i carrie you in my heart


In 1991, I asked the woman on Prodigy who knew all the celebrities address for Carrie Fisher’s. Carrie sent me an autographed photo. She wasn’t wearing the bikini. It was just a head shot but still. It’s in the storage unit. More on all that stuff later.

She died. Text from the mother-in-law. Good grief. It’s enough to make me stop rolling my eyes at all the 2016 blah blah blah. PRINCESS LEIA.

And I’m not going to let myself feel bad for calling her that. From what I can tell she embraced the life Star Wars handed her. Which really makes me want to believe that she is — she was — fine with where she lived in my mind. That she would have been fine with the Return of the Jedi bikini picture I decided not to tweet out the other day with the #Prayers when the heart attack happened. She knew what she was doing. Everyone did. I was four years old. It was on a giant screen. Anyone who says that that can’t be the first thing I think about is a jerk (unlike The Jerk).

This is for you, for us, your highness. Largest file I can find. With pride.


But sure, I know her name. It’s Carrie Fisher. Which is why the guy who does a website in me starts searching for “Carrie Fisher” (which is something I actually do always feel kinda bad about). And I find Carrie Fisher. I found her in 1973. And she kinda ruled. Read this on the new site.

“Before they meet you, people have made up their minds. So if you go into show business you must be a big star or forget it.”

That’s what she told the AP reporter that year when the first real stuff about her started showing up. Because all the real stuff about her was about her being Debbie Reynolds’ daughter and Eddie Fisher’s daughter, which is understandable. And she understood it, too. She embraced it (she was apparently good at embracing things).  I’m pretty sure I read in a Weekly Reader or something that struggling against the cocoon builds up the butterfly’s wings. Emerging from the “Daughter of” shadow would make her stronger. That’s how she looked at it. And Lord, that’s what she did.

Because I know it sounds bad, but until Jennie started looking up stuff about her when we heard about the heart attack, I had no idea she was Debbie Reynolds’ daughter. Honestly, I barely even know who Debbie Reynolds is or was or whatever. I mean, I know the name. Maybe the face. She was still a thing, even when she wasn’t still a thing. But Eddie Fisher? I probably would have said a singer if you’d asked me. Other than that, I got nothing.

She didn’t come out of her parents’ shadows. She swallowed them up in her own. That takes a special someone.

If I had stayed in Lubbock an extra week (seven years ago), I could have interviewed her. I almost did, just for that. Totally should have.

“Sorry five-year-old daughter, I know I haven’t seen you in 6 weeks, but we’re going to have to make it seven…”

Again, check this out.

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