It’s been two years, another Star Wars installment, and a posthumous Grammy, but every once in a while when I’m feeling crappy about getting old or being a weirdo, a Carrie Fisher anecdote lifts my spirits: her embrace of mental illness down to the Prozac urn; her f-off to ageism (“My body hasn’t aged as well as I have. Blow us”); the legendary phallic warning to a sexual harasser via chopped-off cow tongue; and the whole rest of the iceberg which can not be blurbed. When you scroll through tabloid headlines about how over-40 women still look sexy in bikini selfies all the time, it’s nice to keep in mind that all of that stuff is stupid, and nobody cares.
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