Category Archives: David Bowie

Friends.

Friendship is very important these days. What with technology being what it is we can stay connected in ways never thought possible. Are you following your friends on twitter? Are they following you? That’s the kicker, isn’t it, when a friend isn’t following you on twitter? That’s when you need to re-evaluate your friendship.

But how does one determine who is a true friend in this crazy twitterverse we’re all facebooking in? Don’t worry, guys. I’m going to help. A true friend will…:

…High five you when you least expect it.
…Treat you to coffee or dinner every now and then because they know that you’ll pick it up the next time. A true friend will never say, when the bill comes, “OMG I just realized that I’m completely overdrawn from the bank LOL I’m so dumb sorry!!”
…Never say “OMG” or “LOL” in public. That’s just…awful.
…Go see that dumb movie that you really want to see because no one else will see it with you and you don’t feel like going alone because what if you run into Drew Barrymore? Do you really want Drew Barrymore to know what a loser you are? Look at how many friends she has. Really tall famous friends. Gosh, Drew Barrymore you’re so fun!
…Let you vent on the phone for an hour about that idiot who cut you off on the freeway or the boss who made you run a seemingly meaningless task or the boy who didn’t call you back.
…Accept you for your insecurities and even try to understand them.
…Root for you always, even if they’re a little bit jealous.

A true friend will not:

… Steal your burrito.
…Hit on the guy that you like if she/he knows that you like him.
…Run over your family.
…Poison your latte.
…And then hide the antidote.
…Burn down the Getty Center.
…Laugh at you when you say something dumb, like when you’re singing to “Man In The Mirror” and you earnestly sing, “They follow each other on a window seat” because you think those are the lyrics.
…OK well they can laugh at that, because that’s kind of funny, but it should be a loving laugh, not a mean laugh.
…”Forget” to invite you.
…Tell you that you’re anything less than what you are. You are wonderful.
…”Lose” your stuff.
…Let money ruin your friendship.
…Talk about you behind your back, unless it’s really complimentary shit, like, “Almie would hate anyone to know this but she keeps Moet et Chandon in a pretty cabinet, is well-versed in etiquette and extraordinarily nice.”

Me with my dear friend Erik from my Andy Warhol themed birthday party in 2005.

But what do you do if you realize that you have one of those dreaded “poison friends”? Those friends that are pure poison to you and your life? Those who weigh you down like an anvil and you’re Wile E. Coyote? Or maybe in that case they’re the Roadrunner and they’re trying to blow you up (and I think I’m mixing metaphors here)?

You need to cut them out of your life. You NEED to. I know, I know, the idea of being home alone on a Saturday night or with no one to text when you’re feeling awkward in public and need to text someone is scary. But you’re BETTER OFF WITHOUT. Life can be hard enough without surrounding yourself with people who don’t believe in you! You owe it to yourself. You are the best friend you could have, true, but you’re going to need someone else when you get sick of yourself. That’s what your secondary best friend is for! And it’s OK if you DON’T have a “best friend” — some people have lots of friends as opposed to one they single out — IT’S OK! Just don’t waste your time with people who drag you down because you’re too good for that shit. Remember, YOU leave YOU decide.

This photo has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING.

Now get out there, turn the world on with your smile, and find your Rhoda! Or your Mary. IT’S OK TO BE RHODA. RHODA WAS AWESOME AND SHE HAD HER OWN SHOW TOO. SO DON’T EVEN WORRY ABOUT IT!

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My Dream Funeral

Dream weddings are so 1996. Oh I know what you’re thinking: “Gee Almie, sounds to me like you just picked an arbitrary date.” WELL OK I FUCKING DID. THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH 1996, I ADMIT IT. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? LOOK AT THE ANGUISH YOU’VE CAUSED. GO TO YOUR ROOM. EAT A SHARPIE.

But back to my perfect funeral. First of all, I’m going to have to demand it have a costume party theme. Something like this:

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/alltherage/images/2008/03/28/37231193.jpg

But I really want guests to take it to the next level. Like my brother better be in a fucking mascot costume and I want a Michael Jackson impersonator to perform the service:

YES, I KNOW THAT THIS IS A PHOTO OF THE REAL MICHAEL JACKSON; DON’T EMAIL ME. I CAN TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A FAKE MICHAEL JACKSON AND THE REAL ONE. What I can’t understand is why Bette Midler is sitting on David Bowie’s lap. And why Cher seems so pissed off about all of this. WHERE’S THE LOVE, CHER?

Now as for my body, I don’t want to be buried or cremated; I want my body to be propped up like a puppet but with Abe Lincoln animatronic technology so that I can wave to guests as they enter. Just sit me on a chair, play a recording of my voice saying, “Hey guys!” and have my arm wave back and forth. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. I mean this is the year 00s, this is serious future shit, animatronic technology should be available.

the prettiest star — bowie should play as you enter the service and the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore show should play as you exit. Better yet, someone should hire a band to play the Mary Tyler Moore theme live.

I want to be buried in this outfit:

95ea476f.jpg picture by bowied
OR to be made up like Laura Palmer in “Twin Peaks” in her prom outfit. NOT after they found her in plastic.

Please serve only champagne and In-N-Out at the reception and have the same band that performed the MTM theme song play “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” but ONLY in German OR dutch. Play NO OTHER SONGS. Just alternate between those two.

I WANT THERE TO BE BALLOON ANIMALS. As each person gives their eulogy (or “Eugoogolie”, to quote Zoolander — fuck, scratch that, I demand that everyone call it a eugoogolie –) they MUST have a balloon animal on their person. And balloon hats; but not if it interferes with their costume. The costume is CRUCIAL. And I cannot stress this enough: IT MUST BE A REAL COSTUME, NOT SOME BULLSHIT WHERE YOU PUT ON A WHITE JACKET AND SAY, “OH I’M A DOCTOR” — YOU BETTER RENT A COSTUME OR MAKE A DAMN GOOD ONE FOR MY FUNERAL.

Finally, the most important thing, is that I want everyone to have a good time. Value my life, be sad over my death, and eat lots of burgers. Play kazoos as you follow the processional. Make Phil Spector jokes. Tell funny stories about what an ass I was.

And I promise to do the same for you.

Though I will likely be escorted out of the building.

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Karaoke.

HEY GANG!

I’ve been MIA lately (I’ve got more records than the KGB, too). I’ve been sick. I got a CANKER SORE in my THROAT. I had constant throat pain. I was on vicodin and something even stronger.

But the great news is that I lost a lot of weight! Sadly I think I may have gained it all back at this point. But I’ve never been so thin in my life. I guess that will happen when you can’t eat solid food for a week.

Now I guess I have to rely on eating well and exercising. It’s 2009 haven’t we found something easier yet? Someone should make a pill that decreases your appetite the way it does when you’re sick without totally damaging your immune system. Or I could just take a bunch of diet pills with a bunch of caffeine pills and see what happens. I’m guessing it will be a “On this very special episode of ‘Saved By The Bell'” moment.

I am so lazy. Exercise is a perpetual chore that has seemingly no end unless I want to be fat and miserable for the rest of my life. I have found though that Karaoke is fantastic exercise, although the risk of embarrassment is far greater. Or maybe not, I often trip when I jog, and it seems like I’m constantly pulling my sweatpants up.

Karaoke will take you from this:

Photo 347
(a perfectly polished nice lady, with an admittedly messy room)

to this:

IMG_6661
(a beast. OF BURDEN! see it’s funny because that’s what I was singing at the time.)

My favorite songs to whip out for Karaoke are “Poker Face”, “Bitch”, “Beast of Burden”, anything by Winehouse, “One Way Or Another” and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song. I gotta say though, I am very serious about my Karaoke and I kind of hate it when people hog the mic. It’s like, we listened to your very special rendition of “Lady In Red” now please give me the mic before I grind your bones to make my bread.

But one of my absolutely favorite ways to Karaoke is to “Shatnerize” everything. You know, sit on a stool (preferably with a cigarette) and talk your way through the song. Shatnerizing works especially well with David Bowie songs, for some reason, which is what I did with “Starman”:

I…didn’t know what…time it was.
The lights were…low.
I leaned back on my…radio.
Some cat. Was laying down some rock and or roll.
“Lotta soul!!”
He said.

Try it sometime. Finally I prefer Karaoke in front of a crowd as opposed to having a private room. When I’m in a private room I feel like I’m just playing Rock Band and I’m thinking, I paid $26.41 for this? But when you’re in front of a crowd it’s SERIOUS. BUSINESS. It’s fun. It’s exciting. It’s REAL. Real awesome.

In conclusion, my all-time Karaoke goal is to duet with Adam Lambert. I might settle for Zachary Quinto.

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To Do List.

Today was my last day of filming in my “blink and you’ll miss it” feature film debut! But it was very fun. I play a bartender. I always want to be a bartender until I actually go to a bar and then I see how crowded it is and how I’m afraid of counting and I think, “Oh, right. This is why I’m not a bartender.”

Peter Dinklage is the star of the film. My favorite Peter Dinklage performances are his wedding planner in “The Baxter” and his “CALL ME ELF ONE MORE TIME” guy in “Elf”.

Can I say something about Peter Dinklage?

He’s sexy.

No, really.

He’s got a deep sexy voice, a cross between Don Draper and Mufasa. He’s got charisma. He walks around and he stares at you with that classic angry Peter Dinklage stare and you’re frightened that he’s going to kick you but you’re oddly turned on. We were shooting in a restaurant/bar and between takes he wandered over to a piano in the corner and with one hand played the theme from “Jaws”. He’ll keep you on your toes, that Peter Dinklage.

So this brings me to my Celebrity To Do List. Everyone has their list of top 5 celebrities they would get down with, if given the chance. But everyone’s list are always so predictable that I feel silly for sharing mine. The celebrities I want to do are either really old or really dead. But there must be people out there who have similar lists. So I’m going to give you mine. My real one. Not my “1. James Franco 2. James Franco 3. Adrien Brody 4. James Franco 5. James Franco” bullshit list.

5.) Michael Caine
To be honest I probably wouldn’t have sex with him today but I don’t think he’d have me. If I were to try it would probably go something like, “Hey Michael Caine, wanna put it in me?”

And he would say, “I beg your pardon?”

“You wanna do it?”

“Young lady, certainly not.”

“You sure?”

“Listen, I don’t know who you are but I don’t sleep with common prostitues such as yourself, though you have a lovely face. I suggest you spruce up and get a real job and don’t come sodding ’round these parts again.”

“OK, ALFRED.”

And I guess that would be it.

4.) Peter O’Toole


I once tried to write a song and here’s how it went:

“Oh Peter O
Peter O
Peter O’Toole.
Look what you’ve done to my heart!

Peter O
Peter O
Peter O’Toole.
I shoulda known from the start.

I (something something something
something something something) rule.
But I (something something something
something something) in love with Peter O’ Toole–

Oh Peter O
Peter O
Peter O’Toole.
Look what you’ve done to my heart!”

The “(something somethings)” were subsitutes for unwritten lyrics. I sang this song to a musician friend of mine and he said, “Ha…” and then gave me a look that said, “I think my friend is autistic?”

3.) James Dean.


OK BEFORE YOU COMMENT, I KNOW THIS IS A FILM STILL OF JAMES FRANCO AS JAMES DEAN, okay? DO NOT COMMENT “THAT’S JAMES FRANCO, NOT JAMES DEAN” BECAUSE I KNOW THAT. To be honest everything I find sexy about James Dean is probably only because of James Franco’s portrayl and really I would probably rather do James Franco as James Dean rather than James Dean.

2.) Roger Daltrey


Sometimes I’ll be going merrily along through life and I’ll suddenly think, “Why am I not having sex with Roger Daltrey right now?” And I’ll realize just how unfair life is. True story.

1.) David Bowie


I would have sex with Bowie today, tomorrow, 10 years from now, 10 years ago, 20 years ago, 30 years ago, basically right on the day he became legal and every day after. When I was younger I had a big thing for 80s Bowie, with the bleach blonde hair but today I’d rather have late 70s Bowie, but not when he was too strung out because he’d probably impale me with one of his shoulder blades or ribs. But oh what a lovely death.

Honorable mention goes to Don Draper
and YES I KNOW HE’S NOT A REAL PERSON, THANK YOU. I would fuck Don Draper. But I would have a relationship with Roger Sterling.


DAMN I LOVE ME SOME ROGER STERLING. SILVER FOX GODDAMN.

He’d treat me real nice and we’d go to a supper club or Sardi’s back when it was really hip and he’d always light my cigarettes and give me jewelery and say things like, “My God you’re so gorgeous I’m going blind” and he’d give my ass a cute little pat. One dude on Mad Men I would not have sex with is Pete. Pete would probably have a mental breakdown during and then choke back tears and try to spoon with me after and I’d light a cigarette in a long holder and say, “Be a dear and leave, won’t you sweetie?” And he’d say, “I just want to hold you” and I’d say. “Aw, that’s cute. But really hon, you gotta get the hell out.”

BUT THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW.

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David Bowie and relationships

It has come to my attention that people are actually reading this blog.

Which, don’t get me wrong, is great! But this means that I need to come up with things to write about and to fix this atrocious layout. I can’t do web layout for shit so expect the same crappy look for a while until someone takes pity on me.

I haven’t had a boyfriend since ’07. This is not an accident. That was an odd relationship, one of those where you look back and think, “Huh, how ’bout that”. Which is the same sentiment I have while watching Alton Brown’s “Good Eats” and if your feeling on a relationship is the same as that on a show on the Food Network you’ve got some problems there, stardust.

I emerged from the whole ordeal a little worse for wear. I can no longer listen to the Magnetic Fields. Which honestly isn’t a huge drag for me. They’re like Belle and Sebastian but with a deeper voice. I’ll take B&S.

One of the most awkward things about breaking up is what to do with all of the stuff that accumulates. Everything that he gave me, I sold. However there was one item in particular that was a bit harder to get out of my life.

I have a huge thing for David Bowie. He is my favorite musician of all time. My ex, in an attempt to be thoughtful, bought me a HUGE framed photo of David Bowie. Sweet, right? Well the problem here is that 1.) It was friggin HUGE and 2.) It was the scariest fucking photo of David Bowie that I have ever seen. Seriously, it was in black and white and it was a closeup of his face, and the expression he had made me want avert my eyes and start praying to Jesus Christ for fear that an albino priest was going to emerge from my bathroom with a whip. I mean that’s how fucked up David Bowie looked. His eyes followed me everywhere. And by this point in the relationship I knew I wanted out but I was too much of a pussy to say so. So every time I went out the door or into the kitchen or really ANYWHERE (I lived in a studio apartment in New York) all I saw was David Bowie and all I heard was, “Ground control to Major Tom…YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS FUCKED WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING GET THE FUCK OUT YOU STUPID BITCH commencing coutdown engines on…”

When we finally broke up I had a bit of a quandry with this giant Bowie face. He was not as easy to sell or give away as a Magentic Fields CD. Again, I lived in NYC at the time and it just so happened that as I was breaking up I was getting ready to move back to LA. So everything that I didn’t want to grag with me back to California I needed to get rid of, and fucking fast.


(note: this is not the actual GBF but it’s close enough)

Now there was this unwritten rule about my apartment building: whatever you didn’t want you would leave on the bench in the hall. This was how I managed to snag some cool items like a stack of LPs and an H&M sweater. But could I really leave Giant Bowie Face in the hallway? In my hallway? I know it sounds ridiculous but I felt like it was just saying, “HEY EVERYONE I JUST GOT OUT OF A BAD RELATIONSHIP AND I’M WEIRD. WHY ELSE WOULD I BE HERE IN YOUR HALLWAY?”

My BFF was helping me move and she had no suggestions for disposing of Giant Bowie Face. I just couldn’t leave it in my hallway. It was saying too much. So I devised a plan. “We are going to drag GBF into the elevator, hit a random button, and leave him in the hallway of that floor.” And my friend actually agreed that this was a genius idea.

So we dragged GBF into the elevator and prayed to God that no one else would get in. Now at the time two friends of mine also lived in this building and so I couldn’t choose their floors. But for some reason I also decied that this meant I couldn’t choose the floors immediately above or below them. This left us fewer options.

“Why not the top floor?” my friend suggested.
“The top floor? THAT’S THE FIRST PLACE THEY’LL LOOK,” I screeched.
“Who?”
“I DON’T KNOW. You pick a floor.”
“Ok, how about eleven?”
“ELEVEN? BUT THAT’S THE FLOOR RIGHT BELOW MINE.”
“So?”
“So they’ll figure out it was ME.”
“How??”
“I DON’T KNOW. PEOPLE TALK.”
“What people?”

FINALLY, we got out on a floor, I don’t remember which one. She checked to make sure that no one was in the hallway and we dashed out with GFB, dumped him on the bench and shot back into the elevator like we were having that classic high school dream where we’re naked in the halls.

The last thing I remember before hitting the button is seeing this giant, angry David Bowie face staring back at me, and wondering what poor soul was going to have the shit scared out of them once they got out on their floor.

And then I laughed. And couldn’t stop.

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