I wanted to mourn the putting away of my winter clothes, so I went with Mary to dinner at Acme, wearing my hooded coat from Diesel. I asked Mary to take my picture, and when I looked at the result, I noticed that the hood made me look like I had Farrah Fawcett hair.
What are your thoughts on Farrah Fawcett? When she died last year, I read an article on Salon that called her the "pretty girl reaching for depth." I was moved by that epitaph, as I've always sort of seen myself as a "deep girl reaching for prettiness." Salon wasn't the only one who offered a remembrance of Farrah, of course. In fact, the publishing company where I work put out a book about her last year, and it ... ahem ... underperformed. (Ah, well. We've all been there, book.) I think that people resist the effort to embrace a re-contextualization of a life that was basically blameless, a life lived in a seeming pursuit of joy and happiness. Perhaps that's to our credit as humans. Personally, when I am on line at the supermarket and glance at a tabloid headline that reads "Such-and-such-actor's sad final days" before the actor is even dead, it gives me a chill. Whose final days aren't sad, I wonder? Sometimes even my not-so-final days have a tinge of sorrow.
Mary and I went out to dinner on Valentine's Day. Like most years, I was happy to say goodbye to Valentine's Day even before it arrived. Goodbye, Valentine's! Goodbye, winter! Until next year, hooded coat! And goodbye, Farrah Fawcett.
