05 August 2004

Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye

      Simply put: anyone that dares to try to sing "Wind Beneath My Wings" at my effing funeral will find themselves in a haunting so intense it would make the Amityville Horror seem like a Noël Coward play.  

      On the subject of funerals:   when I die, I decided long ago, I want to have the sort of quirky funeral that will disarm everyone.   During the showing, I want Van Morrison's "Real Real Gone" and Sly and the Family Stone's "I Want To Take You Higher" playing in the background; when it's time to seal up the casket, it's got to be Leonard Cohen's "Closing Time."   For the removal of the casket: Billy Ocean's, "Get Out Of My Dreams, Get Into My Car." Maybe for the interment, Peter Gabriel's "Digging In The Dirt." And I want a wake at which everyone gets so badly bombed that the people of Dresden would look on them with pity.   Any children in attendance will be required to bring water-guns, and one ordained young lad will be charged with the task of Saran-Wrapping the ladies' toilet seat.   (I'd suggest the mens', too, but we know how few of the attendees would actually hit the mark.)   The service will be allowed one moment of somberness-- to then be appropriately broken by the congregation rising to their feet and shouting the word "Norm!" in unison.   I want an ashtray placed in my hands so I can do people a favour as I'm leaving, and so everyone can giggle when the minister says that line about "ashes to ashes, dust to dust." I'm still trying to figure out a way to incorporate a dance number involving Ray Charles' "(Let Me See You) Shake Your Tailfeather."   In short, I want a ceremony that would make Waugh's Mr. Joyboy retract his gaze in embarrassment, a ceremony, in fact, that would keep everyone liquored, laughing, and lewd, with twisted little ironies popping up like dandelions on a summer lawn. That's the way to do it.   No stiff sermons, no pious platitudes about what life means, no forced expressions of meaning or farewell or the like.   I want a funeral so impish that everyone will think I'm still there, Pucking with their heads. That way the Doctor can leave the building in peace while everyone is distracted by the panoply of tricks until some poor schmuck puts it all together as the words "Kobayashi, Kobayashi, Kobayashi" start hallowing in his head.   And like that, he's gone.   Perfect.

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