That Famous Dead Girl: A Bowie Sighting (Part Two)

by Sharon Nichols, February 07, 2007

Look readers,

The heaving influx of harassing e-mails have made it astronomically clear that if I keep you in suspense any longer on this Bowie issue you'll impale me in great haste with sharp sticks. So, here: I have seen the face of God and lived. Happy dears?

One day (feeling like a hundred bucks) I saunter to the exit, turn the knob and push, ready to fly out the door. And boing! There he is, startling the crap out of me and I him. David Bowie, pulling on the other side. Yes. I've just fondled Bowie's knob. So, I step back to the side and let him enter. He smiles that perfect Chiclet smile, those mismatched alien eyes beaming back at me from behind a flop of yellow hair. And then he s-p-e-a-k-s t-o m-e. Ready kids?

"Thank you," says David Bowie.

"Sure," I reply. Shiny!

You know who he looks like? He looks exactly like David Bowie, that's who. He also looks exactly like everybody else. Natch, he's viewed a most hideous me—hair pulled back in a ratty bun, shit-brown t-shirt and biker shorts, all asweat. Doesn't quite feel like the moment to hit him up for that interview. ("I'm your gym journalist. I'm your local gymnalist! And incidentally, I stink. Is it true you don't remember recording Station To Station?")

I exit and climb into my car but notice a Leisuretime Spring Water truck has me blocked in. And it is damn hot outside. So, rather than wait in my sweltering car, I go inside to get the guy to move. And there's Bowie on the treadmill, headphones in place, going two miles an hour or so. That's right, dude...be smart or you'll be The Man Who Fell To Earth, literally.

Is that the epic you've been waiting for? I thought not. But hey, it's not every day you open Door #1 and a rock icon pops out. I think I've finally put Monty Hall to shame. Bowie sure beats the hell out of a canned ham.

To be continued... perhaps.

Have a Bowie sighting you'd like to share? Dear readers (all three of you), please e-mail me at factory22@gmail.com. And please also wank off if you ask me again which gym.

For more on Bowie's teeth, visit www.youtube.com and do a search on Bowie's teeth.

Smacks.
Runly!

A one-time cog in the corporate music machine and staff writer for the Woodstock Times art section, Sharon Nichols served as music editor at Chronogram for four years. Having released several volumes of poetry through her own Origin of Souls publishing, she is a part-time DJ and dreams of opening a nightclub in the Hudson Valley called Factory22. www.myspace.com/sharonnichols