My friend Greg’s death has inspired me to do something I don’t do, and generally don’t believe in: make a New Year’s resolution. I am going to do whatever I can to touch base with old friends. I don’t want to feel, at the end of my life, that I didn’t do everything I could to try to maintain my friendships. Over the last several years especially, I have let my life concerns get in the way of being a proper friend. Then I looked around and discovered I didn’t really have any friends. Oh, you all who come by and read my blog are nice, and it isn’t that I don’t consider you friends. In fact, you’re my only friends, really. Frankly, I think it is sad that my only friends are people I’ve never actually met. You have to admit that is sort of sad. It isn’t that I don’t want to make new friends, but I haven’t been a good enough friend to the old ones… no wonder I looked around and was alone. I don’t want to be that way anymore. This blog is a great opportunity to communicate, and I want to use it. I want to say, when I comes time for me to die, that I was here, and I want my friends to remember me, too. And I can’t find any pithier way of saying it: life is too short to do otherwise than live it.
After September 11 happened, I remembered how awkward it was to go on with life. To laugh. Of course I am not saying that the death of a person I was friends with 7 years ago is comparable to that tragedy — or even the tragedy being played out as I write — at this writing, over 140,000 confirmed deaths are attributed to what has to be one of the worst natural disasters on record. Things like this, though — the death of a loved one or even an acquaintance, tragedy, reminders that we are mortal — all serve to make us feel, well, guilty. We live. And we’re probably not doing it up right, either. On the other hand, levity feels wrong. I will never forget that SNL skit Will Ferrell did maybe a month after 9/11. TV comedy seemed dead in light of the events in the news. How were we going to laugh again? Ferrell played a businessman who worked in an office that decided to slacken the dress code to enable workers to express their patriotism. And Ferrell wore a red, white, and blue thong to work. I laughed so hard. Every time I see it, I laugh again.
It’s Friday, and I have this newly established literary trivia thing — it’s actually fun for me. I wondered if I should post a trivia question here, right after a post about Greg’s death. Then it occurred to me. This is the sort of thing he would have enjoyed. So, to that end:
Which famous poet had a club foot?
Answer: George Gordon, Lord Byron. Credit goes to Dana-Elayne.