Blew that one…

So I resolved to blog something everyday.  Actually, after about 4 days in a row, I said to myself, “Dr. G, you ought to blog every day this year. How can you let things like this pass by without your insightful commentary?”

Then on Friday, I learned that somebody I knew years ago died and the memorial was Saturday, 2,000 miles away. So, I churned out 500 insipid, somewhat self-aggrandizing words for the man’s online guestbook. This was a victory, because usually I am at a loss to come up with stuff to say at funerals of people who were closer, yet fume when nobody gets up to say anything.

Anyway, Saturday and Sunday whizzed by in a guitar/NFL playoffs/Buffalo wings/housecleaning blur, and the string of posts was unceremoniously broken. Maybe next year.

5 thoughts on “Blew that one…

  1. It was an intimate and, not surprisingly, rather golf-centered affair that fairly captured his life as I know it. The reception was understandably muted. Our shared liaison was outwardly jovial, belying the (supposed) turmoil beneath. Further investigation is merited to ferret out the depth of concern. BTW e-mail a URL to this guestbook, if you would be so kind..

  2. You sell yourself short, o elegiac scribe. While you might consider semtimentality insipid, I found the guestbook entry to be a fond evocation of good times in the house of Bagman and his father.

    It was well done, and I am envious, Sir.

    BTW, what Phid said.

  3. What up G.
    Elegiac? WTF? I had to look that up. Then I had to look up couplets, which was all artsy and shit.

    “Insipid” was directed at the language of my screed. Since I am me, or a sock like representation of me, I do get to bitch about my own writing.
    Sentimentality at these things is important. I am a big fan of whipping out specific tales and general sentiments and all that sort of stuff at memorials. The standard stuff, man, just wake me when it’s over.

    At Grandpa Cornflake’s funeral, they had some Christian Reformed preacher from Milquetoast’s church du jour brought in to basically preach and offer generic platitudes. Yawn. The worst part was at graveside when everybody was asked to recite the Apollo Creed and I’m all WTF? We should be quoting Animal House or Stripes or Caddyshack or something for fawk’s sake. Apollo Creed was all cliches and “I’m Rick James, Bitch” So there I was, dutifully mouthing “I pity the fool; eye of the tiger; gonna fly now” and rolling my eyes, while everybody else is mumbling something about somebody told Jesus to go to hell (which seemed like a monumentally stupid thing to tell your redeemer).

    Anyway, I am all for getting a better understanding of other people’s experience with the deceased. If it hasn’t happened before, you might as well do it at a funeral.
    Where I run into difficulty is with family or quasi-family. At Grandpa Cornflake’s funeral in September, I took a pass, because the stuff I came up with would piss off 1/2 the family. (The half that has Buzzkill’s religious zealotry – part of a long list of people who would never be invited to read this thing, for their own protection).
    At Grandpa Hefner’s thing a year earlier, they didn’t even offer anyone the chance to enrage the other 2/3s of the family by speaking honestly. In Grandpa Hef’s case, I would have applauded his having two girlfriends (one a live in) and joked about his being a packrat. I would be disowned and pops would never hear the end of it from his sister.
    Then there are situations like with Phid Sr., where I know the person better than many in my own family. Bagman Sr. reminded me of the old trail boss. I definitely had stories to tell about , but the same dynamic wasn’t there, and I am STILL trying to figure out why, apart from the easy answers about quasifamily and my own personal desperate economic hell at the time. But, introspection without Miller High Life is not my strong suit, so taking shots at myself for putting my experience in the context of me will have to do.

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