policewoman, she laughed until she threw up.
When I told my father, he hung up on me.
***
So I gave waitressing a go.
I scored a job at a new place in the city that was a theme restaurant modeled on Antarctica.
At the interview I had long brown hair but when I got the job I decided to cut it short and peroxide it white so that my head would look like an iceberg. I thought my new employers would be thrilled.
They were horrified.
My boss wore diamond rings on every finger and pronounced ‘tomato’ like tohmahtoh. It drove me so crazy that when she was cutting the tohmahtoh’s I wished she would cut her finger. One day, under my watchful evil eye, she did just that.
This made me think I could do anything, so I started undercharging customers.
My boss fired me when she found out.
I was sorry I got caught. I wasn’t sorry for refusing to rip people off. I figured my boss had enough diamond rings.
***
I thought I could be an inventor. Try and invent something. Something that would make me rich.
It sounded pretty easy.
But I couldn’t think of anything to invent.
Except words. Stories. Myself.
I invented myself as a writer.
I’m not convinced it’s going to make me rich. Maybe I should have stuck with Bowie.
***
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I can’t believe you had a bodyguard in school. We had muscle in high school, but that wasn’t till we were about 16 or 17. We could’ve used some muscle in the earlier grades for sure. And what is it with Skinheads and stabbing? That’s all they do over here too. Stabby mother fuckers. After watching The Graduate, I’m convinced that the future lies in plastics. Plastics.
Plastics, you say? Hmmm.
I loved having bodyguards. I don’t know why because I didn’t really need one until the skinhead incident.
Wait, you’re not Bowie?
I thought you were
just writing under
a nom de plume.
Ziggy Stardust
Zara Potts?
Nope. I’m Zara Travolta.
Oh my god, woman!
This is laugh out loud funny. Tom Petty? I love your mind. I do.
When I was three my parents asked me what I wanted to be for Halloween. I told them, “David Bowie off the Aladdin Sane album.”
From this they concluded that I needed to spend less time hanging out with chickens and goats.
Great one, Darling.
Tom Petty!! I Know!!!
I have NO idea what that was about. I mean, who thinks they’re Tom Petty? Who would WANT to be Tom Petty? Why didn’t I want to be Princess Leia??
I think maybe you and I could form a tribute Bowie band. We could make a fortune.
This, from the woman who wants to be macaroni and cheese!
You two should definitely have an all-girl Bowie cover band called Suffragette Shitty. I’ll even do your music video for no charge.
I am so there! I’m sure Zara is in…
YAY! We get to make a music video!
I’m in.
Suffragette Shitty will rock.
Bowie beware!
I will TOTALLY join your band!!!
I wish you could hear me. My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard! Stop! Make it stop! My stomach will explode!
Okay! That’s three of us. Perfect. Suffragette Shitty – here we come.
Bowie was playing in LA, so Duke, Lenore and I started talking about this female cover band thing.
I think the name should be Pussy Stardust.
PUSSY STARDUST!!!!!!!!
Great band name!
Pussy Stardust is gold and pegacorns!
Yes, we’ll lip-sync.
What ever will we call ourselves? The Bowie-ties? China Girls? Suffragette Shitty?
Space Odditties. Jean Genies. The New Killer Stars.
Oh, Suffragette Shitty for sure. That has winner written all over it.
I love it!
For a very long time I wanted to be a dinosaur when I grew up. But really, I didn’t want to have to wait that long. I just wanted to be a dinosaur, period.
I’m sure Tom Petty is flattered. I doubt many people in the world aspire to be him when they grow up. And having heard you sing, I’m sure you could pull off a cover of “Free Fallin’”.
A dinosaur? I think you may be the first person I know who wanted to be a dinosaur.
Random, but my good friend Andy gave his kid the middle name “Dinosaur” (and yes, he got the idea from a Dana Carvey stand-up special.) Now the kid is in second grade, and he tells everyone his name is, in fact, Dinosaur. And just as Dana Carvey predicted, he is like totally super-cool.
I do wonder the cool-ness of having the middle name Dinosaur when he’s applying for jobs and careers and whatnot when he’s older. So I guess it does relate to the jobs post, but only tangentially.
I love that! That is a great middle name. He is destined to have a brilliant career with a name like that.
When I was little, my imaginary friend was a dinosaur.
Did he have a name?
I think my imaginary friend still is a dinosaur.
Steven Adler.
He’d get your vote?
I would abstain. But I figured he’d get your vote.
Arrgh!! Nobody in GnR would get my vote. Not one of them!
Well, that totally shoots a hole in Duke’s theory!
P.S. I’m glad you decided to be a writer.
Aw thanks RichRob!
I do hope you like your new name.
I think it was you, Zara, who mentioned drummers being the subjects of fancy, not me. Which means it wasn’t my theory, Richard. But she’s not going for Slash, so there goes your theory.
Steven Adler was a neighbor of a friend, by the way, and he showed up, heavily drugged, to respond to complaints of noise, groupie in tow.
Ah, Los Angeles.
Yes, Duke, but you did refer to the Guns N’ Roses of old as being the gold standard for groupies, and then here Zara said none of them were worthy. Ha.
I love this cross-referencing of comments.
P.S. I read a bit about Adler when I posted that. I didn’t know his whole story. Sad.
Q. Axl or Slash?
A. Izzy.
Urgh.
Every time I hear Izzy’s name I think of one of my favorite-ever lines by Dennis Miller, back when GNR still sort of resembled its best lineup:
“Izzy Stradlin–kicked out of Guns N’Roses. What in the fuck do you have to do to get kicked out of Guns N’ Roses? Hey, Slash, quit shooting heroin in your cock and get over here. We’re gonna vote on Izzy. He forgot to return Ahl’s casserole dish from that gang fuck at Savannah’s house the other night.”
And then Axl kicked everyone out. What an idiot.
That’s a great line, RichRob.
But aren’t they all hideous…Every last one of them. ESPECIALLY Axl. He’s the worst.
Actually maybe Motley Crue are worse.. Touch call.
* Tough call.
You could always go for Sebastian Bach of Skid Row. He always had the pretty boy thing going on.
I don’t want to go for anybody!!!
Especially not any long-haired metal head.
No. No. NO.
Most ‘normal’ kids stole money out of their parents’ wallets – you had to steal my cigarettes. No wonder I thought I had a worse habit than I really did!
I only stole two.
And…
I cannot imagine sweet Jude saying: STOP. THAT. RIGHT. NOW.
Sweet Jude – I like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before…thanks Duke.
Fair cop! I call you that all the time! Sheesh.
Fair cop? Is your desire to be a policewoman returning?
Ha ha. I saw a magazine today with the headline “Are you who you are supposed to be?”
I don’t know. I’m confused. Maybe I should have been a cop.
Not at all. Just don’t look at any magazines for a couple of days and the confusion should pass.
You had a bodyguard? Awesome!
I’m pretty sure I wanted to be an Irish beat cop after I watched The Untouchables for the first time. Then I wanted to work in a second-hand bookstore. Then I figured I’d be a bartender, and a club owner, and every night would be the greatest night of my life.
I really should have stuck with that last one.
I just cannot imagine you as a beat cop. But hey, maybe we’d make a good patrol team.
I don’t know that we would be intimidating enough though…
you’re a noble woman for getting fired as a waitress. and, love the attempt to fit in by dying your hair.
it’s not too late, you can still be david bowie. i’m still trying to get into the bad seeds.
Thanks Tony!
It’s true, I made a better iceberg than a waitress.
I’m going to cross all my fingers and toes for you getting into the Bad Seeds..
Mick Harvey did quit recently, so I assume they’re looking for a new guitarist….
Zara,
Your mother must have been so great to let you go on like that, reinventing yourself over and over. She recognized your imagination was extra-special even back when you were little.
Of course you’re a writer!
I don’t think she had much choice in the matter! I was headstrong as a young ‘un.
She was pretty great for buying me those tongs though and letting me mess up her fridge.
Irene
Life was always wonderful having the young Zara around (good having the older Zara as well)!
I think she neglected the phase when she thought she’d be a baker. Day after day she would head into the garden, dig up a piece of dirt and water it liberally with a hose until it resembled something that hippos would love to lie in, and proceed to make delicious ‘pies, biscuits and goodness knows what else’! And then would lay all the goodies out on leaves from the garden and invite me to try and buy.
The clean up time was horrible…
That was too much fun, Zara.
Thanks Brin! You are sweet to say that!
Seriously, that was the first time I had a good belly laugh today (maybe even this month, but that is neither here nor there). Absolutely wonderful, and I thank you for that.
I’m pretty sure you have this “writer” thing down. Try not to abandon it like you did good sweet David Bowie.
Hey John!
Thanks so much for reading and thanks even more for laughing.
I’ll try sticking at this writing thing longer than I gave Bowie. Or Petty. Or even Travolta.
So nice to see your smiling face on my board!
Totally with you on the first line.
And many of the others actually— a couple of gangster films made me want to be Catholic…
I just liked the idea of taking communion. Not that I even know what that means, I would just like to say it.
‘Oh I just took communion today…”
I always wanted an excuse to say “You can Catho-lick my balls!” to someone, without it sounding like a sectarian slur.
Ha ha I’ve never heard that! You should say that at least once a day, I think.
I thought it would be cool to be a Catholic until my best friend brought me to the long Easter service. I’ve got nothing against long services (or Catholics), but I can’t sit still for the length of a movie without having to at least get up to piss three times, and getting up in church attracts WAY more attention. And the service was about as long as Braveheart.
Ha! as long as Braveheart… perfect!
the policewoman bit is just the funniest thing ever. i am so obsessed with thinking about you in a cop uniform. do they look the same in NZ?
I think I only wanted to be a cop for a day.
The uniforms here are disgusting. Pale blue shirts with navy blue trousers. Comfortable shoes.
Man, I am such a goose sometimes.
sometimes i want to be a cop so that i can stop getting pulled over. but i think i’d be a better fireman. cause i bring the heat.
I laughed out loud at this comment! You DO bring the heat! ha ha ha.
When I told my mother I was thinking about becoming a policewoman, she laughed until she threw up.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!STOP!STOP!
That’s what my mother said.
Zara, I defintely think you have the pizzazz to be David Bowie. But better!
Loved this post! My sides are hurting from laughing so much.
Buddha, your bodyguard… OMG, like totally friggin’ cool! I remember at high school there were a bunch of girls we called “The Bitch Patrol”, you know the usual skanks (or sluts, if you prefer) – with their blonde hair, legs that go on for miles, no brains but one heck of an attitude. I hated them. Still do. Makes me wish I had thought of having a bodyguard, like yours. *sigh*
Italian is pretty easy to learn. I’ve picked up a few things since I’ve been working in an Italian restaurant for many years, and decided to teach myself. I can’t speak all that well, but I can sure as shit understand what’s being said most of the time. Maybe you should learn too. You can always be part of the mafia. You can be Zara Scarface or Zara Gambino, or something equally as cool.
That is so funny that you had the ‘Bitch Patrol’.. we had the ‘Mole Patrol’
Same girls by the sounds of it!
Buddha was awesome, both in size and attitude. I always had bodyguards though, even before Buddha – maybe it was because I was small, but the really tough girls always wanted to look after me. Weird! Glad I could make you laugh.. You’re a honey!
I, among others here, can testify that being a writer won’t make you rich. It’ll likely lead to poverty, in fact.
However, I, like you, though at a later age, thought about becoming a cop. I was drinking with cops at a cop bar, and we all got on well, and most assumed I was a cop till I informed them otherwise. Anyway, that was a stupid idea.
As a kid, I thought about becoming a herpetologist, as I’ve written before at TNB, as well as an ornithologist, since I loved birds of prey. I also thought of becoming an historian (I just Googled whether that should be “an historian” or “a historian” — a longstanding area of confusion — and got an inconclusive answer), and it was sort of a foregone conclusion by many who knew me that I’d become a painter, though I thought, being practical in the matter, I’d become an illustrator instead.
But as much as I idolized various celebrities, I never thought I’d become Al Pacino, for instance; I just thought about becoming a famous actor like him.
But I’m relieved that you didn’t become David Bowie or Tom Petty. The latter looks like Joni Mitchell with a sex change, or a skull in a blond toupee.
I always say ‘an historian.’ But who really knows?
Okay, so there’s you, me and Simon who have harboured secret desires to be cops. I think we have the numbers to form our own policing unit, don’t you?
I thought we already were one.
I once actually tried to become one.
I can’t believe I waited until 60 comments had been made before getting to read this! I’m so far behind the times…
Have you totally given up trying to be Bowie? I mean, there are some great surgical procedures available and the real one has pretty much run his course. You could make the switch and reinvigorate the Bowie brand.
And you couldn’t choose between Axl and Slash? I wish I had that choice. Guns ‘n’ Roses are coming to Korea next month and there will be no Slash. Not that I would fuck either of them, but things get weird on this side of the world…
Yes, I think I gave up on being Bowie a long time ago. I think when he got his awful teeth fixed. I liked his fangy smile and when all his teeth become straight and white – that’s when he lost it for me.
And as for Axl and Slash? Ugh. I’m glad you to hear that you wouldn’t fuck either of them. You can do a lot better!!Ha!
I want to go back in time and ruffle your David BowieTonyManeroiceberg hair. Thanks for the chuckles. Good way to start the day.
Thanks Ronlyn! Ahh Tony Manero. What a guy. I was so proud of my Tony Manero pose. But the green satin pants I was wearing in the picture above, split after one day – I was devastated.
Oh Zara, all those wanna-be professions surely added to the person you are today…a compilation of Bowie, Petty, Travolta, Don Corleone and the girl behind the deli counter…… how many people do you know who can claim that heritage?? You go, girl!
It’s a strange sort of mixture isn’t it? I’m okay with Bowie and Travolta and Don Corleone.. but I’m not so sure about Petty. I really don’t know why he’s in the mix. I always thought he was creepy and I didn’t like his music – but I still thought we were one in the same!
Being David Bowie is definitely an honorable venture. I think we should all try to be David Bowie at some point in our lives. Rock on…
I agree, Rich. We should all try being Bowie. I think maybe I’ll bring back the ‘Let’s Dance’ look. Yellow blond hair with baggy pants. That’s an underrated look I think…
I admire your resourcefulness first with the culottes and later with the tongs. I completely understand. Initially, I declared I was going to be a newspaper delivery girl and *never* leave home. The only career aspiration that delighted my parents more was my decision to become Boy George.
That was all good and well when he was the enfant terrible of 1980s gender-f*ckery, but sounded less fun as he began his decline toward the heroin-addled, public-service jail-sentence-serving chubby old queen he is today.
Now David Bowie on the other hand…
You wanted to be Boy George? I love that!
Gee, though doesn’t he look terrible these days? I saw a picture of him the other day and I didn’t recognise him. He looks like the weird old Uncle that comes round at Christmas and sits in the corner making rude jokes.
Poor George.
Wanting to be him is how I learned about “gay” and “homo” and “bisexual”. My mom figured I should know some facts, after I informed her of a radio announcement. I was concerned Culture Club was having a press release that day to declare the end of the band (in which case I didn’t want to be George anymore), but phew! It was only him outing his drummer by going public about their relationship, and then also stating that he wasn’t gay, he was “only bi”, which I thought meant a girl could be him.
Ohhhhh pop culture…so helpful in the parenting arena!
That’s hilarious that you were going to NOT want to be him if the band was ending!
It’s easy to forget how shocking Boy George must have been to parents back then, eh?
I only wanted to be Bowie in the seventies. In the eighties I really wanted to be Robert Smith.
A geometrical proof:
1. ZPO wishes she was David Bowie
2. David Bowie wishes he could swim like dolphins can swim
Therefore:
3. ZPO wishes she could swim like dolphins can swim.
Easier, no?
When you come here, Zara, I will make you kick-ass sauce that would make the Corleones proud (although they are Sicilian and my people are from Naples, like Tony Soprano’s). I’d send it in the package, if I could…
Great piece…really funny.
G
It’s true! I do wish I could swim like dolphins – but just for a day.
Greg, I am so happy about the sauce. This is the best news I’ve had all day. AND that your people are from Naples, like TS? Even better. Can I be please be part of your family?
Greg makes the best sauce – I can attest to this fact.
I don’t even bother trying. And he can make it in an instant – like the grandmother
in Goodfellas who makes them all this huge wonderous meal at 2am after they killed all those people. Greg’s that grandmother. Sooooo, when you guys come out here…..
Oh… I am so excited. Sauce, Olears… I cannot ask for anything else! I hope you have some tongs I can mess around with..
This was delightfully surreal. So much fun.
I wanted to be a werewolf when I didn’t want to be Superman. I ended up a writer. Which is nothing like the other two, except on the days when I don’t shave, and the others when I wear a cape.
A werewolf!
I knew a kid whose mother didn’t know what to call him and so he was called ‘Boo’ until he was about five, when he started to try on names. He was Steve (after Steve Austin) and then he was Clark (after Superman) and he finally settled on Robin (after Christopher Robin).
I’m glad you took the writing path.. werewolves just end up in lots of sticky situations.
Late to the party, but what a beautiful piece. And heartbreaking. Getting stabbed in the hand — …
Bowie was a good choice, but writing is better:)
Oh thanks Stefan, you can arrive late to any party of mine.
Yeah, stabbed in the hand is never pleasant. Bloody skinheads.
How did you end up consoling a skinhead anyway? I know that skinheads stand for a multitude of things depending on the country, but in Germany, they were all right-wing and out to bash gays and foreigners. Were they different in New Zealand?
Oh they are awful creatures.
Where I grew up, there were a lot of skinheads, for some reason. They weren’t as right wing as they are in Europe, but they were still pretty nasty and stupid, for the most part.
I was a party and a gang of skinheads gatecrashed. I happened to be sitting on a some stairs when this particularly drunk skin sat down next to me. He was so out of it that he was leaning on me and crying and I thought maybe if I tried to console him he would feel better and go away. But no, he pulled out his switchblade and sunk it into my hand. I stood up and left as soon as this happened.
I don’t understand them. They always seem to be so unpredictable and violent and just ignorant. It’s a bad combination of traits.
I’m glad you asked, Stefan. I was curious about that myself.
Good God, Z., to be stabbed in the hand! The only skinhead I know was stabbed in the head once, and still has the scars to show it. But he’s nothing like you’d a skinhead would be, and the violence was the result of a mugging, not skin-on-skin retaliation or somesuch.
alassin sane…
Heh!
Duke, I know! Stabbed in the hand! My hand modeling career down the drain because of some munter skinhead!
But seriously, the skinheads here aren’t as political as they are elsewhere. There is still a faction of the National Front but they tend to keep relatively quiet. I suspect they are well and truly outnumbered on these shores.
Haha. Tongs! I can see that so clearly–your concentrated little self, pinching this food and that w/ ‘em. Adorable.
I LOVED the tongs!! and you’re right, I did pinch little bits of food. I think I may have even weighed things on the scales. Oh dear. OCD much??!!
I lerrrrrrve that picture of you – could you have been a funnier, cuter child?
And Buddha – brilliant.
Your tong enthusiasm reminds me so much of Prue
and so much of myself. I made the mistake of telling my parents
that I wanted to be a dishwasher when I grew up (i think all of those Palmolive
commercials got to me – I wanted to be “soaking in it” – might not translate
to your NZ commercials – maybe I’ll send you a youtube link or something)
So, that ended up being my job at home. Big mistake.
Also, Slash over Axl, right? Lead singers have way too much ego.
100!
100! You comment angel, you!
I understand the Palmolive thing – we had the same ad here. Except with kiwi/oz accents!
That is too funny about the dishwashing – I HATED having to wash the dishes.. Still do!
Oh, you wanted to be such fun things! When I was five I was going to be an accountant like my dad… but at 7 I announced to my parents “I want to be an obstetrician-gynaecologist.” Who does that at 7?? Hasn’t worked out yet… but I think we’re supposed to have about 10 career changes in a lifetime… so not ruling it out… Go David Bowie. I love that Flight of the Conchords song…
Hey Margot!!
An ob-gyn?? What a funny thing to want to be! I love that!
How funny is the Conchord’s song? He does the Bowie accent so well…
Zara! I’ve been completely MIA and I missed this. So so funny. Yet another indication of how ridiculously (adorably) creative you were/are.
But, as a former grocery store employee, I can tell you that it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
Oh there you are sweet girl! I missed you!
Thanks for the kind words – you always make me smile. x
Would you ever consider working as some sort of career counselor? You clearly see beyond traditional employment roles. I’m sure you could bring a lot of joy to some hapless laid off programmer by telling him that he’s probably best suited for being Brad Pitt.
Thanks for the rocktastic read!
Oh! Good idea! Maybe that can be my next career move.
Advice, anyone???
Oh, and welcome, Joe! Nice to have you on board…
for you:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Er59Pqynx_c
i don’t know if i could be a hand model.
my gnr choice: tommy stinson. new v. old lineup was not specified.
i’m glad i have a replacements out for this one because all the rest of those dudes are crazy skeevy.
i would have liked to have been jonathan rhys meyers playing “david bowie” in “velvet goldmine” so i could be sparkly with permanent coke eyes. just for a day.
i just found out a few months ago what i’m really going to be when i grow up. i can’t wait.
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