Elton John: My Lover, My Friend

I see a lot of people writing articles about E.J.  Is there something going on I don't know about?  I've certainly enjoyed reading all the articles.  They've really brought back some beautiful memories for me. E.J. was my first lover, my best friend, my teacher, my adopted son, my stern father, my untrainable puppy, my weird uncle that-we-all-had-to-get-up-the-nerve-to-testify-against, my irascible Spanish tutor, my gruff-but-lovable elementary school janitor, my El Salvadorean nanny.  Okay, maybe I went a little too far with those last two.

Our relationship spanned the highs of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and the lows of Victim of Love.  He taught me how to laugh, he taught me how to cry, and he taught me how to walk in platform heels.  I taught him that bald could be sexy, that less was more, and to always brush his teeth after a purge.

He’d call me sometimes for advice on this or that.  He was, of course, devastated by the death of our mutual friend, Princess Diana.  Frantic in the limited time allotted for the tribute song for her funeral, he was desperately trying to make-over a song that honored her memory and her specialness.  He had run through “Hakuna Diana,” “Don’t Let Diana Go Down on Me” “Tiny Diana” and “I Guess That’s Why They Call You Diana” and he was quite despondent.  I tactfully suggested that he consider “Candle in the Wind.”  It’s the least I could have done.

There’s so much more I could tell you about E.J.  But most of it is just those sweet, simple everyday moments that two friends and lovers share – holding hands, skipping, jumping rope, sharing make-up.  You know what I mean.  I won’t bore you with the details.  E.J. knows I love him, and that’s all that matters. 


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A multicellular carbon-based life form, roughly symmetrical.

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