To which I say: They're not death-obsessed. They're funeral-obsessed. Totally different. I'm not at all concerned about my death. It will occur when and how it will, with absolutely no input from me (I promise). But my funeral? Shit, that's my very last chance to express myself, and Imma grab hold and squeeze that bitch dry.
|This here is FINE with me. Really.|
Meanwhile, a couple of Drunkards have taken issue with the playlist I've chosen for my funeral. Like, that it's too long, or too depressing. And looking back over some of my selections, I can see that I may be setting a mood that is a bit gloomier than I intended. So here be a few additional tracks to liven things up:
"Paradise," the Buzzcocks
"Godzilla," Blue Oyster Cult (because "Don't Fear the Reaper" is just cliché)
"Bring on the Night," the Police
"How Do You Like Me Now?" the Heavy
"Temple," Kings of Leon
"Pedestrian At Best," Courtney Barnett (this song drives me crazy, but Precocious Daughter likes it, and funerals are for the living yada yada, so there you go)
"We Go Together," cast of Grease (I'm envisioning a sing-along finale here. Come in costume if you like. Best Doody wins a door prize.)
As for length...look, I promise my funeral won't be any longer than your average Academy Awards broadcast. Three-and-a-half, four hours, tops. Dress up nice, hit the bar, and enjoy yourself. Unlike the Oscars, this won't be a yearly event. Humor me.
And now I'm officially done talking about my funeral. You all know what to do when the time comes, and you've got approximately 100 years to pull it together. See you then.
(If you missed the rest of my ramblings on funerals and playlists, read this and this.)