Remembering Loved Ones with Mulch and Divots
“When I die I don’t want to be buried, but I don’t want to be cremated either,” wrote the late George Carlin in Napalm and Silly Putty. “I want to be blown up. Put me on a pile of explosives and blow me up. Or throw my body from a helicopter. That would be fun. One stipulation: wherever I land, you have to leave me there. Even if it’s the mayor’s lawn. Just let me lie there. But keep the dogs away.”
I once read a New York mobster’s last will and testament. It opened with a lengthy description of his mausoleum. He was particular about the size, materials, design, and so on. I suspect he agonized more over the preservation of his remains than the disposition of his assets.
Humans have long obsessed about the after-death. Not life-after-death, which is different, but death and its initial complication: how to dispose of the remains. From pyramids to crematoriums, we have imagined numerous options for our final planting place.
If the Devil Went Down to Arizona
A MAGA Republican Wants to Keep Satan at Bay
While Georgia apparently welcomes the Devil – or, at least, did so in 1979 – Jake Hoffman wants to make sure he is not welcome in Arizona. Or should that be “she?” It? I skipped “Devil’s pronoun day” in parochial school.
Charlie Daniels sang in 1979, “The Devil went down to Georgia; he was looking for a soul to steal.” Apparently, no one stopped him. He wandered about freely until he met a young fiddle-player named Johnny and challenged him to a fiddle contest. Johnny bested the Beast, who surrendered his fiddle and slunk back to Hell.
Jake Hoffman wants to be Second Fiddle. He wants to play the Devil out of Arizona.