"Great actor," said a New York University student named Jessica Roy, who lives nearby. She'd seen Ledger in the neighborhood a few times, on his bicycle, she said, and remembered thinking, "He looked like any scruffy New Yorker."
I called Heath Ledger a scruffy New Yorker in the Washington Post. I don't know whether to be mortified, ashamed or impressed with myself.
I just walked by the site earlier and people started laying out flowers. I don't know why Mr. Ledger's death is affecting me so much. Like Josh says, I didn't know him. Maybe it's just a reminder that life is fleeting and all that. Or maybe it's a wakeup call for me to climb out of my celebrity gossip hole. Or maybe I'm just overanalyzing everything. Or maybe I'm stoned. (Hey, we all have our ways of dealing with things.)
MATT: celebrity deaths freak me out a little more than normal people deaths
JESS: why is that?
MATT: dont know. i guess we've just accepted that everyone we know is gonna die and celebrities just seem immortal
JESS: yeah, they seem untouchable
JESS: the masses can't get close to them neither can the cosmos
MATT: brb, getting lifted
UPDATE: I am also quoted in the New York Times as saying:
Jessica Roy 19, a New York University journalism student, said she had met Mr. Ledger in the neighborhood, and she called his death “really sad.” She said she had never seen such hubbub in SoHo. “It’s fascinating to me, this whole media extravaganza,” she said.
I hate capitalizing on such a tragic event. It makes me feel dirty all over. But is it safe to assume this is one step closer to an NYTimes byline?