I went to the county fair this morning for a couple of hours. I’m not a fair person, but I was there to visit the younger Princely Midget. He’s got a pig there and today was auction day. Yes, for the second year in a row my Jewish son raised a pig. Last year’s pig was named Chuleta — Spanish for pork chop. This year’s pig was named Kosher. Go figure. That’s not the point here though. Parking was $10, Admission was $5. When I went to the Giants game this past Wednesday, we parked at the lot controlled by the team. We paid $35 to park. Each of our tickets was $18. In other words, we paid $1 more for two admissions than we paid to park our car. So, my question is this … when did parking at an event begin to cost more than actually attending the event?
* * *
TheSelfPublisher has gotten off to a pretty incredible start. Only a couple of days and we’ve got six authors contributing and almost 30 followers. Want to join the fun? Let me know.
* * *
I’m fine with the opening paragraph to this piece:
Rationalists and secularists in the old plain style were very clear about death and dying, or at least they tried to be. “It’s just a nothing,” they would say: “the lights go out and then the curtain falls.” I won’t exist after I die, but then I didn’t exist before I was born, so what’s the big deal? It’s going to happen anyway, so just get over it. We are only forked animals after all, and when the time comes you should give my body to medical science, or burn it and use it as fertiliser; or why not eat it, if you’re hungry, or feed it to the pigs? And for goodness sake, don’t worry about how I died – whether peacefully or in pain – and don’t speculate about my last thoughts, my last sentiments or my last words. Why attach more importance to my dying moments than to any other part of my life? As for the business of seeing the body and saying goodbye, and the trouble and expense of coffins and flowers and funerals: what are they but relics of morbid superstitions that we should have got rid of centuries ago? So no fuss, please: the world belongs to youth and the future, not death and the past: go ahead and have a party if you must, with plenty to drink, but no speeches, nothing maudlin, no tears, nothing that might silence the laughter of children. And I beg you, no memorials of any kind: no stones, no plaques, no shrines, no park benches, no tree-plantings, no dedications: let the memory of who I was die with me.
In fact, for those five years I made my own beer and always had several dozen bottles of homebrew in a cabinet in my garage, my only requirement was that my friends had to get together and finish the beer.