Headline in the Sun Herald (Biloxi, MS) April 27, 2006. Headlines considered but rejected include
Rice Press to visit Premier Rumsfeld, Iraq
Rumsfeld to press rice, visit Iraq premier
and
“Visit Iraq rice-press:” Rumsfeld to premier
Sometime in the last year or two I suspect I’ve read about the malady that will kill me. It could be complications of osteoporosis, or some cancer, or emphysema, pneumonia, lupus, multiple sclerosis, or diabetes. It could be a lot of things. Elephants crush me to death at a circus. But in the end, it will be some certain thing, and I’ve almost surely read about it. Studied it in a clinical way, which means I studied it assuming it was some other person’s death. I’ve laid my innocent eyes on a paragraphical description of my own mortality.
And there are a lot of spectacularly shitty deaths lurking out there. Most of them, in fact.
Once upon a time I decided that I’d be the first person to live forever. Progress would be such that I could be the first to take advantage of the elixir, that lovely thing, that breaks mortality. I remember thinking that, when I was young.
I’d still like to think that, but it’s hard. For one thing, I don’t feel so good. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with me, but through the accretion of years I have various incredibly minor but apparently permanent disabilities that I have to compensate for. And there’s no stopping that parade; I’ll just get more and more of those. They’re like macabre fruitcakes doled out at Christmas parties. Nobody wants them, but we’re too polite to refuse.
I knew I was going to get old when I was a kid, I just didn’t really understand what that meant. I assumed I’d stay exactly the same except with more wrinkles and less hair.
Kids are insane. I watch my kids; they can’t wait to get on with the business of growing old. They don’t see how massive that rock is. It rolls, and it rolls at its own stately, awful speed. No matter how much they yearn for it to accelerate, it will not. I’ve told them there will come a day when they want that rock to slow down, but they don’t believe me. I’ve tried to explain to them how alarming that rock can be, but they don’t listen.
God love those crazy little people. It’s such a pity that they eventually become sane.
A sorrow that’s so sudden and huge and fleeting that there is no time to identify it as sorrow it’s a colossal wave colossal crashing overhead breathtaking because it takes your breath away and no time to savor it. The crash, the moment in the doctor’s office, the flames, the news of doom, an influx of sodium like a trillion tiny colossal waves crashing through a trillion tiny portals breathtaking because it takes your breath away.
George W Bush Agrees to Step In
(Gulfport) In an abrupt move, Stankie Boudreaux, chief mechanic and owner of Boudreaux’s Buggy Shop, has declined an invitation to speak at Mississippi Gulf Coast Community College’s graduation ceremony on May 11. “I just don’t have the time,” said Mr Stankie, as he is known to his customers. “What with all the cars backin up, and the wife on me about my drinkin. And I gotta show up at the damn courthouse that Wednesday,” he said from somewhere underneath a 1989 Plymouth Reliant. “I mean, I wish I could, you know that. But I think they’re serious this time.” It was unclear what Mr Stankie was referring to, and he did not elaborate.
When told the news, Mr Willis Lott, president of MGCCC, was not pleased. “That sneaky bastard, I knew he was gonna do that, I just knew it. I cannot believe he’d do that to us. He knows the kids was looking forward to it. He started in about his wife, too, didn’t he?” Mr Lott shuffled some papers and tapped his pen on his teeth. He then sighed heavily and reached for his telephone. “I guess it’s plan B, then.”
President Bush plans to arrive in Gulfport a day early, and sources say he will stay for a few days afterward, both for Katrina photo-ops and aimless reminiscing of a time when people showed him at least a modicum of respect.
I’m pretty insulated from news of the outside world. That’s essentially for reasons of health; I think I’m a lot healthier not stewing over things I can do very little about. In 2007 and 2008, I’ll be back to stewing and hoping and watching the news and voting and discussing the fiascoes, but (in order to live longer) for now I insulate myself from political information. I’ve made myself a little time capsule and climbed right up inside. Some things leak through; I read the headlines on CNN, and I read the newspaper, but that’s it. Usually.
Today I accidentally surfed to several sites that I usually reserve for election years. I read the stories and I read the comments, and I have to say that things are much worse than I thought. Things aren’t just angst-provoking anymore, they’re frightening.
You people in 2006 have a lot of explaining to do.
God Bless the internet. There’s a movie or 12 in there, too. More Berts aloft than I’ve ever personally seen. Thanks, Annie!
Maybe this will work. It seems almost too easy. Now, if you comment on a post, right below the “add comment” button there’s a question along the lines of “What’s 7 plus 2?” If you know the answer, you can comment on the post.
Hopefully I’ve seen the last “Interesting site, good layout, I love you weebmaster!” comment with the obligatory big money or big boobs url attached.
Today the temperature is forecast to exceed 80. I think it’s been over 80 at least once or twice already this year.
Summer always takes me by surprise down here. I can’t help feeling like it’s a personal insult directed at me. I have nothing to look forward to but temperatures climbing for the next several months until it hurts to go outside. It’s an outrage.
Eventually I’ll be beaten into accepting it. It’s like an unruly neighbor kid that keeps howling outside my house despite all my efforts to get his parents to make him stop. Sooner or later, I accept the howling kid as part of the crumbling fabric of my universe.
How I hate that howling kid.
Bad Behavior has blocked 1957 access attempts in the last 7 days.
