I’m going to the city today, but I am going to practice first. Yes I am. Yes I am. YesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIamYesIam.
Heath Ledger has died right on the heels of the Brad Renfro, I watch Nip/Tuck (which now takes place in L.A.), I saw Crash this weekend (the recent Crash, the one which won the Academy Award, not the 1994 movie about people with car-crash fetishes), and let me just say, without intending to insult Owl or anyone else who lives in the Los Angeles area, I am so happy to live on the East Coast away from all the insanity. Yes, I know, Heath Ledger died in New York. But he was part of the Hollywood culture. And you don’t often see 28 year olds dying naked in their beds with pills strewn around them. Not that he killed himself. But something bad happened. Something having to do with feeling above the laws that govern the rest of us, not just the “Law”, but the laws of physics, biology and reason.
I looked at my pills differently as I took them one by one last night. I wondered how much of a slip-up, what degree of carelessness, what seed of self-destruction must exist in order for my regular evening routine to end in utter tragedy.