The other day while taking my sick dog for a walk, it was pointed out to me by a 55 year-old lesbian who was also taking her dog for a walk, that she and I looked alike. Both of us had short, salt and pepper hair, wore one of those straw hipster hats, a plaid shirt and similar, heavy-framed glasses. The resemblance was striking and there was nothing I could do but agree in a good-natured, aren’t-we-cool kind of way, but the truth was that I found it entirely demoralizing.
I did not want to look like an old lesbian.
I wanted to look like a famous actor’s more interesting, cooler brother.
I plodded home feeling sad, and when I got there and began to sink into my depression, I received a phone call from my nephew. Carter is 8 years old and he adores me. He thinks I might be an astronaut or something, not a 55 year-old lesbian.
Anyway, during his summer break his parents enrolled him in “Rock Star Camp” at the nearby Jimmy Simpson Community Centre, and on the day he called me he wanted to know if I could come in as a sort of show and tell project for the camp members. I’d visit the class posing as an important journalist and talk about the music, what it meant to me and all the rock stars I’ve interviewed, and then answer any questions the children might have. It sounded like a blast, the sort of thing I’ve been waiting my entire life to do and so I practically ran over to deliver my talk.
There were eight children present, two of whom were holding tambourines.
I thought I would really capture their imagination by imitating a performance that David Byrne did while with the Talking Heads, a band that I loved and planned on speaking about at length. Wearing a suit, bow-tie and those heavy-framed glasses that Byrne popularized, I brought in a ghetto blaster, placed it on the gym floor, and put on the Talking Heads classic song Once In A Lifetime.
In the video, David Byrne performs a number of unique dance moves, including one where he seems to be buffeted by unknown forces. As I lip-synched the song, I imitated these movements, which caused one child to blow a whistle she had around her neck. (I later found out that this girl blew the whistle whenever she thought she was having an allergic reaction.)
“The old man’s having an attack!” She shrieked.
I told her she was stupid, which made all the other children laugh.
I had the crowd.
From there we moved seamlessly into the Q & A portion of my seminar.
“Why are your teeth so yellow?” asked a retarded child.
“It is the rock star way,” I responded, “it comes from years of drug use and Kraft Dinner. Remember, if you want to be a real rock star, you’ll have to be prepared to die young and get many sexually transmitted diseases.”
A boy then asked me what sex was at which point the staff, two pushy teenagers who knew nothing about being a rock star, ended my talk and began a gay sing along to some Beatles song.
I think it was “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” but had long since stopped caring.