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ILP
September 2006 
Day 7 - Funeral
Posted on Feb 22nd, 2006
by 
Tuff Ghost
Tuff Ghost
Bury Me With It.
Hello Chochacos. You may have noticed a bit of a gap between day 6 and day 7. A lot has been happening; 77 new students have moved into residence, and we've been happily sheparding them about, avoiding sleazy drug dealers and drink spikers along the way. Plus I've been setting up my room, making time for my girlfriend and having long conversations. Hurrah!
- - -
On the downside, my ILP kit still hasn't arrived, making this challenge a little harder to do. However, it is due within two days (according to the upper limits of the Shambhala shipping schedule) so soon I'll be super duper keen.
- - -
Today, a quick talk about holding things lightly:
"I'm Jim Ficks, and I'm dead now... I jogged every day, ate nothing but tofu, swam 500 laps every morning.... and I'm dead! Yul Brenner drank, smoked, and got laid every night of his life. He's dead!.... Shit! That Yul Brenner.... smoking, drinking, girls sittin' on his little cue-ball noggin every night of his life! And I'm running around a dewy track at dawn. And we're both f****n' dead." -- Bill Hicks
Leave it to Bill Hicks to cut through the crap. As much as we'd all like to change the world here at Zaadz, we're still all going to die, and our relationship with death very much conditions the here and now. To that extent, doing the 100 day ILP challenge is just an attempt to die well, or die now so later when you die you won't die. Et cetera. Either way, this whole here life business is still a ridiculous absurdity. It just might end up being ridiculously funny as well.
So I've been thinking about my funeral. Why? Too friends of mine have gone into the funeral business. Two guys that you would never have picked to become undertakers. Smart guys, but funny, practical jokers in the get in the back with the corpse kind of way. So last night at the pub I pitched the idea of opening a themed funeral parlour. What with all the baby boomers getting old and dying, no doubt this is a huge potential market (I'm not kidding here either). Most people limit thoughts of their own funeral to picking a certain song to play, or in my mother's case, a familiar refrain. I'd like all you kids just to say a few words. Easy.
None of that maudlin stuff for me!
Here is my living will:
When I die, dress me in an all white suit with a bright red bowtie that spins around fast. Then stuff my corpse, leaving with an absurd (but friendly) grin. Stick me up the front of the church, arm outstreched, so that everybody who comes has to shake my hand.
When the eulogies are being delivered, put me next to the lectern, and put my arm around the shoulder of whoever is talking. Nothing like the cold dead arm of your friend to keep your stories positive. (PS, stuff me with beanbag balls so I'm all floppy and bendy. If Bill Murray isn't available to do a reading, just play a clip from Rushmore).
Fire me out of a cannon (ala Hunter S. Thompson), my whole body that is, not just my ashes. Try and aim me so I land headfirst inthe grave, my feet sticking out. Don't bother to bury them, leave them sticking out. All this will be done whilst 'friends come in all sizes' plays in the background.
Hello Chochacos. You may have noticed a bit of a gap between day 6 and day 7. A lot has been happening; 77 new students have moved into residence, and we've been happily sheparding them about, avoiding sleazy drug dealers and drink spikers along the way. Plus I've been setting up my room, making time for my girlfriend and having long conversations. Hurrah!
- - -
On the downside, my ILP kit still hasn't arrived, making this challenge a little harder to do. However, it is due within two days (according to the upper limits of the Shambhala shipping schedule) so soon I'll be super duper keen.
- - -
Today, a quick talk about holding things lightly:
"I'm Jim Ficks, and I'm dead now... I jogged every day, ate nothing but tofu, swam 500 laps every morning.... and I'm dead! Yul Brenner drank, smoked, and got laid every night of his life. He's dead!.... Shit! That Yul Brenner.... smoking, drinking, girls sittin' on his little cue-ball noggin every night of his life! And I'm running around a dewy track at dawn. And we're both f****n' dead." -- Bill Hicks
Leave it to Bill Hicks to cut through the crap. As much as we'd all like to change the world here at Zaadz, we're still all going to die, and our relationship with death very much conditions the here and now. To that extent, doing the 100 day ILP challenge is just an attempt to die well, or die now so later when you die you won't die. Et cetera. Either way, this whole here life business is still a ridiculous absurdity. It just might end up being ridiculously funny as well.
So I've been thinking about my funeral. Why? Too friends of mine have gone into the funeral business. Two guys that you would never have picked to become undertakers. Smart guys, but funny, practical jokers in the get in the back with the corpse kind of way. So last night at the pub I pitched the idea of opening a themed funeral parlour. What with all the baby boomers getting old and dying, no doubt this is a huge potential market (I'm not kidding here either). Most people limit thoughts of their own funeral to picking a certain song to play, or in my mother's case, a familiar refrain. I'd like all you kids just to say a few words. Easy.
None of that maudlin stuff for me!
Here is my living will:
When I die, dress me in an all white suit with a bright red bowtie that spins around fast. Then stuff my corpse, leaving with an absurd (but friendly) grin. Stick me up the front of the church, arm outstreched, so that everybody who comes has to shake my hand.
When the eulogies are being delivered, put me next to the lectern, and put my arm around the shoulder of whoever is talking. Nothing like the cold dead arm of your friend to keep your stories positive. (PS, stuff me with beanbag balls so I'm all floppy and bendy. If Bill Murray isn't available to do a reading, just play a clip from Rushmore).
Fire me out of a cannon (ala Hunter S. Thompson), my whole body that is, not just my ashes. Try and aim me so I land headfirst inthe grave, my feet sticking out. Don't bother to bury them, leave them sticking out. All this will be done whilst 'friends come in all sizes' plays in the background.
Access: Public
