When I was in Los Angeles, Angela and I went in search of Marilyn Monroe’s grave. We found it eventually, in a small, upscale cemetery near the downtown area, and it was a lot smaller and more inconspicuous than we thought it would be. But, while we were there, I also saw this:
The thing that was strange was that there was only one date, which could only have meant that he was still alive back then, in March of 2009. I’m reading a Paris Review interview with him right now (because this is how literary dorks procrastinate) and he’s still alive today, although he’s 90. This is such a weirdly personal thing — to see the grave, and plot, that someone has picked out for themselves, in anticipation of their own death. He saw that patch of grass and said, “Yup, this is it.” He probably also chose his epitaph. He’s lived in California his whole life, so it’s fitting that he be buried in Los Angeles. And it is a very nice cemetery.
On Kindles and e-books: “A book has got to smell. You have to hold it in your hands and pray to it. You put it in your pocket and you walk with it. And it stays with your forever. But the computer doesn’t do that for you. I’m sorry.”
“We should forget about teaching children mathematics. They’re not going to use it ever in their lives.”
Ray Bradbury, I think I like you.