In the shower this morning, after making my flight reservations, I had this thought...
On my way back to my family's home to see my brother's first child, my niece/nephew, whatever the Hell the sucker's going to be, my plane is suddenly going down in a way that I know we're not getting out of...
So the first thing I think upon finally accepting my fate:
"Shit, I have my laptop with me! My whole artistic legacy is going down in this plane!'
The next thing I do is call my brother on the credit card phone (what can I say, in moments like this you splurge) and leave this message on his voice mail (because, let's face it, there's no way he's picking up.)
"Hey, I just wanted you to know I had a great time, so don't be sad. I had my ups, my downs, but I think I did it right and the way I wanted to, and what else can you ask for? Yeah, I'm shitting my pants here, and I'm sure I will be to the end, and I know it's not like me to be this optimistic, but I think that everything is going to be okay when I hit the other side.
"I love you, and Mom and Dad and your wife and your new kid that I'm never going to meet, Michael Jordan, Miles Davis, Bob Marley, Marlon Brando (especially in Last Tango In Paris,) Henry Miller, the paintings of Nicholas De Stael, the entire Philadelphia Eagles organization (God damn me for it!) and just, well everybody.
Oh yeah, by the way, and most importantly, when they print my obituary, do not, I repeat, do not let them say that I was a screenwriter!"
L.A. - 2/6/07
