taking the passive out of passive-aggressive

Friday, April 01, 2005

This was a week for dying. Terri Schiavo, Frank Perdue, Johnny Cochran, Mitch Hedburg, and now the Pope. Coming so soon after the ressurection of Jesus (yes, commenters, I GET IT, he was RISEN on EASTER and I failed Sunday school, whatever) the whole famous-people-dying thing seems a trifle sinister.

Although of course people die every week. And Paul Wolfowitz was just named head of the World Bank, so let's get our sinister priorities in order here.

CNN spent the whole week camped out in front of deathbeds, completely ignoring the report on Iraq intelligence in the leadup to the war, as well as the fact that we're gonna have a draft soon. I don't watch CNN-- I only know about their programming because--for some ungodly reason--my work has a giant flat screen TV in the lobby which is tuned to CNN all goddam day (instead of say, cool advertising agency shit). No reels of cool, edgy animations for us! It's the fucking second-rate daytime CNN deathwatch brigade instead. This is really inspiring to prospects and clients, as you can imagine.

Anyway, I've never been one to get all choked up about the deaths of people I don't know, but the Frank Perdue thing did resonate a little bit, if only because I spent great chunks of my childhood in the shadows of his stinky chicken factory. My nana lived right down the road from one of Perdue's plants, and on a warm day you could smell the stench for miles. To this day I won't buy Perdue chicken, because once you've smelled a thousand chickens being slaughtered at once, you never get it out of your nostrils. They are filthy little birds but I'm not convinced they deserve the ignominy of their tiny coops, waiting for nothing but their eventual brutal executions.

Which is not to say I won't enjoy fried chicken the next time I have it.

In any case, we're all on deathwatch all the time, whether or not we know it or choose to admit it. We'd all like our deaths to go smoothly and painlessly, though what we really want is NOT TO DIE.

So, here's a though experiment. For a moment, at least, think to yourself:

I am going to die, and everyone around me is going to die, and my children are going to die, and the cat will die and so will the dog, and my parents and my second-grade teacher.

Think it for as long as you can hold the thought, which will probably be about two seconds. After that it will dissipate, because it's impossible.

And then go watch Garden State, or Donnie Darko, or American Beauty. Or hell, just listen to a really, really good song.

2 Comments:

At 7:52 PM, Blogger sweetney said...

claire, why are you trying to harsh the buzz of my life, dogg?

 
At 12:12 PM, Blogger The Cybrarian said...

Who's Mitch Hedburg?

Wouldn't it be funny if Frank Perdue got to heaven only to discover that it's run by giant chickens?

 

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