"I'll tell you a terrible secret — Are you listening to me? There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady."

Today, the author of my favorite book "Franny and Zooey", passed away. I once fantasized of striking up a letter correspondence with him. It's very hard to let go of a 90+ year old man when he is and forever will be, immortalized as the _______ youth (it's very hard to describe Holden with justice - youth always seemed to be Salinger's most treasured attribute - I always thought that he was kind of the Scott Fitzgerald/JM Barrie of his time) who resonated with so many generations of petulant, idealistic iconoclasts. (If you think of it, wasn't Holden the predecessor to everything, from Travis Bickle to Igby? Maybe that's a little too egotistic). I know this is rambling, but this is.....well, this is JD Salinger. 

Most upsettingly, none of my friends seem to give a fuck, other than an "aww...that's horrible." S has found my depression a tad bit confusing.