(This was originally posted as DRUNKEN POST #24, on December 8, 2012.)
The Singletons ate at an Italian place tonight. Delbert was back (he’d gone home to Oregon for a couple weeks), so it was good to talk to him again. And even John joined us after dinner to talk a bit. But Carl wasn’t there. He died of a heart attack last week. It was so surreal. I’d just spoken with him at dinner last Friday. Now he was gone–just like that. I couldn’t help but wonder if he would suddenly show up this evening–if his death had just been a dream. But it wasn’t. This is the first time a member of Singletons has died, since I’ve been a member. And I’m still the youngest member.
Death is a reality. Of course it is. But Carl was only in his 60’s (I think). My parents are almost in their 80’s, and though they’re constantly bothering me with nonsense like, “We’re not going to be around forever, you need to learn to do things for yourself,” I know damned well that I will die before they do.
That Billy Joel song, “Only the Good Die Young”–that’s really true, for the most part. The bad just keep on living. My Grandpa Mayo, the greatest grandfather a boy could ever have, died in 1974, when I was only eight–and I still suffer from that early loss. Then my Grandma Mayo died in 1999, after having Alzheimer’s for two years. She was good too (though not as good as Grandpa). Yet my Grandmother Pyle–a prudish woman–lived on into the 21st Century. And my Granddaddy Pyle–a dry drunk, and cantankerous man–died last–in his 90’s.
It’s not fair. Granddaddy Pyle should have died in 1974, and Grandpa Mayo should have died last. But that’s how it goes. The best people die first–the worst people die last. I know of only one exception (not a family member).
There’s a song called “Sweet Mystery of Life”–but there’s no song called “Bitter Mystery of Death”. I wonder why.
Speaking of songs, there was one that played several times at this Italian place tonight (background music). I’d heard it before. It’s a jazz piece, probably from the 1930s or ’40s. But I couldn’t make out the words. I want that song–I want to order a CD with that song on it. I love it–at least the melody. Before leaving, I whistled it to the waiter, but he didn’t recognize it. Then I whistled it to the owner, but he didn’t recognize it either. He mentioned that the CD he was playing was new–I really should have pressed him for the name of the CD, yet I didn’t want to seem too pushy. After I’d got home, after I’d had several servings of Irish coffee, I called the local public radio station, and left a message. For the message, I hummed the melody, and asked them to give me a call if they recognized the song. They play a lot of jazz, so they may recognize it. I hope they do–and return my call if they do.
In the meantime, I finished listening to the filmscore of “The Fly” (1986) again–love that filmscore–then Aziz Mian’s “Tere Ishq Nachaya” again–then the filmscore of “Splice”–and finally the first half of an Ali Jihad Racy CD called “Mystical Legacies”. Told you I was eclectic!
I blank-out my last name, for now. Because I’ve probably made a hell of a lot of enemies from this blog! But borrowing from a country song called “Bakersfield” (I think), “See, you don’t know me if you don’t like me!”
My left nostril bleeds a bit. It’s more because I’ve recently changed my medication regimen–then had to change it back–than because I’ve consumed both alcohol and caffeine. But I’m drinking as much water as I can. And it’s so strange because last Friday evening–after ordering an extra two helpings of rice because (as I explained) I’d read that a lot of carbs helps prevent a hangover–Carl said the best thing is plain water. And now he’s dead. It’s just so strange–so surreal.
I haven’t been so personally affected by the death of another since Donald’s (a very kind second-cousin of mine) daughter committed suicide–just down the street from me. Before that it was the wreck of the Amtrak Sunset Limited near Mobile, where I lived at the time. I didn’t know those people at all. But it happened so close–over Bayou Canot–probably not far from where my dad and I had fished. I really thought about my own mortality the day after that. Now I really think again about my own mortality. If I could have one wish fulfilled, it would be for immortality, invincibility. Nothing could harm me, nothing. I would live for thousands of years, maybe millions, even billions. Imagine the power I’d have. I could fix the world’s problems–make this planet as close to a utopia as possible. And I’d have more women than I knew what to do with.
If you consider this an evil fancy, consider yourself. No one would turn down a chance at immortality, invincibility. Everyone has had (or will have) this fantasy. No, it’s not evil. Just impractical. Because everyone would prefer a dictatorship–provided he or she would be the dictator!
I’m tempted to end this post in the usual way–with a spread of a gorgeous gal. Yet the following would be more appropriate.