The greatest loss last year of us young men growing up in the '70's was the passing of an angel, Farah Fawcett. Once I set eyes on her wholesome beauty, I knew I was over Marcia Brady. Like my first big crush in high school (seems so latent these days!), with Linda Highsmith, Farah was not only sensuality, but had the appeal of approachability and a smile that set you at ease (I was so smitten by Linda, I had her join our band as a trumpet player (of all things!).
So many of us had that famous poster on our bedroom walls. At that age, made it tough to get to sleep, but, waking up, to be greeted by an angel. Oh, the simplicity of our youth! Still had trouble getting to school on time (it was literally down the block).
This year, not surprisingly, Farah was snubbed by the academy during their trite yearly eulogy ritual. Her post-angel body of work was notable, especially her portrayal of a battered wife in, The Burning Bed. The hollowwood circle jerk academy's conspicuous omission of Farah only furthers their irrelevance and pettiness. The idiocy of the event makes great fodder for satirists and cartoonists, so there is some redeeming value!
Alas, we have lost an angel, but the night sky is a little brighter now. Sweet Dreams, Farah!
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