February 11, 2005
Nothingís planted. I donít have a thing in the ground.

I spoke with Arthur Miller on the phone once, looking for photographs of him. (Inge answered the phone, may she rest in peace.) It was a fairly brief conversation, but during every single second, all I could think was, this guy slept with Marilyn Monroe.

I always though the Crucible was close to crap, but boy that Salesman play, apparently based on my mother, that was the shit.

I tried to find the fulltext on the web, to no avail; but the Spark Notes, they're free, and mind-boggling: "Willy seems to transfer his familial anxieties to his professional life. His brother and father did not like him enough to stay, so he endeavors to be “well liked” in his profession."

Posted by dbrown at February 11, 2005 08:55 PM
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