No sooner do I write an entry about the strange nature of my brushes with the famous than do I have two completely innocuous such occurrences.
In Milan’s noted (and perhaps overrated) Fashion District—next to the duomo and in the Galleria which houses original Prada store, established 1913—we had paused at a café, as one rightly does, when musician Carlos Santana himself takes a load off and settles into an espresso. Like anyone in Italy having afternoon java, he is utterly normal, though not unrecognized nor unnoticed by passersby and patrons. It strikes me that he looks somewhat like
Otto, the bus driver from the Simpsons, but better dressed.
In the San Francisco airport I spy actress Andie McDowell with what I assume are two of her children—and apparently another on the way—casually checking out sunglasses in a shop. She either exudes that fabled glow of pregnancy or is simply lovely all the time…or both. I see her again in the sushi restaurant in the International Terminal and miraculously don’t trip, stumble into her or smash into anyone else.
In Milan’s noted (and perhaps overrated) Fashion District—next to the duomo and in the Galleria which houses original Prada store, established 1913—we had paused at a café, as one rightly does, when musician Carlos Santana himself takes a load off and settles into an espresso. Like anyone in Italy having afternoon java, he is utterly normal, though not unrecognized nor unnoticed by passersby and patrons. It strikes me that he looks somewhat like Otto, the bus driver from the Simpsons, but better dressed.
In the San Francisco airport I spy actress Andie McDowell with what I assume are two of her children—and apparently another on the way—casually checking out sunglasses in a shop. She either exudes that fabled glow of pregnancy or is simply lovely all the time…or both. I see her again in the sushi restaurant in the International Terminal and miraculously don’t trip, stumble into her or smash into anyone else.
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