Monday, August 25, 2008

Viva La Difference!

I knew I was different from other little boys from a very early age. I told kindergarten classmates that Judy Garland was my grandmother.



I held private, solitary concerts, re-enacting Diana Ross' Central Park performance.



I colored in the black & white illustrations of Nancy Drew books, giving the titian-haired sleuth...well, titian hair, as well as color-coordinated day dresses, gloves and shoes.



My parents, needless to say, were a bit worried; especially my mother. If only I could have shown her this:




I'm not saying one's right and one's wrong, but I think mom may have accepted my Matt Dillon fixation, had I promised to never pierce my septum or permamently place a mural on my face.

4 comments:

  1. You were a prodigy, no question about it.

    What did you use for Diana's hair in your recreations?

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  2. OK, secret confession time:

    You know how everyone (at least, everyone *I* know) has a tell-tale trait when they get tipsy? A droopy eye, a red flush, uncontrollable giggles, etc.?

    My friends know I'm in a happy place when I unconsciously begin flicking imaginary hair away from my forehead a la Miss Ross.

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  3. Oh, we would have been best pals! I once feigned sickness to stay home and watch "The Bad Seed." And I had every single Nancy Drew.

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  4. I love 'em all -- the creaky 1930's originals, the pasteurized 1950's rewrites, the groovy 1960's continuation of the series. Nancy lost me when she went all 70's pantsuits, though. Not as much fun to color in.

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