I met him only two or three times. He had a number of sides to his nature, as we know, including a very black one. He showed me his vain side. I had to give a dinner party for him and had someone bellow in his ear the names of all the other people and had all their place names written out very large so he could see them at the table. He sat next to E. M. Forster and asked, "And what magazine do you write for?" He just didn't take these people seriously, and didn't bother to find out who they were. Stephen Spender on Robert Frost
Yesterday, finding myself in Renton, of all places, I pulled into the cemetery there and found the monument to Jimi Hendrix. I had never thought of going to see it, regardless of the numbers of times it shows up in the news. It is nice, clearly serious in its memorial intentions. I couldn't find an actual grave for him, though. The monument is thought out but odd. The cemetery itself is odd, as though it was created by someone who had never thought through what a cemetery should look like. Whole areas with no trees or foliage. Well, I can now check Hendrix' grave off my list of Seattle places to visit.