Look Out, You Rock-n-Rollers

Oh, Ziggy Stardust, inhabit me! I need a new persona. I need a rock and roll genie, a lean and lanky British God with jagged teeth and two mismatched marbles for eyes to sweep me up in a twisted tulle tornado and ch-ch-ch-ch-change me. In my fantasy, I'll rocket past dusk in a polished, hollow, shining bullet loaded with gleaming pastel potions, be made over by a drunk transvestite in platforms and return to Madison Avenue at sunrise to wander the streets in a vinyl raincoat -- a newer, more certain version of myself.

When one reaches a particular level of gerbil-wheel-turning madness, regardless of effort toward personal evolution, career progress or just plain forward movement without desired result, one must do something to push change from concept into reality. And at this point, I'm no longer referring to the kind of change that comes from an hour spent wandering the "Self Help" section of Borders, a pilates session, two pieces of expensive dark chocolate or three hours binge drinking at a place called Crime Scene Pub. No, I'm talking like, transformative change. The kind of change rock and roll genies write songs about. The thing is, sometimes all the "change" talk just becomes overwhelming in the abstract. It needs a physical manifestation. It needs a model.

Enter David Bowie as Ziggy Stardust. Ziggy's my pilot. Periodically, I have to pull him out, dust him off and slip into his blazing, manic-tron glory for a moment. He's the perfect icon for right this minute; for all this stagnant dust I need to blow off and turn into glitter. He's gonna represent my new philosophy: if you don't feel it, fucking paint it on.

I'm now working from the outside, in. Spackle up the exterior, put a brave face on, make myself look like the change I want to feel. I'm gonna airbrush every bit of doubt out of the creases of my face and polish up my platforms. Time to step it up a bit and build a beautiful beast who can go out there and do all my singing.

In honor of Ziggy, we'll start with the hair. I'm gonna make myself a redhead tonight. Well, really, Lana, my militant Russian hairdresser is going to make me a redhead. Let's see if a little fire on the head sparks a little fire in the heart. I need to see some change. I'll begin outside, head blazing, and see if I can start a wildfire.

"Just gonna have to be a different (wo)man". -- DB/ZS