Yesterday my dear friend, Leila, had a wedding celebration at Heather Farm park under white tents and blue skies. They wed in a private civil ceremony a few days prior; this was a day to share their love with friends and family. Simple, fun and full of all the right things like Pim's summer punch, kegs full of Downtown Brown, kids running barefoot, Southern BBQ, volleyball nets and David Bowie blasting from a boombox.
I've loved Johnny Depp my entire life. Okay lusted...lusted from the time when posters were taped to bedroom walls with masking tape and push pins. Remember him in "21 Jump Street" with the shoulder pads and glossy hair? I swore that he was part Cherokee (obviously being half American Indian was hot at 13). I wept through the Winona years when he got the 'winona forever' tattoo and the two of them pranced all over Hollywood in "Beetlejuice" outfits. That relationship confirmed what I'd always guessed, that boys could be both sensitive and really stupid. His later romance with Kate Moss I celebrated with glee. They were the trashy, cigarette smoking, booze slinging, hotel room smashing, model-rocker duo that I secretly wished I could be a part of. Now he's cleaned up and married to a French singer with adorable shaggy haired children. Yet his bad boy allure has never died. Even now when I find old photos of him, I still have to swoon a bit.
