If you steal the “this is your life” themed video that my sister-in-law made for my brother, you can see him as a ten year old with a huge Alyssa Milano poster in his closet. I was about thirteen or so at the time and didn’t have posters. I did, however, have crushes. And I still do.
Beyond my current “Everybody should look like Johnny Depp no matter how strange it would be to see Kenny with long hair and eyeliner” phase, there are three people I’m fascinated with. Sort of…
See, I want to marry Bill Gates. I know, I know, who wants to marry Bill Gates besides Melinda? Well, I do.
Kenny’s not worried though.   Kenny knows that it’s his own fault for me wanting to live with Microsoft’s Head Honcho (soon to be stepping down.) I want to marry Bill Gates for his house. Kenny described it to me and I soooooooo want a house with personalized music that can follow you from room to room as you walk around. Plus I want a TV you can hang on the wall. And don’t you guys start telling me that if my rich uncle gets out of the poorhouse, I can have all kinds of neat things in my own house. To me, personalized music that tracks your movements is still just about the neatest thing ever. I wouldn’t want any kind of house that is totally controlled by a computer though, despite -Eureka-‘s Sara that can cook dinner for you. I read about that once and the computer ended up kidnapping a lady and trying to make a baby. That’s just too weird.
I’m also fascinated by my own personalized imagining of Hank Williams, Jr. It seems that my mom had a cousin who was engaged to him. Now, keep in mind that a) My mom’s cousin is much younger than she is so there is an “ick” factor there b) My mom’s cousin never ended up actually marrying Hank Williams, Jr, so he was never in any way a part of our family c) I’ve never met either said cousin or the man himself and d) My branch of the family is conservative–very conservative–and would not have condoned any kind of rock star behaviour on the part of our members whether said member was an actual rock star or not.
Nonetheless, about the time I began discovering that not everyone who says they are your friend actually -is-, Hank Williams, Jr became my imaginary godfather. And by this, I do not mean to imply that I actually have a godfather. I’m Baptist. I’m not sure that’s in our Creed. Nor do I mean to imply that my imaginary godfather was like my last imaginary friend, who happened to be a little green man from outer space. No, much like I make up living in Bill Gates’ house…the coolest house on the planet…so did I escape on Hank Williams, Jr’s bus. In said bus, I could go anywhere. Or nowhere. Sometimes when I was sad, I would imagine him driving into town and just buying me an ice cream. When my nightmare cycles began my freshman year of college, I would picture myself out…and away. I have no idea how far a bus ride, even a luxary bus ride, from Kentucky to New York City is, but I took it once or twice. And, of course, though I have no idea if Hank Williams, Jr can actually sing something that isn’t played very very loudly at the kareoke bar my best friend took me to last year, my imaginary godfather would sing to me.
It’s okay. I know that if you’re anything like the ilk I grew up around, you can’t believe that my imaginary godfather wasn’t someone more…refined. You picture me picturing myself as…Belle with her Prince or at least with some kind of Pat Boone figure who has…oh, what’s the word? Values. The truth is, just like crushing on Bill Gates’ house could turn into disappointment (even billionares have leaky roofs, right?), imagining the man who wrote “Family Tradition” as some kind of rescue figure couldn’t possible match up to my family’s clean cut expectations. But at the time, he met mine. At least imaginary him did. Though I’m out of college now and probably glad we’ve never actually met.
Still with me? Hang on, I’m almost done.
The person who currently fascinates me is Paul Thurrott. At least his voice does. It’s kind of deep but with a little bit of a twang sometimes. Paul does a podcast called Windows Weekly (http://www.twit.tv/ww) . I know this because Kenny dislikes much of commercial radio anymore and downloads as much of Leo Laporte’s stuff as he can for our commutes back and forth to the shop. (Okay, now I have the Amber song in my head.) Leo’s like this tech guru who does a bunch of shows about things I don’t understand. Frankly, I don’t pay much attention to them (have book, will travel remember?)
I do, however, listen to Leo’s show with Paul. I listen because a) he’s funny. He told a story about trying to get his son to play hooky from school so they could finish their exploration of the latest, greatest video game. b) he goes to France a lot and I like hearing stories of technology on airplanes. But the greatest reason that I listen is because I love his voice. He’s got the best radio voice ever.
So I’ve decided that when I’m restless and can’t sleep, I want the Dixie Chix to come over and sing that song that Radney Foster wrote for his son (“…Godspeed, little man/sweet dreams little man/oh my love will fly to you each night on angels’ wings/Godspeed/sweet dreams”) and I want Paul to come read to me. It doesn’t matter what he reads.   Though a little -Wuthering Heights- might be nice.Â
Hmm…it would, of course, be crowded with five people and five cats in my room.
Maybe we can all move in with Bill Gates.
