on Paul and Heather (and me): an editorial
I've been hearing a lot of chatter about the recent announcement made by Paul McCartney and Heather Mills McCartney. That Heather wanted Paul's money all along. That Paul is needy beyond belief, and just could not go a day without the companionship of a woman. Here are my $0.02, and please know that I do not know either personally, these are just my observations:
Heather had a really sucky life before marrying Paul. I would not want her life. I thought her marrying Paul was compensation for some out-of-whack karma. Some type of survival medal. I do admire the things she has done in spite of her life traumas. She was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize.
But perhaps her life traumas have hardened her and made her passionate in some aspects of her life that one wouldn't expect.
Paul has kids. There are reports that Heather "has behaved much like Yoko Ono" and made things difficult between Paul and his kids. Please don't get me started on Yoko. Yes, you, Yoko. You, who turned your back to me at a party, you who did not encourage John to visit Julian - his own son, for pete's sake. You do not talk to Cynthia and you sure as heck don't talk to May, even though you shoved May on John's lap and forced her to live with John for a year as though she were some Geisha understudy from Gion. Yes, everybody knows, My dear Ms. Ono.
But I digress.
I have no idea if Heather was Yoko Ono to Paul's kids.
I do not know Paul McCartney. I know his work. I know his music and his activisim. I, like Heather Mills, would have a tough time with some British papparazzo yelling at my face "you slag! you scum!" just to capture a photo of me looking upset for his paying publisher, as the price for being married to Paul. Okay, maybe that didn't happen to Heather Mills, it happened to Princess Diana. Just know that the British papparazzi and British press are evil. They do things in Britain that are legally impossible in our country.
Truth be told, I would love to be Mrs. Paul McCartney if the job should actually be available. But - I think I would pass. I have a hefty imagination, but 64-years-old would just be too old.
Or maybe not.
And no, Yoko does not read this blog. At least, I hope not.