Bumper Sticker-ism

The vast majority of drivers we encounter on the streets and highways of our daily routine are stupid, let's not beat around the bush. I'll also be the first to say that I have pulled off some bonehead moves myself, so count me in as one of them. To an extent, that is. So with this revelation, why do some of these idiots feel the need to apply a personal adhesive testimonial in the hopes of declaring their brilliance or outrage for a particular group, government, religion, or the level of intelligence for their pet? I'm talking about bumper stickers.

For instance, the one which uses the different cultural symbols of faith to spell out, "COEXIST". A nice thought,as if we were to accomplish this, all strife and fighting would cease to exist. Personally, I think that ranks somewhere along the lines of believing that everybody holding hands and singing the Coca-Cola song would make world a better place!

What jumped out at me when I first saw this was, the fact that the first symbol is either backwards, or a mirror image of the Turkish flag. If it was meant to represent Turkey then why are the others symbols of faith and beliefs. I don't recall hearing about any news reporting that Turkey is no longer a country but a faith or belief system. And really, for the sake of the bumper sticker I'm sure, this more closely resembles the Algerian flag, but, I'm pretty sure this was meant to symbolize the Muslim faith, of which, one of it's orders for existence is to completely eliminate the 4th symbol!

Followers of the second symbol just piss me off and those who align themselves with the last symbol have done more to damage and destroy what it represents than the Good that came from it.

Don't get me started on the one that says,"My Child is an Honor Student at Our Lady of Perpetual Payments Elementary School!" Or whatever school that child may be attending. Yay for you! As opposed to the home life where the child is fawned over and indulged, hence the bumper sticker, or even worse, neglected, indulgence of another form. Give them whatever they want so the parental units need not be involved.

How do I suppose they are neglected, you ask? As I motor past the mini-van and look inside, I see the parent, bluetooth engaged, with a cup or bottle of the latest energy infused drink and the kids in the back, with drop down monitors and headphones, watching the latest DVD release of whatever movie is out that makes them quiet!

And please, if I offend anyone with the next sticker-ism then, mission accomplished! I don't care that your dog is smarter than their honor student. Our society has given way too much to our 4 legged domesticates. It has been on more than one occasion that I have had to instruct our groomer or vet that I am NOT the daddy of my dog!

I have to take him to the vet because he has to have shots updated. I have to have updated shots records because I have to take him to the groomers. I have to take him to the groomers because every once in a while, like snowstorms, I let him in the house and he stinks! He has to stink because, he's a dog! Not my son, not my daughter, not my baby, and especially not my "preshie-weshie, snoogy-woogy little cute face!" Yeah, it's rare I use the same groomer twice.

Our current canine resident is a Border-Collie, recently touted as, "the smartest breed ever!" Princess Pissy-Pants!?

I found this hard to believe recalling the time, "seth" jumped out of the car window while I was traveling down the freeway at 65 mph! This was not the first time he had been in a car, either! He just bailed out! Incredibly he only had a couple of scrapes and cuts, although I was more afraid someone would be killed in the massive pile up I feared surely would happen as they tried to dodge the dog on the freeway. Thanks be to God, no such thing occurred. How he got to the side of the freeway and how I found him is another story, but there I sit, in the vets office, waiting to get him checked out, and a magazine with this headline is on the table in the waiting room. I looked at our dog and then back at the front page photo of the dog on the magazine. Yup, same dog, just amazingly lacking in the intelligence department.

Who'll Be My Pall Bearers ?

You'll forgive the title of my first foray into the "blogging profession", and its morbidity, but you will see how it bears out, as this was a long train of thought which occurred to me after the night I experienced a choking episode in my sleep.

The next morning I awoke (always a good sign) and set about working in the yard as I pondered on what had happened and how serious it actually was. I'm thinking that I may have died a little at one point because my whole body seriously ached.

I'm not talking about a little soreness like the kind you get after 20 minutes on the elliptical. This was more like, if I had gone to the gym and my trainer was one of those sadistic young female coaches who knows that you don't want to fail in front of a woman but her hatred towards 50 year old men, not to mention other daddy issues, pushes you to the point of thinking, "Surely I'm going to die!", and then frightfully realizing, "No, I'm going to live!". Yes, this feeling was more like rigor mortise had set in and I had to kick out of it's sticky web as I frantically sat up, choking and gasping myself to consciousness.

I do believe the autopsy report would find, asphyxiation, choked by my own vomit, as the primary cause of death, from a rogue belch I unconsciously allowed and had not kept in check. After all, I was asleep! My apologies to those of you eating right now.

So, as the train of thought continued, naturally I came to the part (and we've all done it, don't lie) where I imagined my funeral. I think I remember reading somewhere, "If you want to live a good life, start from your eulogy and work backwards", or something to that effect. I think the clinical definition is "illusions of grandeur".

Now for a little insight. My first full time job was working at a large mortuary chain in California. I started as a junior in high school, part time and evenings and then went full time after graduation. My, not yet wife, I met as she toiled away in the office, across town in Hollywood, at the crematory. Contrary to corporate lore, her job was not to stare at the pre-cremated remains until they burst into flames. That, dear readers, is a skill only developed after almost 30 years of living with me. I worked for this company for 5 years, helping families arrange services for their loved ones, so I believe I am sufficient with the experience one would need in order to imagine a proper service.

In all those years there was only one service, I recall, where the widow had to hire pall bearers to carry her husbands casket because their situation was that they either didn't know or didn't have any friends.

We think and plan for so many events in our lives so that those who are closest to us are a part. Our parents consider who will be our godparents. We think, Who will stand with us at our confirmation? Who will be part of the quinceniera, bar mitzvah? And, of course, we cannot over look, Who will be my best man/maid of honor? All very critical, life long choices, based on friendships.

In the event of our death we have, hopefully, left matters as such that our family would not have much to worry over and maybe even be able to leave a little financial security for them to move forward with. My wife and I have discussed with our children, and in no uncertain terms, our wishes after we have, "fallen off the twig".

James Dean is credited for the quote, "Live fast, die young, you leave a good looking corpse", however, I don't think he took into account his convertible flipping over and his head turning into a #2 pencil eraser. If I had not so desperately and unconsciously desired to breathe, this too would have been my sudden and untimely demise, but I would have left a good looking corpse!

So, to that end, I am able to imagine a formal memorial service with open casket. Again, it has been my experience that surviving members have an easier time with grieving when the body is presented in such a manner as opposed to simply having pictures and a memorial service.
My apologies to scrapbook makers, event planners and previous memorial services I've attended.

With all that said, I asked myself, "Who will be my pall bearers" ? I hope to resolve this before the time is called for, thereby avoiding some of the more comical, almost Three Stooges type scenarios I have witnessed, occurring at my own funeral. These six individuals, male and female, will have had a significant part in my life and I would be both humbled and honored to have them symbolically escort me once more.

Ask yourself, who your pall bearers might be, it could be fun. It could be insightful. It could also be that maybe you'll need a lot more friends.