In 1986 I was living in London and I had a flatmate who modelled her hair on George Michael’s fluffy bouffy do. She scored tickets to see Wham at Wembley Stadium that summer. I didn’t speak to her for a while because she went to the gig and I didn’t. It was never about Andrew, it was always about George. I loved George but I was too afraid to admit it. For a while there it wasn’t cool to like George Michael’s music, it wasn’t grungey or dark or rock enough. I’ve never liked cool obscure underground bands that nobody has heard of, with male singers who can’t hold a tune, I’m a huge fan of bright, shiny commercial pop. So George was the shiz.
I love George’s lyrics, I love his melodies and his voice. When I was 14, he wrote songs in the key of teenage angst. George understood me and my worries. Christmas doesn’t begin for me until I hear Last Christmas on the radio.
I can’t believe he’s gone at the age of 53. In the 90s his music kept my heart alive. I hope the dope didn’t kill him.
“Do you enjoy what you do? If not, just stop, don’t stay there and rot.”
Thank you George, I hope you’re blazing a trail with some gorgeous angelic backing vocalists in heaven
It started with an enticing email message (complete with capital letters for emphasis) from Clairvoyant Kevin:
A time of WONDERFUL change is coming your way, we need to talk IMMEDIATELY.
To be SUCCESSFUL you must channel the POWER of the stars.
As a struggling single mother I need all the self-help I can get, so gullible me clicked on the link provided by Clairvoyant Kevin in his ‘exclusive’ email.
Kevin told me that Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Uncanny. How does this astrologer know me so well already?
Let your intuition tell you all you need to know. Harness the ENERGY of the stars.
The Sextile of your ruling planet is SPECTACULAR.
So I paid for Kevin’s prediction, and the only thing that held any promise was my astrology forecast. According to Guru Kevin, the happiest period of my life had just begun. Two friends died, my car was sold to a wrecker and the bloke stopped calling me. Thanks Kev, I can’t wait to see what my bad stars bring.
According to recent traffic reports the karma bus is coming with it’s engine revved and I’m not in the driver’s seat.
“It is impossible to build one’s own happiness on the unhappiness of others. This perspective is at the heart of Buddhist teachings.”
― Daisaku Ikeda
I have tragic taste in music, if a song smells like a bad 70s or 80s hit I will be up on the dance floor from the opening bars. And I don’t mind a ballad that I can murder all alone in the car late at night singing along to a gut-wrenching radio station playing hits for the lovelorn either. In honour of One Hit Wonder Day I present you with my favourites (in no particular order):
The Knack – My Sharona
I’m Too Sexy – Right Said Fred
Eye Of The Tiger – Survivor
Don’t Worry Be Happy – Bobby McFerrin
99 Luftballons – Nena (the German version)
You Get What You Give – The New Radicals
Only For Sheep – The Bureau
Black Betty – Ram Jam
Feelings – Morris Albert
All By Myself – Eric Carmen
Farewell Aunty Jack – Graeme Bond
Ice Ice Baby – Vanilla Ice – thank you for bringing ‘Running Man’ to the masses
Video Killed The Radio Star – The Buggles
Play That Funky Music – Wild Cherry
Benny Hill – Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)
It’s Raining Men – The Weather Girls
Because I Got High – Afroman
Teenage Dirtbag – Wheatus
Rose Garden – Lynn Anderson
Young Hearts Run Free – Candi Staton
Baby Got Back – Sir Mix A Lot
They Wont Let My Girlfriend Talk To Me – Jimmy and The Boys
Lay Your Love On Me – Racey
The King died today in 1977. I loved his look, his white jumpsuits, his hair, his sneer, his pelvis, his fetish for deep-fried peanut butter sandwiches and his music. He may well have been my ideal man. His golden voice lives on forever in the drama of his high camp songs. I love you Elvis.
In 1934, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the Turkish commander at Gallipoli, wrote a moving tribute to Anzacs who died at Gallipoli.
”Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours … you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land. They have become our sons as well.”
When I was 15 I used to sneak out late at night with my girlfriends to watch the midnight screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. We dressed up in tutus and high heels, we sang, we sweated, we laughed and we danced. And my mother never did find out. Until now. Years later I was working in London and the phone rang and I instantly recognised the voice on the other end of the phone. It was Tim Curry. I couldn’t speak so I passed the phone to a colleague who laughed when she realised who I should have been talking to. Thank you Mr Curry for the joy you brought to my teenage years. Rose tint my world, keep me safe from the trouble and pain.
Unlike Britney, I was a child star who didn’t live up to my initial promise. I did my first ad when I was six months old, a big fat roly poly baby lying nude in an underwear model’s arms. We were advertising ‘nursing’ bras and my job was to look cute and adorable (it was a stretch for me). Allegedly I peed all over her, I don’t think that is true, I can’t remember doing it. My mother swears it happened, but as she was once a young Liberal I’m not sure her testimony can be trusted.
One of my earliest and most favourite-est memories, (probably because my mum took a photo of me sitting on our lawn roller in our front garden) is of me singing Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head. My singing career started a couple of years after my modelling debut. I was wearing a cowboy hat that didn’t match my tutu. I used to sit on the grass roller looking fabulous between my shows. I preferred to play to intimate audiences rather than at larger venues. Singing was my thang, especially entertaining my mother’s friends as I stood on our dining room table in patent leather shoes, or warbling on our front fence. I also gave impromptu performances riding side saddle on my rocking horse on our front verandah, just to show my versatility as a ‘triple threat’ as they say in acting parlance. In the days before Autotune I was a magnificent singer. Who said all child stars grow up to become problem adults? Not me.
Yes this is child star Shirley Temple, she was WAY before my time but I didn’t copy her once in my stellar career appearing on book covers, in newspapers and magazines and live for a limited season on our front lawn.