I somehow can’t imagine Alfred Hitchcock behind a wheel and making his way through Los Angeles traffic and getting frustrated by rush-hour annoyances. I just can’t see it. In my mind he was this sedate, settled old-school guy who rode in the backs of limousines. Or sat in a director’s chair or at the dinner table or in his den. I can’t even imagine him walking any kind of distance. Even when he was young. One of those guys who seemed born in a suit. A guy I know ran into Hitchcock once at a hotel and said that he looked shortish — the current consensus seems to be that he was 5′ 7″. I just remembered I was supposed to call Kent Jones in Paris to discuss his Hitchcock/Truffaut doc. Maybe we can chat in Paris on Friday or this weekend. Update: Seeing Jones’ film (and presumably Jones himself) on Monday morning in Paris.