I noticed he had a big, very old photo of an American Indian chief on the wall right inside his door, with a long dedication written on it. Plus he knows ME! Truly a rich life.
I had an old, cool, poet dude living in my apartment building. He died. We had a wake and lots of artsy people read poetry. It was sad. I wish I had hung out with him more instead of working so much at the time. He always had young college women visiting him.
I took a class from Tom Lehrer once. I always meant to approach him with my own silly computer-related rhymes but found his genius intimidating. He wrote me a very nice evaluation at the end of the course.
I don’t know who that is, but that’s a pretty cool story. Meeting people that you either look up to or hear a lot about is always interesting. When I met Derrida, it seemed kind of odd. He died shortly after that. Pure coincidence.
Some embaressing things, you don’t have to admit. You could just have Googled him (or listen to the Lehrer song I linked in Bills pigeon genocide thread) and come back and said the obvious: Wow, that’s pretty cool Fire! Sad you didn’t pick up the courage.
I’ve met a few people I’ve admired for years and every single meet has been a dissapointment (the fact that Christopher Lee thought I was an idiot hurt the most). I’d love to meet Lehrer, I have all his records. The originals on vinyl.
I never liked my old neighbor. He was this painter freak with a Charlie Chaplin moustache. I don’t remember his real name but we called him Shittle-grouper. I forget why. I think he’s dead now. Good riddance. I think he liked animals more than people. Huge fucking asshole. Would get worked up about the smallest shit. If he wasn’t ever famous he sure acted like he was.