Stacy Horn

It’s good to know that people like the guy who made this film exist in the world. Stay for the credits, which were sweet.

[Video removed because the link no longer works.]

I spoke to Mrs. Kremen, who was very nice about it, but even now, can’t bear to talk about it, so she didn’t want to talk to me. His birthday is this month, too. Oh, it was awful. There are some things you just don’t recover from. This poor woman. She blames herself, for moving the family to California. (She’s from Brooklyn.) She has another son, but she said her life was ruined from then on. She was 37 when it happened. So I apologized and got off the phone. She wasn’t mad, she just didn’t want to go into it. She did say that the psychics they consulted were a nightmare. Ugh. I felt terrible. I can’t believe the things some people have to endure. Life is not fair.

From time to time parents would write J. B. Rhine (the head of the Duke Parapsychology Laboratory) for help finding their missing children. This is 6-year-old Bruce Kremen who went missing in Pasadena, California on July 13, 1960. Look at that sweet face. His parents tried everything, for years. At first Rhine would say, I don’t have much faith in them, but sure, try using a psychic. I know how Rhine felt about psychics, but I got the sense that he just didn’t have the heart to remove a source of hope. But then he stopped. He would tell parents outright that psychics cannot help you and they will only take your money and raise false hope. Actually, he didn’t say psychics in general, he would refer to specifics ones who made a living contacting parents like the Kremens.

But I wonder about the Kremens family. What the rest of their lives were like. Did they have any more children? Did they break up (what frequently happens)? Bruce would be 52 today, so his parents would probably be in their 70’s. Oh my God. I just checked. The family is still listed in the phonebook at the exact same address where they lived in 1960. They are still there.

Do I dare call? This is what I went through with the cold case book. Should I call the family of the murder victim or not?? Do I open up old wounds? Actually, if I go by that, in every case they wanted to talk to me. The wounds had never closed and they were glad that their child, brother, father, etc., would not be forgotten. Still, I dread it. Okay, I’m calling. (But later, it’s 6AM there now.)

Oh no. I just checked the Social Security Death Index, in case that was an old listing, and the father died in 2004. He was 84. I’ll still try calling. Maybe the mother or someone else will be there.

They go straight to my blog. That’s my friend Ray in the middle. I met him volunteering down at ground zero. Ray’s a lieutenant up in Harlem. Look at them with their beers — they almost look like security beers.

Once again, I’m lazing about. I emailed four chapters to my agent, so the day immediately acquired that Miller-time feel and I’ve been unable to work. I’ve been doing things I’ve been putting off that don’t feel like work instead.

1. I set up online banking so I can pay my bills online. I’m, like, the last who writes out checks every month I think.

2. Made a hotel reservation for my family reunion next month.

3. Called my various phone companies to see how I can bring my monthly charges down. I think I can cancel service on one line and consolidate a little.

4. Read this topic on Echo about new cool things on the web to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. I am of course, but nothing critical, except maybe last.fm.

5. I’ve given up upgrading the software I use for this blog for now.

This was from the other day when it rained so hard I thought it would make the coolest picture, and although I tried and tried, I couldn’t get a shot that really conveyed how hard it was raining.

Today’s been an odd day. I’m restless, but something in me is determined to do nothing productive. Instead, I’ve been searching for odd things on the internet. Like Veets and Beams, my two cats before this who are dead. Like I thought someone would be talking about my dead cats. Except a few were, because I wrote a book about them. One person was complaining about what a whiner I am, and I thought, “stop reading, stop reading, stop reading.” Because really, you can’t please everyone and it does no good to read the bad things people sometime say about you.

But then they said they got into it (they were reading Waiting for My Cats to Die) and that I had made them cry. TWICE. (That’s what you get for calling me a whiner!) Actually, it ended up being a lovely post, and I am a bit of a whiner.

Have you ever had days like that, where you take a day off, but end up reduced to searching for your dead cats on the internet, and you should have just worked on something? You’ve had days like that, right?