ghosts
It is true that New York City is like no other place in the world. One of the problems with being a native though, is that you don't have a very firm grasp on what life is like in the rest of the country. The only time I lived outside of the city was when I was in college. Imagine my surprise to see roadside memorials along the highways of Virginia.
I turned to my dorm mate who was driving and said, "Man, Christians are bad drivers." I never did see a Star of David or a statue of Buddha; always little white crosses. My guess is that it's the ones who didn't get the "God Is My Co-Pilot" bumper sticker.
Should I die in a motor vehicle, let me just say for the record that anyone who makes a roadside memorial to commemorate the place where I bought the farm: I will haunt your ass. I'm not talking all Casper the Friendly Ghost or Whoopi Goldberg channeling Patick Swayze. I'm talking about hiding your car keys when you're late for work and putting the toilet lid back down just before you sit. Hardcore haunting, yo. I'm not playing. I'll fuck you up.
I think it'll be cool being a ghost. You could do nice ghostly things for the people you loved. Like, move that can on the top shelf just a little bit closer so they can reach it. It'd be like having invisibility super-power, but without the usual distractions; like spending all of your time in ladies' changing rooms. I figure if I've shed my mortal coil that I wouldn't spend every day doing that. Maybe just on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I like to think that when I become a ghost, and they are making me watch the orientation video and getting my name-tag, that that is when I get everything explained to me; the answers to life's most perplexing mysteries. That'll be the best part of being a ghost. You know... THE BIG ONES. Like, just what was she and Billy Joe McAllister throwing off the Tallahatchee Bridge? Who shot Tupac and Biggie? Do sorority sisters really have topless pillow fights in their underwear and inevitably a pillow rips open and feathers begin floating about the room and sticking to the light sweat glistening on their skin from the playful romp? You know, important shit. I'm kidding though... I could do without the feathers.
I like to think we all get to be ghosts for a while and that it's not just for lost or tormented souls. Maybe we all get a chance to be near our loved ones who have the toil of enduring our passing, and let them sense our presence, even if they can't see or touch us any longer. It's the things we write-off as coincidence, like something turning-up somewhere you didn't expect it, that reminds you of them. Maybe they put it there to let you know that they're alright and that they miss you, too.
I turned to my dorm mate who was driving and said, "Man, Christians are bad drivers." I never did see a Star of David or a statue of Buddha; always little white crosses. My guess is that it's the ones who didn't get the "God Is My Co-Pilot" bumper sticker.
Should I die in a motor vehicle, let me just say for the record that anyone who makes a roadside memorial to commemorate the place where I bought the farm: I will haunt your ass. I'm not talking all Casper the Friendly Ghost or Whoopi Goldberg channeling Patick Swayze. I'm talking about hiding your car keys when you're late for work and putting the toilet lid back down just before you sit. Hardcore haunting, yo. I'm not playing. I'll fuck you up.
I think it'll be cool being a ghost. You could do nice ghostly things for the people you loved. Like, move that can on the top shelf just a little bit closer so they can reach it. It'd be like having invisibility super-power, but without the usual distractions; like spending all of your time in ladies' changing rooms. I figure if I've shed my mortal coil that I wouldn't spend every day doing that. Maybe just on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
I like to think that when I become a ghost, and they are making me watch the orientation video and getting my name-tag, that that is when I get everything explained to me; the answers to life's most perplexing mysteries. That'll be the best part of being a ghost. You know... THE BIG ONES. Like, just what was she and Billy Joe McAllister throwing off the Tallahatchee Bridge? Who shot Tupac and Biggie? Do sorority sisters really have topless pillow fights in their underwear and inevitably a pillow rips open and feathers begin floating about the room and sticking to the light sweat glistening on their skin from the playful romp? You know, important shit. I'm kidding though... I could do without the feathers.
I like to think we all get to be ghosts for a while and that it's not just for lost or tormented souls. Maybe we all get a chance to be near our loved ones who have the toil of enduring our passing, and let them sense our presence, even if they can't see or touch us any longer. It's the things we write-off as coincidence, like something turning-up somewhere you didn't expect it, that reminds you of them. Maybe they put it there to let you know that they're alright and that they miss you, too.