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3:35 p.m. I arrive to Hollywood early to beat the traffic. I’ll read a book ("Heroes" by Paul Johnson) for a couple of hours.
I make a video musing about the meaning of life.
I arrive at 5:30. They’re still setting up.
A female reporter arrives. We chat for a few minutes.
She talks about a bunch of paparrazi discussing their shots of Britney Spears.
"I got a great picture of her snatch!" says one.
They all congratulate him.
She asks me for my favorite picture. I mention one of Sci-fi author Ray Bradbury.
I ask her about the celebrities she’s covered and if she’s ever gotten intimately involved with one or done anything immoral to get a story.
"You’re weirding me out!" she says. "Seriously. You are seriously weirding me out."
And that was the end of that conversation.
I spend much of the night clinging to Julia Sandberg-Hansson and her Cambridge friend Joanna.
"I didn’t think I’d see you here," said Julia.
