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Thursday, December 30, 2004

This Is What It Sounds Like When Doves Cry

I have to admit: I am not usually one for sentimentality, nor am I usually the type to be affected by the arbitrary disasters in the world. As many of you may have heard, this past week a grotesquely capricious act of God stole from the world of man a little of the light normally cast upon us. No, I'm not talking about that stupid earthquake and the ensuing deaths and disease in Brownpersonland. I'm talking about the passing of Jerry Orbach, aka Lt. Lenny Briscoe.

I actually felt a brief pang of emotion through the vodka-induced veil through which I typically interact with the world. This was a guy who won a Tony award, and could still kick your ass. He was Mae West's chauffer for a time. But where he captured our hearts and minds was as jaded detective Briscoe.

So everybody pour out a little tomorrow night as many of us mourn the beginning of the first year in our lives without Jerry Orbach.

cranked out at 6:36 PM | |

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