...is how I feel tonight.
A brief conversation about an element of a previous career with a friend elicited a question from her: "why don't you ever write about stuff like that?"
It's because I feel as if most rocks are younger than I am when I think about past days. I'm not terribly fond of the notion of being a museum exhibit where visitors push a button and I talk about old stuff.
Hell, I've been cast aside by the best. Why go for more?
In this particular case, the subject was animated films, which were my original "business." A movie she mentioned was the last one I worked on and, to tell you the truth, it wasn't a whole heckuva lot of fun. Lucrative, though.
Long, long ago, I wrote about meeting Frank Sinatra when I was a wee lad. Had I run into him again later, it wouldn't have meant a thing; I barely knew who he was at age eight -- though I already dug the hell out of some of his recordings -- and he paid little attention to me beyond a nice "glad to meet you" kind of adult-to-kid moment.
When I was even younger, my father took me to spend an afternoon with Stan Laurel, a sweet old man. At that point, I hadn't even seen a "Laurel and Hardy" comedy, so he was just a friendly guy with an interesting accent.
You may ask how it was that my father knew Stan. I'd have to be too open for my own taste to explain, but will direct you here for a hint of the family connection to the film biz. And even that doesn't explain the connection.
But it does explain meeting Frank. We were at Capitol Records where tracks for a UPA record were being laid down. Sinatra was there for an album of his own being recorded in yet another studio.
Later, quite without paternal assistance, I met Orson Welles. I did a little work on a TV show he was planning -- I don't recall it lasting long -- and the initial results weren't too wonderful.
A day or so later, I received a "this is Orson Welles" call at work. Bypassing the middleman, he asked me to drop by and talk the problem over with him. Since I had already found a solution, the rest was an afternoon of fascinating conversation.
But that's all old stuff. Means nothing, now.
I'd rather be known for what I've done instead of who I know/knew. I've listened to reminiscences from others, and they always come across as sad, eulogies for people who have passed their prime and have little to look forward to.
Am I one of those? I know a lot of people have relegated me to the past, but I feel ready to do new things still.
I regret not having been able to talk music with Frank, or films with Stan and Orson.
I hope some people will one day regret that they didn't spend enough time with me. But I'm too much of a realist to think my departure will leave any void in anyone's life.
And that's all I have to say about this stuff....
52 minutes ago