in my life is that I managed to leave Francoise Hardy circa 1968, Debbie Harry circa Parallel Lines, Betty Bacall circa Key Largo, Brigitte Bardot circa 1955, and Ione Skye in Say Anything… off my list of fictional/similarly impossible crushes. I would hold a boombox issuing forth Peter Gabriel aloft for any one of these gals.
I think I’ve got a really nice sense of cultural connotation, but Francoise Hardy is one of those icons who, along with Brigitte Bardot and (embarrassingly) Audrey Hepburn, managed to slip past my radar until this year. While not quite impossibly beautiful—there she is, after all—she’s pretty damned improbable, even miraculous. Oh, and cool, too, enough for David Bowie to say about her that
"I was for a very long time passionately in love with her, as I’m sure she’s guessed. Every male in the world, and a number of females also were, and we all still are."
We’re lucky that they never mated, because we’d be speaking whatever hybrid version of French, demotic Egyptian and telepathic Esperanto their universe-conquering spawn forced on us. Then again, as dystopian futures of indentured mental servitude go, things could be worse.
P.S. Jennifer Carpenter (Deb Morgan from Dexter) resembles Hardy a little bit, but I bet Francoise Hardy could figure out her brother was a serial killer after two seasons, tops.
P.P.S. That Deb Morgan. What a dummy!
- writ-darling said:I got grounded because of you once. I went to see you perform last year in Houston and it was great and everything but I made the mistake of bringing my very conservative catholic sister and her boyfriend (they were my ride) and I had to pretend I didn't get the jokes and that they weren't funny. (It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life) But when we got home my sister had told our mom about it and I had to play clueless and then she grounded me. It was worth it though.
You are a good person and I care about you.
- “There certainly is some reason a story attracted you, and you’re writing it trying to find out that reason.”
We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom,...”