Look at the Drunks!

. . . says my brother, as he emails me this picture of the two of us in My Summer Dacha in My Ancestral Village last summer (countdown until arrival there: FIVE DAYS!).

We do look a little bleary.

Funny thing, sort of. I thought he was talking about this article in today's Moscow Times. Which isn't funny.

While I'm being not funny, what is it with the rash of celebrity deaths? Doesn't it always seem to come in waves? I remember that Elvis and Groucho died the same summer (1977 if you're interested).

David Carradine.

Ed McMahon.

Lovely Farrah Fawcett. God, how I wanted hair like that . . . her mother apparently said to always brush the back of your head because "people see that." Or so my mother told me.

And today the King is dead.

RIP.