Out of the blue, shocking news for me. Possibly not shocking, but definitely disrupting/disturbing. This kid I used to know a long time ago apparently died last week under mysterious circumstances. Scary stuff. I remember him ‘cos he squirted me good once, when I used to “know a long time ago” him. There we were, this little dude a coupla years younger and me… and there I was with two fistfuls of, well, two stupid water balloons and there he was with this big old gun, no, rifle. I needn’t spell out that he won. Stupid water balloons - once you’ve thrown them, whether or not you miss pathetically, you’re screwed. And when his gun was empty well and proper, he skipped off like it was nothing; but I didn’t forget that day of spray.I’m glad I didn’t. Otherwise I would have had no reason to remember him at all.
Happy trails, dude.
I don’t deal with death very well; in fact I don’t deal with death at all. I know of quite a few people who have passed in the last few years; some family, some acquaintances, some known, some barely. But I don’t recall that I had much of a reaction to any of them, even while I was standing beside the open coffin, even when I dropped my handful of dirt. Pitiful.
I suppose I never actually learned how to react to death because I have been so shielded from it. Well, people death, anyway. I’ve buried budgies (and one parakeet) in the dead of night, though - pretty unpleasant business, that. More than a mild sense of remorse or a fleeting thought of a fleeting life, I cannot normally pour much emotion into it.
It’s really quite rude if you really think about it. Would I be satisfied if I died and a someone I knew didn’t care enough to wish that Superman would fly Superanticlockwise at Superspeed and turn back time so that Lois Lane would live again? I mean… so that I (not Lois) could live again?
People expect you to show, maybe even feel some grief, offer condolences, do the mopey, black tie and suit thing. And here I am, not. Pitiful.
In other news, you know who I like? Emma Roberts! (I do wish she’d stop saying ‘sleuthing’, though.) And MacGyver! And Herbert’s sister, Sara! Ok, I made that last one up; she doesn’t really have a brother named Herbert… or does she…??
And what the fuck is up with Calleigh Duquesne? What kind of messed up fucking world are we living in, where syllables are not spelled anything like the way they are pronounced?? Are we ALL SUPPOSED TO BE FRENCH??? George is getting upset!
In other other news, my barber disappeared. Very inconsiderate of him, actually… After my planning it out so I could enjoy the weekend without having to waste time getting my hair cut and then leaving work early Monday evening so I could first watch Jim and Pam get it together before heading off to Mr. B… he’s not there! His entire fricking shop just up and left… disappeared, I tell you! Really obnoxious chap, he is. Not only was my masterplan completely ruined, I’ll have to go a while with this awful hair before I can find a new someone to trim it for me.
And, what of our conversations? Did he conveniently forget the long and decidedly awkward silences while he snipped and I sniffed? The unnecessary nods of appreciation when our eyes accidentally met in the mirror. The abrupt bursts of chatter when I finally thought of something grown up enough to say out loud and the golden pauses that followed when I had said it all too soon? Where will he find those moments now??
The Ungrateful Man.
Foo Fighters – The Pretender
Miami Sound Machine – Conga
