Everyone puts a little quote, or a funny saying -- my beloved work neighbor, the 52-year old man who keeps me sane and makes me laugh, changes it every day: "R.I.P. [insert famous person]" after checking one of his favorite sites, a Celebrity Death Beeper.
My boss just wrote: "You're still mourning Paul Newman???"
"Still. I've had an empty box of his [Newman's Own] raisins that David brought me over a year ago sitting on my desk. He's angled so he can watch me type. I was in love with him for more than half my life. :'-("
(My first reaction was to send Boss my blog post about the morning I found out. "Ooohhh, another reader," she shamelessly thinks. Thankfully, I let that idea sit on the brain for a minute and thought better of it.)
It made me sad, again.
But, it spurred the inspiration for my Halloween costume. I'm going to be a shackled Cool Hand Luke, I believe. I was going to be Chigurh from No Country, but where would I get that kind of weapon? Lofty goals, Grice. Shackles, I think I can handle.
A terribly sad, famous 00:40 seconds: