Get the funk out

I know I haven't written much here lately. The journalistic Muse has not shat upon my head for a few days now. I've been reading quite a bit (finished another book club book, read a Stephen King novella, got caught up on magazines), and I've been under the weather with a bit of a cold. I think I'm starting to shake it off, and I'm glad about that.

I'm also finding myself in a bit of a funk. I think most of it is just that I'm not feeling well, but if I'm to be completely honestly with myself, I know that part of it is that I have a birthday coming up. It's odd, because birthdays have never bothered me before. Thirty? Who cares? I was on the top of my game, looking good, feeling good. Forty? Pretty much the same deal. The thing is, I'm not even turning 50 this year. I'll be 48. I've still got two years to go before I'm eligible for AARP and certain places consider me a senior citizen. (I hear that I can get free coffee at McDonald's, which would be dandy if I drank coffee or ever went to McDonald's.)

So why is this getting to me so much right now? I know that part of it is because I'm not feeling well. I don't know about you, but I don't feel my most attractive when I'm walking around snuffling and snorting, and doing the Dracula cough. I realize that there is much more to me than the outside. I've always had the brains to back up whatever people thought they saw in the outer me, and that's something I've been proud of and valued in myself. So I know I need to keep that in mind as I stew in my own little woe-is-me goo.

I'm starting to feel that I'm on the downside of the mortality rollercoaster. Remember that feeling when you were young, when you felt you had an eternity before you? So many things to do, so many adventures to experience, so many places to go. I haven't lost that feeling, but I'm now realizing that I don't have an eternity ahead of me. Maybe it started when my Dad passed away in March. My mind whispered to me, "You might not be next...but you're certainly in line. Oh yes, you are."

A couple of people I admire very much for their intellect and keen thinking are ill, one of them gravely. Christopher Hitchens has esophageal cancer, and he'll be the first to admit that his chances aren't good. He is handling his illness with grace and good humor, and he has impressed me even more with his willingness to speak openly and frankly about it. He's 61. That's seeming younger all the time to me. PZ Myers recently had a pretty big cardiac scare. Chest pains, but no heart attack. Some blockage, but not requiring open heart surgery. He's 53. That is only five years older than I'm going to be in a few days. GAH!

I guess it kind of took me by surprise, because I've gone along all this while with barely a nod to another year gone by. Events have transpired this year that made me deal with death in a very personal way, so I am intellectually able to understand why I am more acutely aware of my own mortality on this birthday. The logical, rational Beth can recognize it for what it is, and will work towards making at least a little sense from it. There is much to be said for life experience, for learning more about the world, other people, and yourself. That doesn't come without living a few years. The emotional Beth can't help but miss that feeling of paying your fare and hopping on for a ride that felt like it would never end. I'm feeling like I can see the end now, and I don't like it much. Frankly, it scares me, but not because of any fear of death...that is inevitable, and although I didn't think a lot about it in earlier years, I never truly had the feeling that I would live forever. That's just silly.

It scares me because I feel like there is still so much I want to do! So many movies to see, so many places to go, and books...so many books to read! I've got a bookshelf full of them, and I've still got 78 books to go on my book club list of 100. Seventy-eight. Of course, the Number One book is em-effin' Ulysses, so I'm not entirely sure why I'm so anxious to get to the end! HA!

Well, looky there. I believe I just went and made myself feel a little bit better. Had myself a good cry, contemplated mortality and junk, gazed into the abyss, wrote it out...and I'm okay.

And in case anyone is wondering, YES, I have PMS! There, are you happy?

I need funk!

Holy Reanimator, Batman!

Does anyone remember that movie? I love it. The head scene is a classic!

I'm a little nervous while waiting for football to start (my Colts don't play until 8, so it could be a long few hours), so I'll take my mind off of it by writing about something completely different.

The other day, on PZ Myers' fine blog, I read about a guy named Randy Demain, who believes that he can raise the dead. And I'm not talking about Mr. Johnson coming to life and enjoying what would probably be a brief and extremely guilt-ridden encounter with some type of orifice (Animal? Human? Latex? Who am I to speculate?); no, this guy believes that he has the ability to command the dead to come back to life. Don't believe me? Watch the video.

Normally, I wouldn't waste my time on something so obviously insane, but I'm writing about it for a couple of reasons. First of all, this is the kind of fundamentalist loony bullshit that some people are out there spouting. Seriously. There are people out there who think this is true, and we need to watch for them and avoid them if possible. I believe we also need to counter this sort of magical, irrational thinking with a little sanity. (Maybe a little sarcasm, too. You know how I get.)

Secondly, the video is just so entertaining, just because of the guy's through-the-roof level of smarminess. This is one happy asshole. And I do mean asshole. He tells a story about giving a sermon in Africa and being interrupted and led to a woman who was "dead...very dead." (Are there degrees of dead? Isn't that sort of like being a little bit pregnant?) He goes on to express his displeasure and irritation at being so rudely torn away from his important sermonizin', saying that his thoughts were "Couldn't this have waited?" (After all, she was dead...very dead.) He was just mad at the whole situation in general, in fact: "I was mad at the devil that he made her dead to interrupt my meeting." (Two points here. Death is a natural process and no devil has anything to do with it, except perhaps for human ones; and how dare this "devil" make her dead for the sole purpose of interrupting his meeting! Of all the nerve!)

Well, he'd just had it with this and grew impatient, so he said to the dead woman, "Woman, you need to get up, because I've got things to do!" And she did! Praise the Lord and pass the formaldehyde!

Apparently, when raising the dead, it's imperative to use a commanding and imperious tone; treat those corpses like unruly children! Better yet, treat 'em like misbehaving ho's who need to be taught a lesson, up close and personal, and then buried (again) in the garden in your back yard. Show that corpse who's boss!

Unfortunately, after they took the woman back to the church, she stole money from them. I swear, you do and do and do for these corpses, and this is the thanks you get? They steal from you? Ungrateful, undead bastards. There's a happy ending, though. Some guys chased her down and tackled her (Randy the happy asshole showed his compassion and told them "Take it easy guys--she was just dead! Don't hurt her."), and then she accepted the Lord as her savior. I guess there is redemption even for the walking dead.

You know, I find it interesting that you can bet this guy thinks that voodoo--a religion that does believe that the dead can be raised as zombies--is the work of the devil. Yet he believes that in his religion, not only is it possible to do this, God has commanded us to do it.

The guy concludes: "This is the generation of believers that are gonna raise the dead. Don't make it too hard; just do it as you go." So there you go. Don't be afraid. Just do it! Bring that corpse back to life!

I'll wind this up with the most important point of all. I have to ask...why would you want to bring a corpse back to life? (For any mad scientists out there, that's a rhetorical question. You do it because you're mad. It's just what you do. Now get back to your important work...those body parts aren't going to assemble themselves, you know! Chop chop! Hey...get it?! Ha!) It is part of the natural order of things for all organisms to live, grow, and eventually die. If we didn't have the limiting factor of death, the planet would be overrun in no time with everything from bacteria to white-tailed deer to that family down the road that all seem to resemble each other just a little bit too much. (On a related note, this is why birth control is a good idea. Some folks you just don't want overbreeding--or interbreeding, for that matter. Talk about a spongeworthy situation!)

The aforementioned mad scientists are the only ones that think that reanimating corpses is a good idea. This leads me to the conclusion that Demain's version of God is a mad scientist. Nothing good can come from associating with mad scientists.

Today's assigned reading: "The Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs. That should be the final word on whether or not reanimation of corpses is a good idea. Oh, and you can watch "Pet Sematary" while you're at it. Or the movie I referenced in the title of this entry, "Reanimator." Or any one of the bazillion zombie movies that are out there. They never end well. C'mon, Demain. This is common knowledge. You don't fuck with zombies. You're lucky the one you allegedly created was just a thief; she could just have easily have bitten through your skull to eat your braaaiiinnnnsssss. Not that it would have been a satisfying meal.