This will probably be one of those rants that I love doing that will probably piss a lot of people off, so before I get to that, I guess it would make sense if I got the other stuff out of the way.
Saw Iron Man today. Even thought about doing a shot commemorating it, but I’ve been busy with other stuff and didn’t get to it. Anyway, good movie. I enjoyed it. And I’m the kinda guy who always sits through all the credits of a movie, no matter what I go to see. I’m glad I am. So if you’re not the kinda person who reads all the credits, I suggest you do this time.
I also got episode 2 of Cosmic Hellcats up. We’re only two episodes in, so if you haven’t been following along, it’s pretty easy to catch up. How’s that for a cheap plug.
Ok, so now on to the rant.
Steph and I went for a walk through our local graveyard after we got back from the movies today. It’s kinda weird. We live closer to a graveyard (actually three) than we do to any park, so sometimes we go there to walk and jog and stuff.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m kinda non-traditional about death rituals. Like I don’t go to funerals, for instance. No matter how much I loved the person in life. They’re just not my gig. The whole concept of hanging out with the body is kinda creepy. The person isn’t in there. It’s just meat. Dead meat, to be crass. There’s absolutely no reason to be all creepy and hang out with it. It just depresses everyone. I hate being depressed. I’m depressed enough as it is. When I die, I’d rather you all go out and have a drink in my honor. Maybe go out and have hot monkey sex. Hell, watch one of my favorite movies. You know… do something I enjoyed. Nobody enjoys funerals. And if you do… ewww!
So anyway, while we were walking around, it occurred to me what a colossal waste of space and rescources graveyards are. I don’t know how long it takes a body to decompose, but I don’t think its that long really. Certainly not in the grand scheme of eternity. So why do we waste valuable land space on storing dust.
I guess I get that some people like visiting the grave site. I don’t understand it, but I get it. It seems like some people feel closer to their relatives after they’re gone and uh… stand there and look at the six feet of dirt, grass and weeds laying on top of them. Ok, yeah, that’s weird, but hey, whatever floats your boat.
But how long does that go on? I mean, I admit, I don’t really understand it because I don’t do it. I loved my grandfather more than I can possibly even begin to say, but i’ve never seen his grave. I don’t want to see it, because its, well… not him… its a bunch of dirt over where what’s left of him was buried. I’d rather remember him as a guy who drank beer and fished than a guy buried in a hole.
But even if I did care about such things, I can’t imagine that my future children will care. Because they never actually met him. So why would they want to look at the mound of dirt over him. And what about their children. And their children’s children? I’m betting they couldn’t give a damn.
So that’s the weird thing. I’m walking around and I come across tombstones for people who died in the mid-1800s. 1891, 1883, 1874, 1868! These are people who have been dead well over 100 years. Everyone who ever knew them are dead. No one is coming to visit these graves. Right? They’re just taking up space. Some of them a whole lot of space! Giant pillars! Mausoleums! Who does that?
I mean, am I wrong? Does anyone go to visit the graves of their ancestors they don’t know?
And then there’s the really sad one. John So-and-so, Loving Husband, 1821-1865. Martha So-and-so, Loving WIfe, 1842-____. You know what that means? I bet you a million dollars that Martha ain’t still walking the earth today at the tender age of 166. John was all proud that he found himself a young hot wife. Was with her for a couple years, met a tragic early end, but had prepared a family plot for them, then Martha went on to remarry and decided to have herself buried somewhere else. Leaving John to look like he’s been stood up on a date throughout eternity. Sad. So very sad.
I mean, who does that anyway? I can almost understand buying a funeral plot with your spouse while you’re still alive. A bit morbid, but ok, I get it. When someone dies, the planning and arranging is kinda hard, especially in the survivors state of mind. Best to get as much out of the way ahead of time as possible.
But who the hell writes their name on the stone while they’re still alive?!?! That’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard. There were some stones where both people were still alve. Tom and Nancy McGullicutty. 1965-___ and 1963-____. What the fuck is wrong with you people?
Maybe I’m the weird one here. Maybe I just don’t get it. But seriously, when I go, I hope you people have the decency to turn me into Soylent and feed the starving children or something.