Tag: notorious b.i.g.

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Death Around the Corner

When I die, fuck it, I wanna go to hell
Cuz I’m a piece of shit, it ain’t hard to fuckin tell
– “Suicidal Thoughts,” Notorious B.I.G.

Funerals are dumb. They are typically overly theatrical and overly expensive and overly stressful for the people who are most in need of the emotional support that funerals are supposed to offer. I’m pretty sure that we’re all on the same page about the fact that funerals are for the living rather than the dead, but as a future dead person myself, I would hope that the wishes of the recently departed would have some bearing on the not-so-festivities that take place in their honor.

My family all knows my feelings on this matter. I don’t want to be buried – burn my ass and do what you will with my ashes. Whatever is most meaningful to them works for me, as long as none of me ends up in Boston. Because fuck those racist motherfuckers. Continue reading “Death Around the Corner”

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Insane in the Brain

There are different levels of crazy. Everyone in my family is certifiable, but we each occupy different rungs on the ladder of insanity. The top rung in my mind has always been firmly held by my grandfather, my mom’s dad, although in retrospect I recognize that he and his siblings may have an entire tower all to themselves. After all, it’s hard to compete for that top spot when your sister has managed to end up at sea with the Coast Guard after a one night stand with a sailor, forcing them to divert course and drop her off at the nearest port. It’s also hard to beat a brother who didn’t leave his house for twenty years, or the myriad others with substance abuse issues of all sorts, but I still believe my grandpa holds his own nonetheless.

He was from an extremely poor family in rural Arkansas and grew up with eight brothers and sisters. He never forgot growing up hungry or sharing a bed with all those siblings. That feeling of being cramped next to so many people never left him, and he blamed his hatred of crowded areas on this experience. It makes sense, but I doubt that’s the true origin of his phobia, mostly because social anxiety pops up in multiple members of the family. The distaste toward being touched by just about anyone is carried forward in both my mom and me, and god knows I was never forced to cuddle with anyone against my will. Continue reading “Insane in the Brain”