1986-2019

LEHMAN–Timothy D.W., died suddenly in his Los Angeles home on October 13th, 2019. He passed away one day shy of his 33rd birthday. He is survived by his loving wife Catherine T. Lehman, his parents David and Bonnie Weber-Lehman and his brother Daniel and his family.

The acclaimed screenwriter and essayist grew up in Mechanicsville, Virginia where he graduated from Atlee High School with an International Baccalaureate diploma. He then went on to study English at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota. After graduating with honors, he received a Watson Fellowship and spent the following year in South Korea researching what would become his first produced screenplay, The Conscript. Upon returning to the United States he attended Boston University, but left without completing his M.F.A. after selling The Conscript to Universal Pictures. The moderate success of this first feature lead to the publication of Amsterdamning, a collection of comical vignettes he wrote while at Macalester.

After Gaston became a box-office smash he moved to Amsterdam where he would spend the next five years. This would prove to be a fallow period for him, during which time he wrote the screenplay for Made of Honor 2: Made Man and completed an uncredited rewrite on Space Chimps 3D. He was also known to frequently submit short pieces to McSweeney’s under his pseudonym Phillip Parsley.

In an attempt to reinvigorate his waning career, he moved to Los Angeles shortly after his 30th birthday. He was soon hired as a staff writer for CSI: Pittsburgh but the stress of writing for the series soon became too much and he developed an addiction to crack cocaine. Known for feverishly writing throughout the night, the next two years would be the most productive of his career. Spurred along by his copious drug use, he created and ran the NASA drama Houston and the influential comedy The Canuders. Known for exacting tyrannical control over his shows, he singlehandedly wrote every episode for both seasons of the two short lived series.

After failing an insurance physical he checked himself into the Sober Living by the Sea drug rehab center. He told his family he was making progress, but he checked himself out on October 12th, five weeks before his rehabilitation was scheduled to end. He will be missed.

Day One at Lollapalooza

You read about my delays while trying to fly to Chicago in a previous post, so I’ll spare you that and begin this story at O’Hare and take you from there.

After gathering my luggage (big travel backpack, big duffel bag, laptop bag and messenger bag), I waddled my way to the metro stop in airport, weighed down by all my baggage. While waiting in line to buy a 3-day visitor pass for the CTA, I talked to the guy in front of me who was also on his way to the festival. He was from Mexico and had come to the US just for the festival. He didn’t know where he was going, so I shared the information I had gathered about the el with him and showed him how to get to the park. I took the blue line train from O’Hare to the next stop on the line, Rosemont. From Rosemont, I grabbed a bus to my hotel. That was an ordeal, trying to navigate down the narrow aisles of the bus with my four bags in tow.

I checked in at the Red Rood Inn, but was told that my room wouldn’t be ready for another hour even though it was already four in the afternoon. What sort of hotel doesn’t have their rooms cleaned until 5pm? As I checked in, a man came and asked the clerk behind the counter what the best way to get to Grant Park (the festival location) was. I listened in as the clerk gave directions to a Metra station about three miles away from the hotel that would take him directly to the park. I asked if there was a bus that went directly from the hotel to the station. She said there wasn’t, so I decided to stick with the bus to blue line path that I had mapped out online before leaving for Pennsylvania. I knew the bus probably wasn’t still going to be running after leaving the festival at night, but I assumed I would figure something out. The clerk said I could leave my luggage behind the counter until my room was ready, so I left everything but my messenger bag with her and left for the park.

I wasn’t really sure how the bus system worked. On the ride to the hotel it seemed as though the bus was picking people up and dropping people off wherever they wanted, regardless of whether there was an official stop there or not. I waited for the bus on the same side of the street that I got dropped on, even though I suspected that the bus I wanted would probably be coming from the opposite direction. I figured that if I saw the bus coming from the other way I would just quickly run across six lanes of traffic to get to the opposite side of the street and hope that the bus would stop for me. Naturally, that’s exactly what went down. I saw my bus (the 606) coming down the opposite side of the road. Luckily, there was a red light, so I scampered across the first three lanes of traffic to the concrete divider that split the road, then weaved between the cars waiting for the stoplight, making my way to the bus. I thought the bus was waiting for the light to change in the outer lane of the road. I hadn’t counted on there being a turning lane separating the bus from the curb. So when I darted around the front of the bus, I wasn’t expecting a mid-size SUV to be barreling down the turning lane right at me. I made eye contact with the bus driver and he opened the door for me after a second or two of deliberation. I hopped into the bus just as the SUV rushed past. “I’m not supposed to do that you know,” the bus driver told me as I swiped my card, “because if you had gotten hit it would have been my ass.” I thanked him then quickly moved to sit down near the back of the bus.

I took the bus to Rosemont, where I hopped on the next train into the city. Forty-five minutes later I transferred to another train before getting off and walking to the park. All told, including the time I spent waiting for the bus, the trip into the city took almost two hours. When I presented my bag to be searched by security at the festival gates, they made me throw away my Nalgene bottle. It was empty. I still don’t understand the logic in that, but I went along with that. By this time it was after 6pm and the festival had been going on for seven hours already. I was a bit pissed about being so late and missing some acts I had hoped to see. Once I was inside the park, after picking up a program, I gave Meg a call to see where she was and if she wanted to meet up. Unfortunately, she had decided to get a good spot for Radiohead, and was way up in the crowd that had already gathered at the main stage, so instead we made plans to meet the next day. By myself I made my way to watch the tail end of Grizzly Bear’s set. I caught a few songs, and even though they’re probably not a band best suited for the festival atmosphere, they seemed to be putting on a pretty good show.

From Grizzly Bear I moved on to see Bloc Party at the AT&T stage, the festival’s main stage. There was a huge crowd gathered, so I made my way up as far as I could without pissing the crowd already there off too much. I thought their set was OK. They seemed to be plagued by technical problems at the end of the their set. Their regular bassist, Gordy, was on paternity leave and had been replaced by some other guy. He was fine. There was also no way the show could compare to the time Puchie and I saw them a few summers ago, also in Chicago, at the Intonation Festival. We were in the very front row, right on the rail at that show. Bloc Party had been the headliner on the final night, and there was just no way a late afternoon show where at least 20,000 people separated me from the stage could compete with that. Furthermore, the annoyance that would prove to be the weekend’s biggest disappointment first reared its ugly head during BP’s set: the crowds blew. As I stood back, trying to enjoy Kele Okereke’s crooning, people all around me chatted away with no regard for the music or the people trying to listen to it. They also played Mercury, which just sucks.

I had planned to go and watch Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks after Bloc Party finished, but since Radiohead was going to be playing on the same stage in about an hour, I decided to stay put and try and find a better spot to watch the night’s headliner. After weaving my way up as far as possible, I reached a spot where maybe only 15,000 stood between the stage and I. The boys came on stage right on schedule at 8pm and launched right into the disappointingly standard opener 15 Step. Behind me, two guys who I can only assume were frat-boy alpha males, and hence not at all Radiohead’s target audience, continued to talk even as the show began. They would not stop talking all night. It was a constant stream of cracks about how the music was whiney and the light show was boring and Thom Yorke was a bad singer. As the show went on my rage boiled and I composed in my head the diatribes that I would never deliver to them about their insensitivity and jackassery. I was pissed. A few songs in a kid about my age collapsed right in front of me. Immediately the crowd around him stepped back to give him some air. Lying flat on the ground, his eyes rolled back in his head. He was wearing a vest without a shirt and a necklace with an LED pendant hung from his neck, blinking blue as he lay, not moving. Nobody knew what to do, and for a few long seconds nobody did anything. Eventually one of his friends kneeled down and patted his cheek and he woke up. Somebody handed him a bottle of water. His friends led him out of the crowd. I went back to listening to All I Need.

I’m sure the band put on a good show. They played Fake Plastic Trees and Dollars & Cents, neither of which I had heard live before, which was nice. Since I was so far back, I was able to better appreciate the light show, which I thought was really cool. The fireworks during Everything in its Right Place were a nice touch. But I couldn’t enjoy the show because of the jackasses talking behind me. Depressed because of that, I was in a bad mood as I left the park after Radiohead finished up. I pushed my way onto a crowded train and stewed as the train traveled back to Rosemont. As I had feared, the buses were no longer running, so with no other choice, I slipped into a waiting cab, telling the driver I was at the Red Roof Inn on Algonquin at its intersection with Arlington Heights. I watched as the fare rose higher and higher on the meter. Glancing at the cab information posted on the pack of the passenger seat, I learned that the Rosemont Cab Co. charged $2.20/mile. Shit. Soon we were on Arlington Heights Rd. at its intersection with Algonquin. I could see the hotel right out of my window. “Left here?” the cabbie asked. “Yeah, it’s right there,” I said, pointing at the Red Roof sign. The light turned green and the cabbie turned left and proceeded to turn right past the hotel. “You just passed it,” I told him. “What?” he said. “That was the hotel back there,” I said. He turned around in a Mariott parking lot. I watched the meter continue to tick up. Eventually he made it into the Red Roof parking lot. I paid the $23 fare. I didn’t tip him. Fucker.

I stopped by reception and picked up my bags, and walked to my room, again hunched under their weight. The light was on in the room, which I thought was strange. I figured it had just been left on by mistake. I swiped my keycard. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I tried the second keycard. Nothing. I tried the second keycard again. Still nothing. I double checked the room number. I was in the right place. I thought I heard somebody inside the room. Still carrying my bags, I walked back to reception and told the guy behind the desk my card didn’t work. He double checked some things. “Oh,” he said, “we switched your room.” Thanks for telling me, asshole. I got my new keycards, went to my new room, and hallelujah! the card worked. I dropped my bags and immediately grabbed the ice bucket and took it to the ice machine. The ice machine was, of course, broken. Upset at the course the day had taken, I took a shower and went to sleep, hopeful that the next day would be better.

Reunion Time: Part 2

Hmm, I kind of forget where I left off in my last post. Let me reread it quick. Okay. Looks like I last wrote a lament on the early dining habits of the elderly. That should bring us back up to speed. Upon rereading that last post I also realized how not-at-all interesting it was. My apologies.

I just deleted the last three paragraphs that I wrote and decided to start over. I had written a blow by blow, play by play account of day two of the Diener reunion, and it took me three paragraphs to realize that you don’t care about that at all. So I’m going to try and stick to the exciting stuff from here on out.

Wednesday afternoon I traveled into Lancaster for the Amsterdam mini-reunion with Christy and Bri. I got stuck in some serious construction in downtown Lancaster on the way there, meaning I got to Christy’s apartment about twenty minutes late. After giving me some serious flak for being twenty minutes late for what should have been a half-hour drive, Bri and I followed Christy up to her apartment. We get a quick tour then head back down again to get a tour of the F&M campus. We walked through the quad where hookah competitions take place, saw the statues of Franklin and Marshall that apparently make great late night pissing posts, walked past the haunted, asbestos filled theater, the works. From there we walked into downtown Lancaster, hanging out, reminiscing, catching up. We grabbed dinner at a sandwich place called Isaac’s, which is apparently some kind of Pennsylvania institution. After dinner, it was back to the apartment where the night really began.

The three of us hung out around the apartment for a while, drinking some bizarre flavor of MD 20/20 and Cherry Wheat Sam Adams while we waited for Christy’s friend Scott to meet up. Once he showed up, it was down to the Iron Hill, a restaurant / bar on the ground floor of the apartment building, a joint famous for their $7 beer samplers, a beer sampler that includes fifteen different types of beer. Scott and I each ordered a sampler for ourselves, while Christy and Bri decided to split one. The picture to the left was taken as the samplers were in the process of being delivered. The collection of drinks to the far right is mine. That’s only half the sampler. It was a lot of beer. I slowly drank my way through the collection fine ale, trying to pace my drinking and just get it done in equal measure. Parallel conversations developed at the table, as Christy and Scott splintered off into their own discussion and Bri and I delved into ours.

After I finished my sampler (I had lagged behind Scott and well behind the two girls), it was decided that it was time to visit another bar so we could get the full Lancaster experience. So we walked to Hildy’s, a bit of a dive a few blocks away. On the way over I talked to Scott a bit. He’s really into film and had recently helped out on a film that had shot in an old asylum or institution of some sort. He seemed like a good guy. At Hildy’s we split a pitcher of beer. It was around that time that we decided we had better call our other Amsterdam peeps. We tried Sarah and Alex first, but had to settle for leaving rambling, screaming voice mails when they didn’t pick up. After that we called Nick. By that point, we were so far gone that we couldn’t tell if we were talking to Nick or just listening to his voice mail message, so I talked at him for a long time, discussing the difficulty I was having determining if I was actually talking to him or not. I’m still not sure if he was actually on the other end of the line, but if I had to guess, I’d say that he was probably listening patiently on the other end as I rambled on about my dilemma.

Later another of Christy’s friends, Alisha, met us at Hildy’s and we decided that it was probably time to get another pitcher. After downing the second pitcher, it was decided that we should then venture forth to an all night diner in the area. Alisha hadn’t had anything to drink, so she drove us there. By that point I was ready to sober up, so I started downing cups of coffee along with my bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. Our waiter (Chris?) in dealing with our inebriated state (working the third shift I’m sure he gets it all the time). I think I left him a pretty good tip. After the diner we got a ride back to the apartment and after drinking plenty of water, promptly crashed.

After all too short of a night sleeping on the couch, I woke up along with the others at 8am. I had to get back to the reunion at 9:30 for a family picture, and I wanted to try and shower beforehand, so the three of us said our goodbyes pretty hastily then split. As we were heading out the door, Bri made a comment about how it would be a while before we saw each other again. It probably will be. I drove back to the reunion, took a much needed shower and tried not to look too hung over for the family photo.

More Blogging

I just reread my last post. It ends with a startlingly prescient typo. I’ll have no content soon-ish. Truer words, my friends. Truer words.

I’ve been busy the last week or so catching up with friends, helping to break in the new Macalester Athletics Center, writing rough drafts of blog posts, applying for jobs, interviewing for a job, training on the job, being very broke, and most recently, tearing up my knee in a bike accident (details in a later post. probably.).

So yeah, I got hired at a bubble tea place near campus. They don’t pay for training hours worked though, so all I earned for my two hour shift on Friday was the $2.32 I made in tips. Two thirty-two don’t stretch too far. My manager told me I probably shouldn’t get high before work for the first week that I worked there because there’s a lot to memorize, but after that she didn’t give a shit. Wow.

I have versions of my next four or five posts written down, they just need to be transformed into typed text, so hopefully they will be forthcoming shortly. They should be long, in depth interesting posts. Hopefully they will make up for the last two sorry excuses-for-posts that I have written.

Back at Mac

I just got back to Macalester a couple hours ago. The house seems great so far, though the basement I’ll be sleeping in for the next three weeks can charitably be described as musty.

Since I’m here now with no responsibilities and lots of time on my hands, I’m going to try and get back up to speed and update you on all the fun activities of the past week or so. So bear with me, I’ll have no content soon-ish.

Reunion Time

First things first. My apologies for the angst ridden previous post. There was a protracted debate in my mind if I should even post that at all, and once I did post it, and even longer debate about whether I should immediately delete it. But I’m all about openness here, so you all were lucky enough to get a brief glimpse into my wrought depths. Ahem.

Right now I’m sitting in Baltimore-Washington International Airport, waiting for my flight to Chicago which may or may not be delayed. I hope it’s not because I really want to get to Lollapalooza at 5:45 at the latest, when Grizzly Bear begins their set. My flight was scheduled to land at 2:03 CST, which would have given me plenty of time to collect my checked luggage and take the bus to my hotel, checking in hopefully by 4pm, and immediately hopping on another bus into the city. But now it looks like my flight may not take off until 1:35 EST, which would get me into Chicago around 2:30 CST and would throw my well-planned arrival into disarray. I just heard that we’ll be boarding around 1:05 (it’s 12:45 right now, and my flight was supposed to board at 12:27) which obviously does not bode well. However, it does afford me this time to regal you with tales of the past few days.

My family arrived at the Black Rock Christian Retreat Center for the Diener family reunion around 4 o’clock on Tuesday afternoon. The roughly five hour drive to get there had been largely uneventful except for the fact that I realized about 10 minutes in that I didn’t have my cellphone, so we had to turn around and head back to the house so I could pick it up. Otherwise I spent most of the trip sleeping, rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and listening to Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks. I should also mention that that morning at 9:15, before we left for Pennsylvania, I drove into Richmond to get my hair cut for the first time since January. My mom estimated that afterward my hair was five inches shorter, which seems like a lot, but then again, what do I know? In any case, my hair is quite a bit shorter now, and it feels good. If nothing else, now Daniel will stop complaining about my hair clogging up the drain in the shower, though I guess the fact that I’m now on my way to Chicago makes that a moot point regardless of the length of my hair.

Upon arriving at the retreat center I was greeted by my immediate family members who I hadn’t seen since Thanksgiving. After that, my cousins Andrew and David led us to the room that Daniel and I would be sharing with them. The four of us spent some time together hanging out in the room, catching up, then before we knew it, there was a knock on the door, my Aunt Louisa, their mother, announcing that it was time for dinner. It was 5pm. I guess I should have expected that given the elderly contingent present.

Okay, it’s time to board, finally. It’s 1:20. Jesus. I’ll be back in a minute after takeoff.

Well, it is now 1:30am Sunday morning, meaning it’s been something like 36 hours since I said I would continue the post. I’m just gonna put this online incomplete to provide content, and get right to work on part 2 (or whatever).