carnival/death

Music: Siouxsie & the Banshees: A Kiss in the Dreamhouse (1982)

For the last few days I've felt like a former boxer, sore all over from coughing so much (which led to other unfortunate bodily exercizes with the diaphram). Since I've moved to Austin I've been getting sick fairly regularly, which apparently happens to a lot of people. To help elevate the mood, Amanda and Roger came over and brought Sadie the Super-Sneaky Pug Puppy and we watched them play for a couple of hours (she's sneaky because she chews on furniture corners, and when you call her on it she pretends she was chewing on a nearby toy all along). Nothing brings a smile like watching small dogs---especially puppies---rough house in the house!

Then we kenneled the dogs and went up the street a piece to the carnival that had set-up shop in the high school parking lot. It was cheering to see so much color exploding on an otherwise dreary landscape, all my neighbors out and about (some in high heels, which confused me), little kids riding fixed motocyles. The scariest ride by far was called "Freak Out," and it was scary because it looked like it was about to tip over and kill everyone in its path (no, we didn't ride it with my nausea issues and all). I just had to go to the Haunted House, which was a whopping four dollars. There were four strung up dead (rubber) people inside and a lot of black plastic. Roger commented it didn't quite live up to the painting of the façade on the outside. This seems true of things in general (insert nihilist joke here). I've uploaded a gallery of last night's festivities.

And speaking of contrasts, there's death. First, I was saddened to learn that Harvey Kormann passed away. I am a big fan of Harvey, largely because he and Carol Burnett baby-sat me though my latch-key existence as an only child. I remember getting home from school and anxious awaiting the The Carol Burnett Show on Superstation 17, at that time the Turner Broadcasting Station. What always made me laugh was when Korman would crack-up (usually with Tim Coway), like in this scene.

But the saddest contrast is the unexpected passing of my uncle Richard yesterday. He had been sick for many years with congestive heart failure. My father called to tell me as my mother was with a returning caravan of the family (they were up visiting my cousin in North Carolina when Richard died). I got in a little fight with my father on the phone about my coming home for the service. My father is insisting that I not come home because it will stress out my mother (which sounds absurd) and refused to tell me when and where the service is. I've found a bereavement flight for about $400 on American, but cannot book it until I get the all the details (apparently the airline calls the funeral home to check out your story). Anyway, not quite sure what the appropriate thing to do is, and hopefully I can get a straight answer from mom today. The politics of bereavement is an unusual and strange thing.

Truth is, I'm especially not a fan of funerals the way they are done in the south, in Snellville: like the carnival, there's all this fancy stuff and fancy clothes and the body is dressed up and heaved on a pile of white linen and looks like one of those things we saw in the haunted house last night. I once had to help a family very close to me choose a casket for one of the men who raised me and I think I'm still emotionally scarred by how manipulative that process was. As a result I'm doing it the Quaker way and getting cremated immediately.

Nevertheless, I do want to be there for my family, if they need and want me there. I regret I didn't get to visit much with Richard this past year. I'm glad I called a few times this semester.

So I'm ready to travel again if mom gives the green light; I just wish I didn't have this cold.