Thurs. Writers always begins with a brief conversational period while everyone gets there.
Today, I said, "The Lord moves in mysterious ways ... ("Amen!" said one irreverently) ) "Robin Williams, 63; Betty Bacall, 89: and then there's poor old ZsaZsa Gabor - she's got to be 98, down to one leg and still with us."
"I wouldn't be so sure Cooper said, sinisterly, "Prince-y stands to lose a lot when she dies. She may be on life support ... anything to keep her going."
Food for thought indeed.
On the way home, northbound on PCH where Catalina turns into PCH, Richie stopped for the light, but a black SUV barreled right on through. Richie honked his horn at him and when the light changed, he was exactly one lane over from us.
The SUV driver rolled down his back side window (the passenger window was already open so he must have been royally pissed.) And delivered a profanity laden diatribe at the end of which Richie gave him a genial goodbye("F--k you!" as I recall) as traffic moved forward. The guy wasn't thorough -- he yelled out the rear window again, "I'm gonna remember your car!"
Richie said, "Help yourself" and rolled up his window. I burst out laughing and said, "Does he have any idea whatsoever of the number of cars that look exactly like yours? Happy hunting, dude!"
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