Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Saturday, February 13, 2016

Some argle-bargle about Antonin Scalia

It’s kind of weird: I’m essentially a single issue voter—Supreme Court nominees!—when it comes to the presidency, but it seems ghoulish when I say plainly what I mean by that: I vote for the presidential candidate who is most likely to nominate people to the Supreme Court I’ll like when one of the justices kicks the bucket. It’s for exactly this situation that I voted for Barack Obama, but man, it sure feels mighty macabre when it happens.

Anyway, I disagree with virtually everything Scalia has said professionally, and even among the vanishingly small number of things with which he and I agreed, I’ve always thought he expressed himself, likely intentionally, in the most dickish way possible.

But I’ll say this: when Stephen Colbert did his amazing in-your-face roast of George W. Bush and the D.C. establishment during the 2006 White House Correspondents’ Dinner, Scalia was seemingly the only person in the room who had a sense of humor about himself. So there’s that.

Anyway, enough argle-bargle from me. I hope Scalia’s friends and family will be okay—losing a loved one always sucks, especially when large swaths of the country will greet the news with a fair bit of morbid joy. But given Scalia’s fierce pugnacity and often gleeful trolling of his ideological opposites, I think he’d take it as the very sincere and high compliment I intend it as when I say that it’s a relief that the old Grumpy Bear’s finally off the Supreme Court.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Karaoke kindness

It's my turn to sing at karaoke, and given my affinity for breakup songs with no-no words, I'm going with Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know."

The song is directed towards a man, though, which is a problem, what with my heterosexuality and inability to change pronouns on the fly and whatnot.

So I preface my performance with this dedication:

I want to dedicate this song to my ex-girlfriend, who I just found out is dating my best friend. 
(crowd oohs à la Saved by the Bell
So, Amy, this is for you and Claire. 
(crowd cheers à la Saved by the Bell: The New Class)

And I butcher this song in a decidedly unkosher manner -- I'm wildly off-key, I'm smushing lyrics together, and midway through the song, I utter the phrase, "Oh, there's more? Sorry, I'm not sober." (Sadly, I was very sober.)

But afterwards? Applause, high-fives, and assurances that I'm "gonna be fine, buddy."1

It remains my firm belief that karaoke brings out the best in humanity: we all have each other's backs; our flaws are seen as lovely and charming; and complete strangers are willing to donate confidence in the form of semi-intoxicated, good-hearted cheering to anybody who needs it. What's not to love?

I say this in all seriousness, and please consider this a legitimate, legally-binding request2: I want karaoke at my funeral, please. You know as well as I do that that's going to be amazing.

1I did feel kind of bad about sponging off the encouragement of others under false pretenses, but here's my perhaps entirely unsatisfying rationalization: Without the backstory, I'm just another incompetent singer the crowd has to tolerate. With the backstory, my performance becomes a gripping, emotional journey; a musical Bildungsroman written aloud with the words of one of Canada's greatest heroes. When we do karaoke, we're already playing a character; there's no crime in taking it a small step further.

2This sounds like a joke, but I can't emphasize enough how serious I am. I mean, I'm assuming my funeral will be at least a little sad maybe, but how great would it be if somebody picked up the mic and started singing this.