The Story of Ewe

When I first approached by the leaders of BlogWorld to throw my hat in the blogging ring, my initial impulse was to say 'No.' I was living the high life in Hollywood as Alanah Stewart’s assistant and I’d seen what stardom had done to her. Why would I want that? So I said that if I returned to the public eye then I wanted total creative freedom, complete carte blanche. Of course I thought they'd say No but to my surprise they said fine. So I said I needed more. They said I could own the blog, do all the work and make no money. That tempted me but I held firm. I said I’d need dancers. They said Classical or Hip Hop. I said both. They said Word. I was about to give in to the increasingly sweet deal but then I managed to grab hold of myself and I said that I had to think about it in Paris. They said "Fuck you!" I said Bon Voyage.

Halfway across the Atlantic in the middle of an anecdote I was relating to Sting’s wife, Trudy Styler, in which I talk Yoko off a ledge only to discover it had just been an art piece,something very strange happened. I suddenly became incredibly bored with myself. I,Buddy Cole had finally become tired of me and all my crazy antics,the assassination attempts, the suicide attempts, the comeback attempts. Boring! I decided as an experiment to let Trudy talk, you know, to see what she had to say. I decided for the first to actually listen to the other person. I mean how much harm could she possibly do? Turns out plenty. She started to go on and on about a crock pot that she bought for Elton John’s boyfriend David Furnish that Elton loved so much he brought it with him on the road and called it Betty. I thought I was going to die of death. I realized that I might as well have been talking to a non-famous person.

Then I thought, ”Why not? After all,you don’t have to be a celebrity to be a bore. So I turned very slowly to the nobody on my right and introduced myself. It turned out her name was Mrs. Stella Voldonski, a Polish widow from New Jersey who was going to visit her heartwarming son who would give her a reason to live. I became swept up in her story. I could tell Trudy was dying to be drawn into our web of commonfolk warmth so I selflessly introduced Mrs. Voldonski to the aging carry-on. It was like I'd been doing it my whole life. Before I knew it the two of them were yakking away about pilates and I just sat back and listened until I fell asleep.

The next thing I knew, we were landing in Paris and as I said goodbye to Stella at the baggage carrel I noticed Trudy berating an elderly Algerian porter and it reminded me of how much I liked raisins. I realized that was the first time I had thought about myself in hours. That had never happened before. If I hadn’t been t thinking about me, what had I been thinking about? What was the opposite of me? That was the question. I racked my brain and came up with a cure for AIDS. I tossed it aside for later. My brain said rack lower,so I started to masturbate. Higher,it said. I began to pinch my nipples. “No!” it screamed. “Rack your heart! Rack your heart!” So I did. And it hurt. And that’s when it hit me. The opposite of me is you. That would be the title of my blog. Sure I'd blown it with the Overlords of Blogworld but I knew that with help from you there would be a place for me. And as I've already explained in a previous post called "The Cold Light of Day", I couldn't spell it the regular way so welcome to Ewe. A place for Me.