Confession time. There was a time when I lived in Ventura, California wherein my BFF Joanne (no last names!!) sort of stalked Kenny Loggins–before the word “stalking” was used and determined to be rather uncool. Listen here, it was all in good fun, and frankly, it was one of the best gee-dee periods of my life. We were more like Lucy and Ethel looking for Richard Widmark’s house and picking an orange from his tree.
We did awesomely crazy/funny crap like hunt for Kenny’s house from the cover of Celebrate Me Home, THEN SNEAK INTO THE YARD TO TAKE PICTURES! He didn’t live there anymore, but we were pretty proud of ourselves for finding the house, which led us to the house that he did live in at the time. Okay. No more info on that stuff.
I’m pleading The Fifth on most of the details of our
stalking admiration of Kenny because we don’t need our pasts coming back to haunt us, do we, Joanne?
Just know that we traveled many miles in Joanne’s dad’s vintage 1962 (I think) yellow convertible Porsche up and down the coast from Santa Barbara to Los Angeles–mostly Santa Barbara. We thought we were pretty hot. Joanne was–and still is, anyway. And Jaaayzus, the concerts.
I was/am the big dork. I was rockin’ the side ponytail (like Deb in Napoleon Dynamite) and I own it, so just don’t rub it in.
BUT. Let’s stay on task here (we all know I’m nearly incapable of managing distractions). I love that Mr. House at Danger Zone in Pooh Corner cusses like the rest of of us and has a sense of humor about his career in general.
Pretty gee-dee funny, if you ask me.