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It's strange, sometimes, the names and associations that crop up from our past. I meant to mention this when I heard he'd died on January 6th.

I first heard of Francesco Scavullo as a young teenager, poring over magazine pictures and articles of Duran Duran. Some of the best shots ever taken of the band were done by Scavullo. In a strange way, this was yet another proof that they had truly arrived: Scavullo's career was about preserving a moment in time, the beautiful people at their most glamorous, and he did just that for them, and for many others.

It's funny, some of the things I know about, some of the bits of scene of 80s history I'm aware of because of my Duranophilia. In a small Southern town, glossy teen magazines offered a peek at the cosmopolitan lifestyle led by the glitterati of the day that served as dreamy, escapist contrast to the normal routine of a rural existence.

I live in the city now, all grown up. I've learned to be careful what you ask for, because you might well get it. I could go to a club and dance any night that I wish, and though it's only a special occasion sort of thing, I've dined at Seeger's and other luminary restaurants.

And yet now, these days, all I want is to leave the traffic, and go back to the quiet simplicity of that existence. With both of us in technical careers, however, that's not likely to be a luxury that we're afforded for a very long time, if ever.

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Twin Peaks: Snoqualmie
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