This one's for Robert
Last night I was ready to drift off to sleep, happily buzzed on a good-date high after spending time with a sweet someone, when I read that Robert Altman had died.
Four emails later, a reshuffling of my Netflix queue, lots of staring out the window at the quiet city.
I fell asleep to the slower, striding songs from the "Kansas City" soundtrack, but it wasn't for hours.
Consequently, I am now an hour late for work.
Altman, Tom Wolfe, Bukowski...these are my heroes.
I remember being in LA when news of Bukowski's death hit the paper.
I never remember feeling so old.
I still have the press kit from my "Short Cuts" screening, back when I didn't feel so old and thought I'd be a journalist.
I'll never get to work with him, even near him.
Four emails later, a reshuffling of my Netflix queue, lots of staring out the window at the quiet city.
I fell asleep to the slower, striding songs from the "Kansas City" soundtrack, but it wasn't for hours.
Consequently, I am now an hour late for work.
Altman, Tom Wolfe, Bukowski...these are my heroes.
I remember being in LA when news of Bukowski's death hit the paper.
I never remember feeling so old.
I still have the press kit from my "Short Cuts" screening, back when I didn't feel so old and thought I'd be a journalist.
I'll never get to work with him, even near him.