For Real?

Pretty much every day sees a celebrity die. Some are not so big, but I'd say one dies every day, more or less, and there's always someone I'm tied to who can muster some grief on their behalf. That bugs me. You might think I should be heartened by how people care about each other or something, but I'm not. I'm bugged by what seems like either false or at the very least wasted grief. I've complained about this before, but the frustration continues to develop anew all the time.

Yesterday Gabriel Garcia Marquez died. He's reputed to be one of history's greatest writers, but I wouldn't really know about that. I never have gotten through one of his books. I tried once, but made little headway before giving up. I should try again, because I'm sure I would make it this time, but the point is that he's meant nothing to my life personally, so I'm not going to undergo the horrible experience of mourning a death I don't need to.

How They Do It

There has been, in recent years, a development in the death penalty debate. In one sense it's as much a moral, ethical, justice-based one as any there have been, but what interests me is the practical component. The thing is that there have been a lot of methods for execution over time. In the US, recent history has seen it mainly confined to lethal injection, although it may be so that the gas chamber and some other methods remain technically legal in places.

Lethal injection is the big one. It used to be that there was a standard multiple drug combination whose purpose was to make death both humane and certain. Obtaining it was no problem, especially in the majority of states where executions are relatively rare. For places like Texas and Florida, they seem a little more commonplace. In any event, even those places got enough to satisfy their needs. For someone to evade or delay execution, it was going to take some kind of legal maneuver.

Morbid, Unhappy, Bitter

Yesterday, Harold Ramis died. He had written, directed and appeared in numerous classic comedies, and certainly the world is absent one of the better there ever was upon his death. Still, I find myself stopping somewhat short of the grief exhibited by others online. I read of his death, thought what a shame it was, and was prepared to carry on with dry eyes and the same level of focus with which I had begun the day.

Other people, it seemed, were wailing and gnashing their teeth; they were torn over whether they should leap off the ledge or instead thrown themselves on Ramis' casket and plead with him not to leave them alone. This is another of those situations where I realize how different I am from people. I wonder even if I could be a damn sociopath, so little do I feel by comparison with people I otherwise find respectable and intelligent.

Facing Up To It

I was thinking about the manner in which I have grieved in my life. Specifically, I was thinking about my reaction to deceased pets. A friend had her dog die on her, and I must confess that I was somewhat put off by her reaction. I admit that's really not right, and that it makes me look pretty callous. A person has a right to get upset however they want when they experience a loss, even if it isn't the loss of a person. Maybe she would say the dog is a person. I don't think like that.

I always remember how George Carlin said once that a person buying a dog is buying a tragedy. It makes sense when you think about it. You could buy a puppy that lives fifteen years or you could see it run down in the road the next day, but the outcome is the same. The dog dies and you get your heart broken. I don't mean to counsel that people shouldn't invest themselves emotionally in anything, but they ought to be aware from the start of what's coming. To paraphrase Kris Kristofferson, "The going up is worth coming down."

The Monotonous Languor Of A Projectile Wound

I was listening to a bit of that Bon Jovi song, "You Give Love A Bad Name". In the song, reference is made to being shot through the heart. I take that to be a metaphor, but I got to think about its literal meaning. Of course a wound like that is fatal, and so one hopes strenuously that it may be avoided. If it can't be, then it hopefully happens only in old age after a lifetime of accomplishments. I wonder though if it could be dealt with either while young or old.

Just how would I endeavor to survive such a wound? Body armor might serve well. These days, it's fairly effective and less restrictive of movement than it might have been once. It's rather expensive, but what price is to be put on one's life? If I had the money and a reasonable belief that I might be so targeted, I would gladly put the money down and enjoy the peace of mind that comes from knowing that you won't die from a bullet through the heart.

A Real Downer

I can't believe that I have not addressed a particular grievance connected to death and celebrities. I've gone into my problems with poorly-composed obituaries, and I've brought up my issues with celebrity birthdays (post-mortem ones included), but somehow I may have neglected to write anything about a real bother: I just can't stand the fixation people have on celebrity deaths any longer. It was something that I was as much into as anyone when younger, but at my present level of maturity I can't bear it.

Death is a horrible but inevitable, immutable part of life. Everyone around us passes, and then we go ourselves. Each loss is a hard, brutal, traumatic experience, and we do our best to be of comfort to one another while trying to pick up the pieces and make sense of it all for ourselves. For my own part, this is something that I scarcely have it in myself to do for those who I care about the most, but them I always have been odd.

Not Too Soon, But Too Many

I used to faithfully report to my father the deaths of famous people which were reported in the newspaper every day. I would invariably be scandalized by what seemed like a callous response of "Don't know him" when I would ask why he didn't care more. I have fallen in line with his viewpoint, as I suppose anyone ought to have expected that I would. It turns out though that I am something of an exception, because most people still think like I did then.

Enough people are famous these days that there are going to be a handful of notable deaths (although I suppose the more there are the less notable each is) every day. Over the course of a week or two, there are going to be a handful that really are significant, at least within the context of celebrity deaths. I see that many people are content to devote a good amount of time to mourning these people, and I just don't get it anymore.

"I Just Saw Him".

I don't understand people most times. Maybe I'd get them better if I tried less. People tend to know more the less they try to find out, it seems to me. I was a lot smarter before I learned anything myself. In any case, human behavior and thinking eludes me. I suppose there's no sense in trying to understand any word or deed that comes from emotion rather than rational thinking, and more and more there is none of the latter in people.

So much of life is in figuring out death. Something I don't get is a very common reaction to news of someone's death. Someone will get the word, and their first reaction will be disbelief. It won't be because they don't expect that someone might die or that they think the person was in too good of health or too careful or too anything. No, they'll be surprised the person died because they just saw them. "I just ate lunch with her a couple days ago", someone will cry out. What bearing has that on things?

Eye Wonder Why

There are a lot of things you see in movies and just accept that they happen. It's called suspension of disbelief, and permits you to go along with song and dance numbers as well as aliens, among other things. It's only fair that you meet the filmmaker halfway so that they can tell their story and you can have a good time. Sometimes though, I just can't get there, and it's not really the things you would think are tough to swallow in the course of a story.

There's something that you see people do in movies all the time, and I really don't know what for. Some cherished loved one will die (or "pass away"), and the protagonist will be overcome with emotion, adding depth to them. As we connect more to this suddenly vulnerable person, we see them pass their open palm over the face of the now-corpse, leaving the previously open eyes closed. We just accept that this is the thing you do, along with calling the authorities and arranging a funeral. Well, I just can't take this eye thing unless I'm furnished an explanation.

Life Story Told

There is something about which I have been upset for some time. It seems in my mind to be a very reasonable complaint on my part, and yet I appreciate that it will probably appear rather insensitive. It has to do with my habit of reading the newspaper alongside my father each time I return home for the holidays. As I believe I've noted in the past, he continues to receive home delivery of the print edition, and undoubtedly will as long as they continue to make it. Each morning that I am there, I read the paper with him, making sure not to step on his toes so to speak. You must understand that newspaper lovers can't abide the disruption of their yet-to-be-read sections and their discards, so you have to proceed carefully. It's a rewarding experience, but one which requires some effort and deference.

My grievance is coming, so don't worry. One section I enjoy is the obituaries. I don't read them all. The thing that interests me is how each one expresses the sole salient fact common to them all: the death of the person in question. Most of them put it in precisely the same way. The favored expression is that the person has 'passed on'. The next leading phrase is that the person has gone to be with the Lord, or some such variation on the same essential thought. A very distant third is the bare statement that the person has died. In truth, I don't begrudge anyone the choice of how to say what has become of them. I only know what I will opt for, and that is to say that I have died.