It’s not a good time to be a celebrity, unless you like to be dead.
Farrah Fawcett? Then Michael Jackson, followed by Ed McMann, David Bowie, and commercial-enthusiast Billy Mays? Is there something in the water in Hollywood? Farrah Fawcett died of anal cancer. What a way to go. That sucks. Michael Jackson had so little of his actual body left that I wasn’t sure he had any body parts left to die. Billy Mays obviously died of enthusiasm. Or he Oxy-Cleaned himself to death. David Bowie? Crack. Ed McMann, I just don’t know. I’m not a doctor, folks.
Anyway, this weekend was spent with Trent in Council Bluffs. We went home to visit my parents, rough-house my dog, play with my duck, and see some friends. We arrived in the Dirty Bluffs at about 10 p.m. on Friday night. My parents came out to meet us in the driveway, and Alan sprinted out the front door in excitement. Moments later he was hit by a car in front of our house. Yeaaaap, giant white Explorer nailed his ass in the street. Turns out he was okay though, the car just clipped him and left a dent in his head. Even as a puppy, I was certain Alan had no nerve endings. Accidentally step on his foot? No reaction. Not even a whimper. Car? No big deal.
After feasting on apricot chicken and pineapple cake, we crashed. Saturday we met Midge at Cellar 19 for lunch, then wandered around the Old Market at the art festival where we sweat bullets, looked at crazy glass sculptures, drank freshly squeezed lemonade, and sampled granola products F.O.C. After our art excursion we went and visited Freemyer and her garden, and then met up with my parents and broseph for dinner at Bonefish Grille. Ironically they had removed my favorite meal from the menu. I was disheartened, but I got over it. P.S. their crab cakes will rock your world. If you haven’t tried them, you need to. You will weep.
WELL, that about sums up my weekend. This weekend is the float trip in Cuba, MO. I will be sunburned. Mark my words.
“She was like 24–I guess that’s when they start trying to figure it out.”