Mr. Bill

 

 

I was cruising Ventura Boulevard recently and spotted Mr. Bill Murray on the boot of the car in front of me.

 

I love Bill Murray. I do. I first fell for him when I was a wee lass, sneaking up late at night to watch Saturday Night Live. Most of the jokes were beyond my single-digit age, but I still laughed. A lot. I wasn’t crushing on Bill Murray or anything. I just liked him. He seemed approachable. My young mind trusted him.

 

When Mr. Bill left SNL and made his first movie, “Meatballs,” I went nuts for it. I still flippin’ love that movie. For all its dorkiness, it has so much heart. I like to think that if I’d ever gone to summer camp, it would have been that one. At least that’s the way I’ve always imagined it.

 

When I saw the sticker on this car, it made me smile. I don’t know a ding-dang thang about Bill Murray. He may be the most ordinary guy on the planet, or he may be a gi-normous freak. Either way, thoughts of him reside in a special place in my heart. Clearly, a Maxima driver in L.A. feels the same way.

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