So, I'm looking at the calendar and something's nagging at me. November 18th. What the hell is it with November 18th?
And then I have it. My dad died on November 18th of 1992. Had a heart attack in Hilo, drove home to Kona to, get this, make sure he had clean underwear because he knew he was going to be in the hospital for an extended stay. It was something like his fifth or sixth heart attack. He knew the drill.
He finally kicked in the hospital a week or two later, prompting the confusing early morning phone call saying that he couldn't be resuscitated and me being too tired to completely click onto what that meant.
"So, he's dead then?"
It was a rough month.
So I'm musing on this, thinking how things have changed over the last 14 years, but something's still bugging me. And then I really have it.
L.A. Noir is one year old, today.
375 entries, 13,859 visitors.
A whole year of shootings, stabbings, dismemberments, drug raids, gang rapes, hits ordered from prison. Burnt bodies in campgrounds, parked cars and hotel rooms. Murder, arson, short cons, long cons, the occasional angry drunk. Sex offenders, offendees and those who just like a little kink in their porn. Book signings, fiction, the occasional review.
Now, I know some people have enjoyed this site. They've told me.
I also know that many others have very much NOT enjoyed it. I've never had hate mail before. It's been an interesting experience. I wouldn't mind it so much if many of them had more than a third grade reading level, but you take what you can get, I suppose.
So, like it or hate it, it is what it is.
Thanks for reading.