Back in Black

I've been light on the 'lash lately, because I've been working a lot. Luckily, I recently renewed my pledge to be as unproductive as possible for the rest of my life, so I'm renewed with lethargy.

Anyway, my great-uncle died over the weekend. Sometimes I get upset over deaths and sometimes I don't. Mainly it depends on whether or not the person owed me money. Not really. I think I tend to get upset over deaths when the ending is particularly tragic or unexpected. That's not the case here. My Uncle Howard lived a long, full life, and he was in bad shape at the end; death isn't so bad in that situation. I like to think that maybe death is like waiting in line at the post office. You get your number and you wait in line, but sometimes the clerk will take a look at you and say, "You don't look so good; would you like to go ahead?" I think it's okay to feel some relief then because the wait is over. Of course, this implies that people at the post office would be allowed to kill you. It took them 4 weeks to process my change of address form, I'm not sure I want to charge those folks with ushering me peacefully into the afterlife.

This has all been a topic of much discussion in my family lately, and it brings to my mind a few lines from one of my personal heroes, Mr. Woody Allen: "I don't want to achieve immortality through my work; I want to achieve immortality through not dying. I don't want to live on in the hearts of my countrymen; I want to live on in my apartment." Amen to that. For all I know, when I die, I'll be greeted by all of my favorite people, carrying with them Mexican beer and spicy chicken from Popeye's. However, I can acquire most of that within five miles of my house, so I don't really want to risk it. If the price of gas continues to rise, we may have to revisit that conversation.