I’m laying around feeling ill, the result of downing a bowl of cherries while watching Paul McCartney, here to claim what’s left of the Beatles Catalog, on David Letterman.
I’m thinking, though not deeply, about death. The grandfather of a good friend died today. Funerals are sad, death not necessarily so. Sometimes death is a relief, or so I hear. I’m not sure how we can know if death really alleviates anything. The dead can’t tell us. The best we can hope for is it all ends with death being the balm of life.
The consequence of this death is that my friend is coming this way for the funeral, and I’ll get to spend some time with him over the next couple days. I love catching up with people on the “real friend” list, discussing girlfriends, boyfriends, life plans, work, school, and family dysfunctions. It’s peculiar that I totally hate discussing this kind of thing with people who are not good friends. The casual acquaintance bores me to tears with stories I find riveting if delivered by someone I have put in the “life friend” category.
Speaking of funerals. I wish everyone would shut up about Michael Jackson. Now we have to look at his hair burning Pepsi commercial, his nasty old father, his countless friends, who prior to this lived in some heavy woodwork, Larry King asking some of the stupidest questions imaginable to people we’ve not heard of before, not to mention the other CNN histrionic pundits extraordinary. Soon people will be posting autopsy pictures. Watching this stuff makes me sicker than eating ten bowls of cherries. We are an indecent people here on Planet Earth.
peace
