If I Leave Here Tomorrow...
Greetings and salutations, fans of my crappy blog!
I was going to start this post by apologizing for going an entire month without a post, but then I realized that May doesn't start until tomorrow, it's still early in the day, and I don't pester you people about your blogs...
So screw it. This is a treat, as far as I'm concerned.
For cryin' out loud, I work eleven hours a day in front of three computer screens, most of which look something like this generic photo of a futuristic monitor...
Don't get me wrong - it beats the hell out of sitting in conference rooms for fifteen hours a day.
So what have I been doing instead of keeping you sporadically informed and up-to-date on my quirkly little life?
I've been mixing it up - I'm really enjoying my new job, and in the process, Niki and I are shaking up our routine a bit.
What does that mean for me?
I'm back into boxing, I've stopped going out for six or seven beers seven or eight times a week, and I'm trying to eat pizza, at most, a couple of times a month rather than a couple of times a day.
And that's a big deal for me.
Particularly with Grimaldi's just down the road...
That stuff is incredible.
Of course, every once in a while, I end up partying like a rock star, but I've gotten fairly adept at keeping those nights to the occasional 30th birthday party and making sure they happen on a Saturday...
Now, now, before you send me another "I'm worried about you" e-mail, I'm not joining Babyshambles any time soon.
Still, it's been a lot more 1976 Aerosmith and a lot less 1996 Aerosmith these past few weeks...
Only catering hasn't been setting roses on the table for us lately.
By the way, for all you members of the AeroForce or whatever you call yourselves...
If you look closely enough...
That's right...
And this picture confirms it:
Mental note: invest in leopard print jumpsuit.
Anyway, I didn't sit down at the computer this sunny Sunday morning to ramble about the Glory Days of Metal, although music plays a big part of this post.
You see, I was wandering through the apartment this morning, chasing the cat to try and get him into the shower (they're not all rock star days, I told you that already), and I was walking through the living room as Pachelbel's Canon in D was playing on the radio.
Yep. That's the one.
Like any creature with both ears and a heart, I stopped to listen, as the Munich orchestra threaded its way towards Canon's grand crescendo, violin strings shredding to bits as tears fall, hearts soar and I spontaneously applaud.
It was at that point that I realized, "it's high time I plan my funeral."
I can feel you strain towards your glowing monitor, I can see your mouth drop, and I can hear you whisper, "Dear God, what is wrong with that boy?"
Nothing's wrong.
I realized I had to start crackin' on my funeral because, as I've said countless times before, Canon in D is the song I want playing as they walk my coffin down the center aisle of the church/VFW/minor league baseball stadium where my handful (hopefully at least a handful) of friends will gather to see me off to the Great Beyond.
And I want the whole Canon. Not just the sappy intro.
I want hearts to weep and then soar, then feel kind of calm and happy at that part with all the violins and then suddenly feel really, really bad for feeling happy at all, because they're at a funeral.
And I want my friends' wives who have given me so much shit to think to themselves, in a sudden flash of horror, "oh sweet Jesus, I can never watch our wedding video again without thinking of this moment..."
At that moment, my heart will pump one last time and with that last thump of blood, my body will muster up just enough energy to crack a smile.
If you look closely enough, you'll be able to see it under my Fu Manchu.
Oh yeah, I hope I'll have a Fu Manchu, although no guarantees there...
By the way, are you uncomfortable yet?
This is the topic that weirds everyone out.
I've told countless jokes to crowds of Norwegian tourists about getting lap dances in corduroys, feeding our cat sawdust and treating "the child you love more" better than your other kids, and those jokes certainly offend some of the people some of the time.
Still, for those I offended, there are others who have told me, personally, that those jokes were the most important things they had ever heard, in their entire lives.
For example, I know for a fact, there are guys who never owned a pair of corduroys in their lives - before they met me...
(By the way, you can fit more singles in the pleated cords.)
But when I start talking about death, the chuckles die down to nervous titters.
Undeterred, I bring up my funeral wishes every time I hear that song, to ensure that no one fucks up the plans.
By now, I'm used to the general feelings of concern, so let me address any of your questions in no particular order:
It'll start with the wake.
I don't know what religion will have me by the time I go, but regardless, I want a wake.
Why?
Because I want there to be at least three awkward 90-minute sessions in which people hang out around my dead body and catch up on the Red Sox, the weather, and agree how truly bad I was at returning e-mails.
All the while, I'd like Big Band tunes to play at a volume low enough to allow for conversation, but loud enough for people to think, "is that Chattanooga Choo Choo or Pennsylvania 6-5000?"
Naturally, I don't want to go overboard.
I mean, I don' t want too many versions of In the Mood played, although a couple of different versions would certainly keep things lively.
And Minnie the Moocher may not be appropriate for a wake, although I'd like there to be at least a few Cab Calloway numbers for all the hepcats.
Oh, and it should be BYOB, although it'd be nice to have ice available, as people always forget the ice at those parties and gas stations rip you off for that shit.
When the FUN-eral comes around (because the FUN was in there originally, people - I'm just putting it back), I'm really not too picky about the location.
Like I said above, depending on my religious affiliation at the time, my adopted-home-town-of-the-month, and the number of people who are still speaking with me at the time I extend my last middle finger and draw my last breath, the ceremony itself could be held in a church, a VFW or a small sports stadium in a large town/small city that really needs a boost after the steel mill shuts down.
That said, I am picky about the music and the readings.
To wit:
My only other request is that, as the ceremony winds down, everybody rocks out to Wanted Dead or Alive (the album version), because while I may not have "rocked them all," I like to think I rocked at least some of the time...
After the FUN-eral, there should be a party somewhere, maybe with a booze luge or one of those Jaegermeister machines that chills the shit out of it so you don't realize what a bad idea it is to take Jaegermeister shots, ever.
Oh, and the food doesn't need to be fancy.
Pizza would do just fine.
Feel free to sneak a slice in my coffin, too.
I was going to start this post by apologizing for going an entire month without a post, but then I realized that May doesn't start until tomorrow, it's still early in the day, and I don't pester you people about your blogs...
So screw it. This is a treat, as far as I'm concerned.
For cryin' out loud, I work eleven hours a day in front of three computer screens, most of which look something like this generic photo of a futuristic monitor...
Don't get me wrong - it beats the hell out of sitting in conference rooms for fifteen hours a day.
So what have I been doing instead of keeping you sporadically informed and up-to-date on my quirkly little life?
I've been mixing it up - I'm really enjoying my new job, and in the process, Niki and I are shaking up our routine a bit.
What does that mean for me?
I'm back into boxing, I've stopped going out for six or seven beers seven or eight times a week, and I'm trying to eat pizza, at most, a couple of times a month rather than a couple of times a day.
And that's a big deal for me.
Particularly with Grimaldi's just down the road...
That stuff is incredible.
Of course, every once in a while, I end up partying like a rock star, but I've gotten fairly adept at keeping those nights to the occasional 30th birthday party and making sure they happen on a Saturday...
Now, now, before you send me another "I'm worried about you" e-mail, I'm not joining Babyshambles any time soon.
Still, it's been a lot more 1976 Aerosmith and a lot less 1996 Aerosmith these past few weeks...
Only catering hasn't been setting roses on the table for us lately.
By the way, for all you members of the AeroForce or whatever you call yourselves...
If you look closely enough...
That's right...
And this picture confirms it:
Mental note: invest in leopard print jumpsuit.
Anyway, I didn't sit down at the computer this sunny Sunday morning to ramble about the Glory Days of Metal, although music plays a big part of this post.
You see, I was wandering through the apartment this morning, chasing the cat to try and get him into the shower (they're not all rock star days, I told you that already), and I was walking through the living room as Pachelbel's Canon in D was playing on the radio.
Yep. That's the one.
Like any creature with both ears and a heart, I stopped to listen, as the Munich orchestra threaded its way towards Canon's grand crescendo, violin strings shredding to bits as tears fall, hearts soar and I spontaneously applaud.
It was at that point that I realized, "it's high time I plan my funeral."
I can feel you strain towards your glowing monitor, I can see your mouth drop, and I can hear you whisper, "Dear God, what is wrong with that boy?"
Nothing's wrong.
I realized I had to start crackin' on my funeral because, as I've said countless times before, Canon in D is the song I want playing as they walk my coffin down the center aisle of the church/VFW/minor league baseball stadium where my handful (hopefully at least a handful) of friends will gather to see me off to the Great Beyond.
And I want the whole Canon. Not just the sappy intro.
I want hearts to weep and then soar, then feel kind of calm and happy at that part with all the violins and then suddenly feel really, really bad for feeling happy at all, because they're at a funeral.
And I want my friends' wives who have given me so much shit to think to themselves, in a sudden flash of horror, "oh sweet Jesus, I can never watch our wedding video again without thinking of this moment..."
At that moment, my heart will pump one last time and with that last thump of blood, my body will muster up just enough energy to crack a smile.
If you look closely enough, you'll be able to see it under my Fu Manchu.
Oh yeah, I hope I'll have a Fu Manchu, although no guarantees there...
By the way, are you uncomfortable yet?
This is the topic that weirds everyone out.
I've told countless jokes to crowds of Norwegian tourists about getting lap dances in corduroys, feeding our cat sawdust and treating "the child you love more" better than your other kids, and those jokes certainly offend some of the people some of the time.
Still, for those I offended, there are others who have told me, personally, that those jokes were the most important things they had ever heard, in their entire lives.
For example, I know for a fact, there are guys who never owned a pair of corduroys in their lives - before they met me...
(By the way, you can fit more singles in the pleated cords.)
But when I start talking about death, the chuckles die down to nervous titters.
Undeterred, I bring up my funeral wishes every time I hear that song, to ensure that no one fucks up the plans.
By now, I'm used to the general feelings of concern, so let me address any of your questions in no particular order:
- This is not a cry for help; in fact, I'm happier and more well balanced than I've ever been
- I'm not expecting to die any time soon, and there is nothing I'm not telling you (assuming you read about that unsettling lump on my knee that worked out ok)
- I do not hate weddings, no matter how fucked-up they may be, nor do I hate Canon in D; I do hate how cliche that song's become at weddings, so I'm happy to do my part to shake up everyone's frame of reference
It occurred to me years ago, on a fishing trip, actually, that the last party I'd attend would be my funeral.
Sure, I'll have a fairly passive role in the whole thing, but even at surprise parties thrown for me, people have had the dignity to serve my favorite food and put on music that I like, even if I end up arriving late and not being able to stay very long because - surprise! - I wasn't expecting a party...
That sort of common decency certainly shouldn't end with my last hurrah!
I've had a good time on this crazy little planet we call "earth."
In fact, I like to think that the people who still speak with me appreciate my outlook on life. After all, most funerals tend to be "cookie-cutter performances, thoroughly lacking originality," as I think I read somewhere once.
Screw that.
I want the critics to be writing rave reviews.
I want the audience to call for an encore after the eulogy.
I want the motherfucking Cats of funerals.
It'll start with the wake.
I don't know what religion will have me by the time I go, but regardless, I want a wake.
Why?
Because I want there to be at least three awkward 90-minute sessions in which people hang out around my dead body and catch up on the Red Sox, the weather, and agree how truly bad I was at returning e-mails.
All the while, I'd like Big Band tunes to play at a volume low enough to allow for conversation, but loud enough for people to think, "is that Chattanooga Choo Choo or Pennsylvania 6-5000?"
Naturally, I don't want to go overboard.
I mean, I don' t want too many versions of In the Mood played, although a couple of different versions would certainly keep things lively.
And Minnie the Moocher may not be appropriate for a wake, although I'd like there to be at least a few Cab Calloway numbers for all the hepcats.
Oh, and it should be BYOB, although it'd be nice to have ice available, as people always forget the ice at those parties and gas stations rip you off for that shit.
When the FUN-eral comes around (because the FUN was in there originally, people - I'm just putting it back), I'm really not too picky about the location.
Like I said above, depending on my religious affiliation at the time, my adopted-home-town-of-the-month, and the number of people who are still speaking with me at the time I extend my last middle finger and draw my last breath, the ceremony itself could be held in a church, a VFW or a small sports stadium in a large town/small city that really needs a boost after the steel mill shuts down.
That said, I am picky about the music and the readings.
To wit:
- As people assemble at the venue, a mix of Dean Martin's and Frank Sinatra's greatest hits would certainly be nice, preferably ending with "Ain't That a Kick in the Head" unless I die as a result of a kick to the head, in which case "That's Life" would be a lot more appropriate
- Like I mentioned above, my biggest request is Canon in D as they lead me down the aisle; as an aside to the event planner, I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but it may be handy to have travel-sized Kleenex available for this one
- At some point during the ceremony, I'd like Willie Nelson's version of "Amazing Grace" played, as well as the whole crowd to sing "Be Not Afraid," even the people who aren't much for singing, because the song is particularly speaking to them
- Right about the time that people are feeling comfortable in their own skin after my coffin has been placed by the altar, I want Johnny Cash's version of Sunday Morning Coming Down played - and if no one cries at the "far away a lonely bell was ringin'" line, I want someone to break some old lady's kneecaps, because that shit should make Hercules cry
- Somewhere in the middle, my more religious friends should suggest appropriate readings and whatnot (I'm partial to Revelations, but I think the world's ending as I write this, so I fully expect that chapter to be old news by then)
- As additional readings, I'd really like to have someone read "The Raven" by Poe, someone else to read that Catullus poem that ends with "ave atque vale" (traditionally #101), and then someone else to get up and deliver Ogden Nash's simple wisdom, "The only problem with a kitten is that... when it grows up it becomes a cat," a lesson I have learned all too well in life and would like to share with those in attendance, particularly the youngsters
My only other request is that, as the ceremony winds down, everybody rocks out to Wanted Dead or Alive (the album version), because while I may not have "rocked them all," I like to think I rocked at least some of the time...
After the FUN-eral, there should be a party somewhere, maybe with a booze luge or one of those Jaegermeister machines that chills the shit out of it so you don't realize what a bad idea it is to take Jaegermeister shots, ever.
Oh, and the food doesn't need to be fancy.
Pizza would do just fine.
Feel free to sneak a slice in my coffin, too.
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