I don't expect to be reincarnated,
so I'll blog about dying and death (with appropriate irreverence) while I'm still alive.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

(Almost) anything for a joke

Wife Marilyn often complains that I have a reckless sense of humor and I “go too far.” She’s afraid that I’m going to get into trouble like Lenny Bruce and George Carlin did.
I think artistic expression outranks domestic tranquility. In my domicile, we have much more expression than tranquility.
Like Penn and Teller, Bart Simpson and the folks on the "Jackass" TV show, I’ll do almost anything for a joke -- even if the joke's on me.
Other people have occasionally described my humor as sick, tasteless or black humor. That’s because I can find humor in almost any situation, and that can make people uncomfortable.
I designed and wore the pee-pee shirt when I went to the hospital to be treated for a kidney stone a few years ago. It made people laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. Most people are too serious most of the time. Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.
Because of diabetic damage to one of my eyes I've been wearing an eye patch since mid-February. I bought a couple of pirate shirts to enhance the experience. Little kids sometimes ask if I'm a real pirate. I smile and say "aaaarrrgh."
Being half-blind doesn't have to be completely unpleasant.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Maybe I won't make it to 2035. Oh shit. Please call Sofia.

The original and continuing premise of this blog was that I'd die in 2035, at the "ripe old age" of 89. Now I wonder if I should revise my plan.

Within the past eight months I've been hospitalized twice. I've been diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. My diabetes attacked a nerve that controls one of my eyes. I wear an eye patch to eliminate double vision. I have no feeling from the soles of my feet to half way up to my knees. The combination of loss of vision and loss of feeling makes walking wobbly, so I use a cane. On different days different knees hurt. My hands hurt 97% of the time. Arthritis, too, of course.

Years ago when our ancestors were gored to death by sabre-toothed tigers before they reached their 21st birthdays, there was little chance of developing our 21st century maladies. Now we have much more time to develop maladies, and there are many more ways to get killed. Cavemen had no nukes nor assault rifles.

In recent weeks I've heard of lots of people dying of "natural causes" at around age 75. And of course there are plane crashes, car crashes, tsunamis, pollution, food poisoning, terrorists and murderers.

In reality, unless we plan suicide, none of us know how much time we have left. There's an old Jewish blessing, "may you live until 120" (
"Biz Hundret un Tsvantsig"). Living that long seems extremely unlikely in my case, but now even 89 seems unsure.
That really pisses me off. I have lots of stuff still on my bucket list, but maybe I should throw some out of the bucket.

My 70th birthday is scheduled for April 15th. I'd love to celebrate by giving a bronsky to Sofia Vergara. If that turns out to be the last thing I do, I'll die with a big smile on my face.