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Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Interview outfit and what follows in my odd little mind

I bought an interview outfit via the internet and it arrived yesterday. I tried it on for my honey. She asked, "what interview?"

"The one for my job."

"You have to interview? Yeah, I guess you do, huh?"

She liked the outfit fine, pointing out that it would also work as a conference presentation outfit or for a funeral. Not that we have a funeral to go to but you never know, as Honey's mother says. (Though usually she says that about stopping at skanky garage sales of the type that Sandra Tsing Loh describes as "Foxy Lady t-shirt flapping above a scabrous lawn" or something similar.)

Speaking of funerals, I just bought the new book about obituaries from Amazon. My dissertation director once lamented to me that he wouldn't automatically get an obituary by virtue of his professorship at the IHE where I did my Ph.D. I had a hard time feeling sorry for him. He probably will get an obit. If not, it's the price he pays for staying in the big city. If he lived in some little college town, his obit would get lots of column inches.

My mother taught me to be fond of obituaries. She lives in a smaller city than I do and therefore has more access to the little obituarites. She calls me a lot to ask if "such and such who died went to high school with you." Makes me feel old. Still, I read the so-called "news obits" every day in the LA Times.

I'm reading this novel called A Brief History of the Dead which supposes that when you die you go this city which is a holding zone until everyone on earth who knew you dies too. I don't really like the idea. I've taught too many big lecture classes.

Still, remembering the dead and the past has a sweetness to it that I like. My mother's uncle Bert married but probably never "did it" as my grandmother said once. He taught piano in a little town in the southeast. Recently my mother was having her picture taken for some article she's going to be in (I zoned out on the publication. Mother gets a lot of pub and I try to ignore it). The photographer was from the same little town that Uncle Bert lived in. Mother said something about the photographer being too young to know him. To which the man replied, "I'm 46 years old and Dr. F taught me piano for 5 years."

Another mother and death story: she was in Canada giving a speech and she noticed that someone in the audience had collapsed. She stopped speaking and went over to see if she could help. The woman had no pulse and a doctor in the audience was giving CPR. When they got on the phone to 911, the doctor said "she appears to be in her mid-80s." As soon as he said that the woman's heart started again and she sat up and said, "I'm in my mid-60s."

My family and I have a presidential death bet. I've lost. My mother and brother are neck and neck having gotten Nixon and Reagan in the right order. When I suggested we should have included the first ladies after Jackie Kennedy died, my mother allowed as how that wouldn't have been funny. Whatever. I'll be sad when Jimmy Carter dies. Still, I have a bet on his death order relative to the other guys.

Some friends and I were discussing the relative aliveness of the cast of What's Happening. I knew that Shirley Hemphill had died and everyone agreed. No one but me thought Fred Berry (Rerun) was dead. For the record, he died in 2003.

My father's mother would greet everyone she knew with "so who are your people?" She was also dedicated to the obituaries. She owned this book called Looking Backward Through My Knott Heritage. She was related to the Knotts of Knott's Berry Farm thought she didn't think much of them. Southerners who move to California are suspect. Fine with me, says Suspect Number 1.

6 comments:

Unknown said...

So when's the interview?

and I have one thing to say about the rest: I like Jam. A whole lot. And log rides.

I guess that's three things. And I wish I were a Knott. That's four.

sporksforall said...

The interview isn't until May sometime. They're in the process of finishing the position description. I like Jam too. Scout says that everyone likes jam.

Teresa said...

No, everybody loves jam! If we go to Knott's Berry Farm and demonstrate your relative Knottness, can we score some free jam?

Sporks disobeyed an important commandment in our relationship: Thou shalt not buy yourself crap the week of your birthday (or any other gift-giving holiday). I'm glad I found out she ordered the obit book, since I had heard the same piece she had on NPR and thought I'd buy her the book as one of her b'day presents. Grrr.

I'm not sure I follow your mother's logic about first ladies' deaths being less funny than presidential deaths. All death is hilarious. If first ladies did count, and Hil Clin became pres in '08 (and I know that's a big "if"), would Hil and Bill each count twice?

sporksforall said...

The bet was made pre-W, so we stop when the second to last one dies. I presume that Clinton will be left standing. Then, we can do a new bet including first ladies. If Lady Bird Johnson is still alive then, I'll be way impressed.

sporksforall said...

Oh and I got no hook-ups on jam.

bryduck said...

My friend Ernie (longtime readers of my blog might remember my eulogy for him) belonged to an annual "celebrity death pool" wherein each year the members would pay the fee and draft their "team" of those who they thought would die the coming year. You would get (100-the age at death) points for each person on your "team", and when one of your people died, you'd get to select a new "teammate". At the end of the year, whoever had the most points would win the pot o' $, and then they'd start again with a new draft. Ernie found that the Enquirer was actually a good source of info for cluing in when someone was going to croak, btw.
*sigh* Good times . . .