Questions abound

Finished a book last week. I know that shouldn't seem newsworthy -- and it's not -- but you'd be surprised how many half read books I have lying about. And because a friend and former colleague mistakenly believes I have an opinion worth listening too, I also have his new screenplay on my computer.

You might have noticed that I've taken the time to photograph Christoper Hitchen's Mortality booklette right next to an old Andy Award. I found it during my most recent round of Döstädning, Swedish Death Cleaning.

The connection may be too on the nose, but after I show the award to my daughters, now employed in the current dismal industry of Advertising, its headed right for the Culver City recycle bin. 

I can only assume the heavy head (probably made from a melted down chassis strut of a 1962 Pontiac) is worth something on the scrap metal market. Certainly more than it means to me. 

As readers of this blog know I'm a big fan of the Hitch. His eloquent debunking of religion, all religion but particularly the pugilistic Abrahamic ones, has always resonated with me. Perhaps that has spurred my new interest in Buddhism.

Or perhaps the testament to his battle with esophagal cancer struck a chord in this 68 year old man who can literally count the grains of sand left in my timer. Not to get all morbid on you or to infer my health is anything but excellent, however if I'm going to embrace the Eastern notion of impermanence, I have to be brutally honest about my own.

If you're familiar with Hitchens (and you should be) or have seen him in speaking engagements on YouTube, you know he can be combative. And self deprecating. And funny. Surprisingly funny for a man seated at that great saloon of Life and seconds away from Last Call.

In one telling passage, he recalls the failing of his voice. An unmistakable voice with its own cadence and its hammer-like impact. He curses the disease that has robbed him of his stage. But takes refuge in his lasting ability to put words on the written page. 

He fights to the very end. It's admirable and inspiring. And I don't inspire easily.

And I will too. I just need to find a way to square that with the image of myself being a leaf floating down a river. How do leaves fight?