Two weeks ago, I met one of my idols: Chuck Klosterman, senior writer for Spin magazine. Klosterman has long been one of my favorite writers. I love his freakish sense of humor and ability to write well about any subject from mastodons to Interpol.
He was in Cleveland doing a signing for his new book Killing Yourself to Live. He autographed my copy and chatted me up for a minute. It was like a “rock star meets dopey, swooning fan” moment, except we were a lot nerdier, and there was no fellatio.
This made me wonder who else I would really like to meet. After smoking one of my new, cute boyfriend’s cigarettes, it came to me. There are really only two: David Bowie and God.
“Well, what if David Bowie is God?” I thought, having been under this impression for a long time. Not only would Bowie be the coolest God ever, but this also meant I could just meet him and do the “kill-two-birds-with-one-stone” thing.
So I pondered …
I couldn’t think of anyone except God who would be ballsy enough to perform wearing nothing but a sequined jockstrap. But, then again, God sure wouldn’t put out ’80s albums like Tonight that totally sucked ass, or try to rock balloon pants in the quasi-gay David Bowie/Mick Jagger video for “Dancing in the Street.”
Yeah, he probably isn’t God.
Meeting Bowie wouldn’t be all that difficult, but hooking up with the other Thin White Duke might be tricky. I’m not gutsy enough to pull a Jesus Christ/Nikki Sixx number and die and come back to life. I would probably screw it up.
Supposing I did get to meet Him, I wouldn’t know what to wear. Whipping up a white dress and stockings wouldn’t be very tough, but I would have no idea about footwear. God gave me big, narrow, flat feet. I can only keep on shoes with laces or buckles. So, I would probably show up in Converse All-Stars and God would already be pissed at me for not dressing appropriately.
I imagine he would start grilling me immediately. He would ask why I haven’t been to church lately. I would try to come up with an answer other than “hung-over,” but God could probably tell I was lying.
If I actually did get the chance to ask God a question, I would probably screw that up, too. I imagine God is pretty intimidating. I bet He sits in a really high seat. I could prepare a million questions to ask Him, but as soon as it was time, I wouldn’t remember any of them.
I would ask, “Why do boys have nipples?” Then God, already mad about my shoes, would press a button and the clouds would drop out from under me and I would be back in my shitty apartment, severely bummed about getting kicked out of heaven. Then, seeking to ease the pain of eternal damnation, I’m sure I would throw on Hunky Dory by David Bowie.
All I know is if Bowie was God, all drag queens would go to heaven.
Erin Roof is a senior magazine journalism major and a columnist for the Summer Kent Stater. Contact her at [email protected]