© 2016 Patrick Kirkland
“I did it,” I thought. I had lived in New York, took advantage of everything I could, and left without regret. Ten days later, without any idea of who to call, or a calling card script to my name, or even a story that I loved and wanted to sell, my wife, my dogs and my feet set down in the Santa Monica sand.
“That’s John Krasinski,” she mouthed to me. At least, I guess that’s what she mouthed to me, because with my 9th Grade lip reading skills, the words came to me as “I’m sin in the city.” Either way, I knew. It was on.
For years, instead of writing memoriams, I’ve played this sick game with a friend in which we try to be the first to RIP the latest celeb.
RIP Elaine Stritch.
RIP Shirley Temple.
RIP Casey Kasem.
RIP Robin Williams.