3/30/2000
Last night was extremely cool. I went to Butler (University) to see Ray Bradbury and Douglas Adams, who were there to give a lecture and do some readings. This thing rocked. After the lecture we were all hanging out in the private reception area when Douglas Adams walked in — and I got to shake his hand and even though i didn’t wait in the huge line, he still signed my copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy! Then, as we were about to leave I was standing in front of Clowes Hall when Ray Bradbury was wheeled up to the curb three feet away from me to wait for his car…. So, I said “I really enjoyed your talk tonight, Mr. Bradbury” and he asked my name and asked about my future plans — the guy looked genuinely happy when I told him I was considering St. John’s College (Annapolis) and that I wanted to be a writer or at least a high school English teacher. Then his car pulled up and he wished me good luck.. and that was that.
Today’s news took me right back to that cold March night during my Junior year of high school. The night when the stars aligned and the universe of an impressionable 17 year-old kid full of potential, in a brilliant flash, intersected with those of two literary legends, both now relegated to the permanent past-tense. My life has gone in a completely unforeseen direction since that night, but I’m hoping the same can’t be said for my potential.
Death doesn’t exist. It never did, it never will. But we’ve drawn so many pictures of it, so many years, trying to pin it down, comprehend it, we’ve got to thinking of it as an entity, strangely alive and greedy. All it is, however, is a stopped watch, a loss, an end, a darkness. Nothing. –Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes
Death, itself, may not exist, but when the brightest stars among us die, they leave gaping holes in the night sky.
Best of luck, Mr. Bradbury.
(not so) easy listening 