The Night I Met Diana Ross


It was a 1980s record-release party for the glittery superstar on the Intrepid (which they generously allowed me on, despite “don’t ask, don’t tell.”)

I was terrified to meet Miss Ross because she was my longtime idol, and, besides, I’d heard about what a weirdo she can be.

You know, “Don’t talk to her, don’t look at her, don’t call her Diana, don’t even breathe the same oxygen.”

But as I sweatingly pondered how to get up the nerve to make an introduction, she came up to me!

“Hi, I’m Diana Ross!” she said, which probably shouldn’t have been that earthshaking since that indeed is her name.

But I nearly fell overboard.

I guess she can be very nice to press people at her own party.

We had a delightful chat, and the result was captured in the photo that appeared in the above invite for a party celebrating the launch of this column!

Also on the invite (in addition to strange pieces of tape): Me and Sylvia Miles; me and David Bowie; me and Nona Hendryx.

God, my life is dolce!

As a bonus, here’s an old club invite: