POP CULTURE
“Farrah! You’re Beautiful! I Love You!”LOS ANGELES 26 June 2009 |
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I was a teenager living in New York. George was my brilliant roommate, and sometimes, if we weren’t doing anything, one of us would say, “Do you want to walk aimlessly around?” That was our standard joke. But we did indeed spend much time walking aimlessly all over Manhattan, and one early-winter night on the Upper East Side, far from the one-room hovel we shared near the Williamsburg Bridge, we saw flashbulbs popping a little ahead of us on the sidewalk. A celebrity must be near—a celebrity being hounded by the paparazzi. We kept walking, and I saw that the celebrity was Farrah Fawcett.
She looked great, of course. She looked like Farrah Fawcett, only more so. She was standing on a corner and being apparently interviewed by a man with a small tape recorder as a couple of shutterbugs circled her, snapping photos. I hadn’t been in New York very long, so I was still unaccustomed to seeing famous people, and I blurted out: “Farrah! You’re beautiful! I love you!”
She turned to me and laughed with that famous, toothy, open-mouthed Farrah smile and said, “Thanks.” She instantly struck me as a good egg. George and I kept walking, and I stopped and thought, “You know, my brother and sister would love to have an autograph.” Honestly, it wasn’t for me. I was an uncouth kid slightly awed by fame, but I nonetheless cared nothing about autographs. I found a pen and searched my pockets for a piece of paper, and all I could produce was a dollar bill. That, I decided, would suffice.
I walked back, toward Farrah, who was still on the corner being interviewed by the man with the tape recorder, and thought, “Oh, leave the poor woman alone. She’s got enough problems with all these media people.” I took a step backwards, about to turn and walk away, but Farrah had seen me, and she clearly knew why I’d been about to approach her.
“Come here,” she said, again smiling. She said this as if she were a small-town beauty queen who was sitting in a booth selling kisses for a dollar and I’d paid the dollar but was now too shy to collect, and she, who was used to such shyness, which she seemed to regard as charming, was gently chiding me for losing my nerve.
I walked over with the pen and dollar bill and handed them to her. I, too, was now being photographed by the paparazzi. She was wearing brown knitted gloves, I remember, that perfectly matched her light-brown suede jacket. She smelled like heaven. She glanced at the dollar bill and said, “Don’t you have anything else?”
I shook my head.
“Oh, well,” she said, and she asked me to turn around, and she pressed the dollar bill against my back and I felt the tip of the pen as she wrote something. I can feel it now as I write these words.
I thanked her and walked off with George and glanced at the dollar bill. In one corner of it, near the portrait of George Washington, she’d written, in cursive lettering I recognized from one of her celebrated posters, “Love, Farrah.” I presented the dollar bill to my brother, David, and my sister, Dawn, who were both younger than me, when I went home to Virginia for Christmas. They were delighted, though perhaps not quite as delighted as I expected.
Years passed. All of this was more or less forgotten. Then one night, as I was having a beer with David, something brought it back to me.
“Hey,” I said, “whatever happened to that dollar bill with Farrah Fawcett’s autograph I gave you?”
“Dawn spent it.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she really wanted to buy a Coke, and that was the only money she had.”
It made sense, in a way. A portrait of George Washington, autographed by one of Charlie’s Angels, spent on a Coke in a Virginia store. What could possibly be more American?
Your kindness warms me still, Farrah.
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I knew it was coming, but I’m still gobsmacked that your sister used the dollar to buy a coke. I was hoping the ending would have changed in the move over here.
You know, I never liked Farrah Fawcett until I read this. Your description of her talking to you as if she were a ’small-town beauty queen selling kisses’ changed my mind. You made her sweet and human and turned me into a fan.
I can’t say I was a fan either, but she was very sweet to me, and that’s what immediately came to mind when she died. Hence the piece.
Funny how things didn’t, and don’t, change in the move, eh?
Below is the original comment thread:
Comment by Jim Simpson
2009-06-26 04:30:20
Delightful memory lovingly told.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 05:25:28
Why, thank you, Jim. It was a rush job, but it hopefully conveys a little something about her.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 04:42:44
That is about as American as it gets.
That’s both a lovely story and much, much better than my best encounter with fame.
The first time I went to America I just assumed that I’d see all these famous people everywhere.
And beautiful writing, naturaly.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 05:29:38
Ah, shucks.
I saw tons of celebrities in New York. If you spent any time there, you’d see them too. There are more places to hide in L.A.
A longer message is forthcoming. I just wanted to throw this up while the memory, newly recovered, was fresh.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 06:02:20
Oh— I saw the top of Sarah Jessica Parker’s head in Macy’s. And frankly, I’m glad that was all.
Of course I have spent only a few days at a time there, mostly at tourist spots.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 08:55:37
I can’t top your follow-up line about SJP. However, from all the accounts I’ve heard, she’s nice as can be.
How curious that you saw her at Macy’s. She seems more the exclusive-boutique type.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 09:55:23
I’m sure she’s lovely, but I can’t stand that stupid fucking program which I was forced to watch by a friends fiance— also getting in the way of watching bad movies and drinking too much.
I don’t she likes me, the previous visit I drank a bottle of whiskey and ruined their bathmat.
She was at Macy’s launching a perfume or something— hence why I only saw the very top of her head. I wasn’t even interested, I was on an escalator at the time had someone say ‘oh look who it is!’ so I turned around.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 11:07:35
This is all the more reason for you to visit L.A. You’re more than welcome to finish off that part of my whiskey I don’t get first, and I don’t give a fuck about my bathmat.
On the other hand, how exactly did you ruin the other one? I mean, it might be good to know beforehand.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 14:35:11
In short: vomit.
All I’d eaten all day was a McDonald’s cheese burger— couldn’t even afford a Big Mac! And instead of buying a 35cl bottle of Jack Daniels I bought cheap, cheap bourbon and drank it steadily through out the evening.
My friend had something like two bottles of cider or beer and was waiting to see what I’d be like drunk. It got later and later and I was fine, then suddenly about 2am I got up to take a piss and promptly fell over— he took me to the bathroom where somehow I missed. He was holding my head over the toilet bowl, but I lurched to the side at the last moment and splattered the remains of the McDonalds Cheese burger over his bathmat.
The next thing I remember is waking up feeling absolutely brilliant. Honestly, I woke up at about 7am and, aside from not remembering anything past throwing up, felt 100% healthy.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 22:43:17
I’m not surprised. You’re a kid. The truly brutal hangovers come later.
Enjoy your ability to bounce instantly back while it lasts.
And no McDonald’s for you when you come to L.A.!
This story of yours, by the way, reminds me of a truly horrible incident in Paris. I got very, very drunk at, I think, Le Select, and afterwards ate hamburgers and went home and vomited it all up. Oh God, it was awful. I was staying in a garret apartment with no bathroom — there was a general bathroom in the hall — so I puked in the sink, and it wouldn’t wash down, so there was this thick awful puke-soup in the sink, and it smelled horrible, and I was feeling too badly to clean it up right away, so I lay in bed smelling that puke-soup collected in my sink, and the smell made me want to puke again — I have to stop now. You’re welcome.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 22:49:56
I have a theory— which has been confirmed by actual science— that whiskey doesn’t give you much bother the next morning because it’s mostly water and it doesn’t have any chemicals or colourants which are the main cause of hangovers.
I have an embarassingly low beer tolerance. I don’t drink very often. I had 4 beers yesterday and went to bed feeling half dead. Although as I now have stomach pains maybe it was the steak which was on the raw/rare borderline.
Thats not a great story for breakfast time!
And whenever I’m in the US I eat burgers at diners, because they’re so, so much better.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 23:06:23
I generally don’t eat burgers, period. I don’t know why. It’s not a vegetarian by any means.
In fact, it was beer that got me so drunk in Paris that time. However, I haven’t thrown up from alcohol in quite a while. Thank God. The spins–it’s one of the worst feelings in the world.
I’m not sure I’m down with your whiskey theory. I’ve had some bad, bad hangovers after drinking whiskey.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 23:21:45
I don’t eat burgers as often as I thought I did. Although it seems to be going up; my dad got a griddle so he likes to griddle a lot of meat.
I’ve only thrown up from alcohol a few times— generally I’m concious of avoiding it. The last time I did I could feel it coming for hours. I drank a couple of white russians, two pints of Guinness, a double whiskey and half a bottle of white wine. Then I invited everyone back to my place where I broke out a few bottles of beer and my whiskey collection.
When everyone left I knew what I had to do. I just waited. It was quite satisfying in a way.
And although I woke up in the hallway of my shared flat, I felt fine.
But it annoys me that I was fine most of the night and in the morning, and yet a few fucking beers and I fall asleep and wake up tired.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 23:26:38
My problem with beer is the bloated feeling I get from it. Liquid bread, beer’s been called, appropriately.
We always do manage to wander far from the subject at hand, don’t we? From Farrah to beer. Then again, that would be a logical association in the minds of many men.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 23:58:39
Haha, we do. I do it constantly. There was a woman on Brad’s site that hated me for it!
And not just with comments. CCB has random chapters that are unplanned and beside the point.
I can’t see Farrah and beer mixing well— a not-too-expensive wine perhaps.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-27 00:09:30
Well, I meant it more in the sense of watching pretty women on TV with a beer in hand. And I see Farrah as the chilled white wine type. A spritzer, maybe.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-27 00:26:15
Ah, I see.
In that case yes, pretty tv stars, beer a masturbation are three prongs adorning the crown of loneliness…
If I’m honest I can’t see her drinking anything but Coca-Cola. I don’t know why, she looks to wholesome to drink alcohol.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-27 00:35:23
I think she may have some addiction problems in her later years. She famously went on Letterman in something of a daze.
I know an actor who worked with Ryan O’Neal on “Tough Guys Don’t Dance” (directed by Norman Mailer from his own novel), and this guy told me that Farrah once showed up with a black eye produced by O’Neal. I completely believed, and believe, him. And O’Neal and his kid with Farrah have both had drug problems, and I think, being a part of the notoriously screwed-up O’Neal family (though she never officially married into it), Farrah may have fallen victim to substance abuse — possibly as a refuge from O’Neal’s rages.
But this, obviously, purely speculative — though, again, I very much believed the person who reported Farrah with a black eye.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-27 00:47:53
No! Don’t shatter the illusion!
She’s a good and sweet and innocent!
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-27 01:05:58
I’m sorry. I said what I did in total sympathy with her. She was good and sweet, or she was to me. Poor woman. I’ve just fallen into an extended reverie. Spaced out at the keyboard for a good five minutes as a few other memories came to me: a guy I know who did a play with her. I wonder what he’s thinking now, or he’s thought in the last couple of days. Then again, he could be dead himself.
Comment by Greg Olear
2009-06-26 06:29:26
A friend of mine once saw Willem Defoe in a dry cleaners, and he shouted, “Oh my God! You’re Willem Defoe!” and jumped up and down like he’d won the lottery.
The Farrahs of the world, by contrast — and how many are there, even? — are worth making a fool of yourself over.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 08:52:43
I excuse myself on the basis of my age. I would approach almost anyone at that time, and everyone, except for Matt Dillon, was friendly, and even Matt Dillon was cool the first time I met him.
And you, sir, are totally killer.
Comment by sheree
2009-06-26 07:36:29
Farrah was a top self lady all her days. A sweet Texas girl who loved and honored her parents all the days of her life. God truly blessed Texas the day she was born.
Comment by Irwin
2009-06-26 07:42:09
Texas and straight men through all of time.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 08:53:19
Amen to both.
Comment by sheree
2009-06-26 09:02:45
Ah, make that Top SHELF Lady! Heh.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 09:19:37
I filled it in mentally for you, Sheree, and I daresay so did anyone else who read that comment. I’ve likewise been moved to so correct typos on a fellow TNB contributor’s blog, being prone to them, and in fact I just noticed a typo in the above piece, since stricken, that no one fortunately pointed out.
Comment by Irene Zion
2009-06-26 08:20:47
Oh, Duke, that is the sweetest story.
It’s so good to be remembering good things like this after a famous person dies.
I didn’t know how kind she was and it makes me happy to know it.
(I’m pretty sure MJ is going to go through a rough ride in the press post-mortem.)
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 09:12:47
I hadn’t thought about this incident for a long time until I read, on Twitter, before it had become a Yahoo headline, that she was dead. I ordinarily try to space my appearances on TNB so that I don’t become a bore (and here’s hoping I haven’t already), but I did want to share this right away, seeing that Michael Jackson’s death unfortunately eclipsed hers.
I think you’re probably right about the rough treatment that MJ is going to receive, but I wish it would at least wait until his family has had a chance to somewhat recover. He was a fantastically talented man, no matter his eccentricities and sad legal difficulties. At this moment, I hope and wish that’s what people most choose to remember.
Comment by New Orleans Lady
2009-06-26 08:21:36
I loved this!
She really was spectacular.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 11:15:14
And in life, even more so. To speak in purely physical terms, she was very outdoorsy-looking. She looked like she could very easily beat you at volleyball, which you would suspect, on seeing her, was her favorite sport.
Comment by Marni Grossman
2009-06-26 09:19:53
There’s something incredibly touching about this image of you. So young and naive. Blushing over an encounter with an Angel.
Lovely.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 09:32:42
Thanks. In truth and all humility, I was essentially a sweet kid, despite all the punk-rock stuff.
I have, by the way, recently received e-mail notification that you’re set to read at the next NYC OTB. If we don’t communicate beforehand, break many legs.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 09:45:02
What a great slice of remembrance. My favourite line was: “She said this as if she were a small-town beauty queen who was sitting in a booth selling kisses for a dollar, and I’d paid the dollar but was now too shy to collect, and she, who was used to such shyness, which she seemed to regard as charming, was gently chiding me for losing my nerve.”
Summed it up perfectly.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 09:47:27
Does this mean I’m still in your band and I can still come to your bar?
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 09:51:55
It sure does. If the universe smiles on once, at some point that dollar bill will pass back through our tills.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 11:02:48
Wouldn’t that be something? And I understood you at once. As with Sheree, the correction, for me at least, wasn’t necessary. I’m just happy to be in your band and drinking at your bar.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 11:10:20
And happy to have you. We’re going to have to work out names for both the band and the bar at some point.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 11:17:29
The bar’s name, I’m sure, will have to allude to Lenore. Which is a beautiful name, attached to the Lenore we know or not. The band name awaits more input as to the type of music played.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 11:32:30
The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore?
Hmmm. Maybe the bar name should be ‘Nevermore’.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 12:29:04
“Nevermore” would be a great name for a bar, as it would be for a band, if it didn’t sound so potentially goth.
Then again, your band could be goth.
I meantime can’t help but notice the citing of angels in a comment about the rare and radiant Farrah.
Though Lenore Z. is likewise rare and radiant.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 12:56:03
I’m not sure my sunny disposition would fit well with a goth band. Maybe we could do some covers though?
The more I think about it, the more I like ‘Nevermore’ as a bar name. OK. It’s settled.
And yes - a little synchronicity on Saturday.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 13:02:23
But it’s still Friday here! Where did all that synchronicity go?
And are you always so sunny? Only a day ago you were full of hate.
Or was that two days ago? I can’t keep track of your odd schedule. It’s as if you were in a different world — a world that’s curiously down under.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 13:14:23
It’s a brave new world over here, Duke. It’s Saturday morning, the sun is shining, and Twitter appears to have calmed down somewhat.
Ah, the mysteries of Simon Smithson. I (only a week ago, actually) had an ex-girlfriend tell me ‘I can’t work out if you’re an enigma or just a tool.’
At least the jury’s still out, you know?
The down under part’s not so bad. It’s when you consider the fact that you’re walking upside down that things get weird.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 13:22:50
I live mentally as if I were walking upside down. This is why I think I’d fare well in the land of Oz.
I only just became reacquainted with our time difference because, last night at midnight or so, I had an online exchange with my Melbourne friend Daniel, and I happened to ask what time it was in Oz. I was taken aback when he said it was afternoon. I’d somehow thought the gap was shorter.
PS: One is always either an enigma or a tool to an ex. As if you didn’t already know.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 13:37:07
It’s seventeen hours between here and California, I can tell you that much. Last time I was over I left at 12:00pm on Tuesday and arrived at LA at 12:00pm on Tuesday. I briefly considered calling myself to give out some stock tips, but I figured any financial gain would be offset by the cost of the call.
The sum total of the days I’ve spent in officially-sanctioned relationships comes to 22 weeks. As of June 30, that will mean, across life, I’ve spent an average of five and a half days per year in a Capital R Relationship.
I find it a strange and confusing world, and I thank God I have TV to distract me.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 13:49:49
My God, you’ve done the math. You’re like a divorce attorney acting on your own behalf.
I would love to work out a scheme with regard to the market, however. I was going to propose that I fly to Oz while you fly to California, at which point you could call me with tips that I could invest for both of us, but then I realized that’s exactly the way things stand already, except we haven’t flown to one another’s respective native countries.
I’m terribly strange, and terribly confused. I think I’m going to distract myself with TV now.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 13:56:00
It was a confusing few moments with my trusty calculator, but I do enjoy a challenge.
OK. See if you can find a show that teaches you how to build a flux capacitor. Then the world will be our footstool.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 14:02:31
I’ll do my best with regard to finding such a show.
In the meantime, “The World Is Our Footstool” strikes me as a decent title for our band’s first mega-selling song.
We will, of course, perform it first at Nevermore.
Isn’t it wonderful to be mapping out the future with such precision?
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 14:07:26
I love it. It strikes exactly the right note of rock braggadocio that I so admire.
It is wonderful. I can see why The Secret sold so well.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 14:21:24
Let’s write our own version of The Secret. Fucking Oprah. Wait. Let me rephrase. I don’t want to imagine fucking Oprah. However, to learn by her example, the road to wealth is paved with bricks of neo-religion. How hard can it be? So Oprah said as she awaited mounting by Dr. Phil.
Are all of these perfectly filthy remarks being wasted on you? Are the cultural references lost? One hopes they aren’t.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 14:34:37
Dr. Phil/Oprah sex transcends all nations, races, cultures, and creeds.
Are we going to go in the total opposite direction and write ‘The Fucking Obvious’?
Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-06-26 21:49:30
you guys, seriously. i am so fucking rare and radiant.
and you boys are so handsome.
if you open a bar and name it after me, i will be such a good bar slut for you. i promise.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 22:18:11
I never had any doubt, Lenore.
I know that Simon will, as always, appreciate that you’ve called him handsome. I certainly appreciate being called handsome, blind though you are.
I am, to steal Simon’s line, going to get you so drunk.
And Simon? I think The Fucking Obvious is a great title.
So, let’s see, we’ve now got a bar, a band, and a book. What other necessity that begins with ‘b’ do we need?
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-27 03:58:39
Appreciated loud and clear.
Damn it, Haney! That was my only line! Top men worked on that line!
A bar, a band, a book… we need a Breakdownmobile!
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-27 03:59:26
(although as soon as I wrote that, I realised that the title will be tempting fate in the most ridiculous way).
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-29 09:34:12
You almost certainly won’t see this, but I just learned what the next ‘b’ should be: a birthday — as in, have a happy one.
And to state the fucking obvious, why not tempt fate? Especially when it’s in the most ridiculous way, and the temptation occurs on a birthday, the grim reminder of mortality and encroaching senility that it is.
Comment by Simon Smithson
2009-06-26 09:52:41
Smiles on once?
Jesus. It’s way too early.
‘Smiles on us’.
Comment by Zara Potts
2009-06-26 11:28:20
I loved this! My eyes actually physically widened when I came to the bit about your sister spending the dollar on a COKE!
A friend of mine did something similar when she saw Adam Ant in London. He walked through the door of a shop she was in and all she could think of to say was his name. “Adam Ant!!!” Just like that. It didn’t help that she had had a massive crush on him through her teen years.
It’s funny how we get excited over celebrities. Even unworthy ones. In January, we flew into Melbourne and my daughter was nearly squashed by a feral media pack. I looked over to see who they were chasing and it was silly Paris Hilton. I grabbed my daughter and said, “Look! It’s Paris Hilton!” None of us even like Paris Hilton. But we still stared. She did have a nice blue track suit though.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 12:40:56
Isn’t it possible that when we react to celebrities, including those we don’t even like, part of the thrill is simply making the identification?
For example, as a kid, I was obsessed with hawks and falcons, and I’d seen photos of many species that I’d never seen in actuality, and when I finally did, never really believing that such a thing would come to pass, I’d point and shout: “Look! It’s a pigeon hawk!”
Meantime, I’m sure my eyes significantly widened when I heard about that dollar being spent on a Coke. Thank you, Zara, for widening yours in empathy.
Comment by Lenore
2009-06-26 12:06:12
i’m glad she was nice! and i’m glad that that dollar is in circulation. have you checked ebay for it yet?
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 12:31:36
My ex-roommate George, when we talked about this incident on the phone last night, pretty much said the same thing about eBay.
George is brilliant. He said what you did. That makes you equally brilliant. As if there were any doubt.
Comment by Lenore
2009-06-26 13:30:28
maybe george and i should join forces.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 13:35:47
You don’t need George, gorgeous. Take it easy on us mortals. You’re brilliant enough as is.
Comment by Lenore Zion
2009-06-26 21:51:07
you’re a smooth man. who told you the direct route to a narcissist’s heart?
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 22:09:10
Me. It takes a narcissist to know one.
Comment by Justin
2009-06-26 16:59:01
Duke!
Thanks so much for sharing this!
Working in Park City for many years now, I have encountered many celebrities, mostly during the Sundance Film Festival. But some have seasonal residence here. (Remind me to tell you a great story about Merlin Olsen very physically defending a grocery employee against a jackass millionaire snobby bastard). Anyway…I have, through my experience with them, ignored them. Because it seems most of them will never return to our store if any employee recognizes and greets them, with a knowing they are a celebrity. Some get very irritated, and I have seen those that get angry with some co-workers for any sort of recognition, even a look, or a hello. It all seems ridiculous, but nevertheless, for this reason, I leave 90% of them alone. It seems to please them when if I pretend they are not there. I could give you a frickin list of those that are nice and complete assholes to the public (maybe they had their reasons, whatever….fame sucks, I’m sure).
The Point:
Your story of Farrah was so refreshing to hear. That she noticed that you noticed her, and called you to her….
what a good thing to hear, as I thought a lot of her through many years of my life, and this reinforces every good thought I ever had about the woman.
Great story, and told so well. Obviously a woman that cared genuinely for her fans.
Also great to hear someone talking about Farrah on this day. I have all the respect in the world for the other celeb that died on the day, but Farrah deserves just as much.
Thanks for the story.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-26 22:30:38
Justin, thanks so much for commenting. It was an unexpected pleasure.
I’m very excited to hear the Merlin Olsen story. That sounds right up my alley. Can’t wait.
Unfortunately, I think recognition gets just plan tiring after a while. I’ve come a long way from the kid in this story, and have now spent much time in the company of celebrities, and they mostly just want to be left alone. Yes, I think it does please them when they’re ignored — until it doesn’t. That’s the thing: they want recognition on their own terms, on their own schedule.
As for Farrah, I’m very happy that this little story of mine could move you to leave me a note, and I agree with you: she’s equally deserving of recognition on a very strange day. That was exactly why I wrote and posted this piece.
Comment by lucas
2009-06-27 12:14:40
D.R. I’ve been a tnb reader for awhile. Just wanted to let you know that your book just came in the mail. I’m pretty fuckin stoked. The first paragraph is amazing.
Comment by D.R. Haney
2009-06-27 14:56:24
Thanks not only for buying the book, Lucas, but for letting me know.
One day I would like to post the story of how the beginning of the book came to be written. It’s, if I do say so myself, quite a tale.
I hope Banned does you right. And, please, call me Duke.