So, a group of Facebook friends I have gets off on some strange tangents. I mentioned to them that I had, along with my brother, John, written a country song about love on the NASCAR scene. Since I wanted to share the lyrics with my friends, I'm posting them here for all to see. One of these days, I'll record my brother as he plays and sings it and post it on YouTube; I'm sure it'll go viral. Not.
Skid Marks on My Heart
You left skid marks on my heart
When you peeled out for another
Right after I told you
I was going to be a mother
You shifted gears so fast
You didn't even use the clutch
I never knew that the trophy dash
Of love could hurt so much
The green flag dropped and we were off
And things were mighty nice
But by the time we hit turn two
You had cheated twice
Things were fine in the back straight
I couldn't ask for more
Then you picked up the trophy queen
As you rounded out turn four
You left skid marks on my heart
When you peeled out for another
Right after I told you
I was going to be a mother
You shifted gears so fast
You didn't even use the clutch
I never knew that the trophy dash
Of love could hurt so much
And now you know why I'm not a Grammy winning lyricist.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Maybe the Grim Reaper Should Hire Telemarketers
This year, my mom is turning 70. It's kind of a big deal, right? I mean, to have survived three score and ten years on earth, through wars, diseases, poverty, childbirth, injury, travel and 36 years of marriage. Seriously, even just 100 years ago, any one of those things was likely to have caused a premature death (especially the marriage thing), so having lived to be 70 years old is clearly a bit of a testament to... stuff. Certainly, it's worthy of a celebration, which is being planned even as you read this.
In America, of course, celebrating one's 7th decade is so common that it's become a marketing opportunity! That's right, the elderly are now targeted for all kinds of advertising, for all kinds of products. Gone are the direct mail campaigns for pre-approved auto loans, cosmetics, and vacations; offers of investment services and life insurance, once voluminous, have now dwindled to a mere trickle. Instead of the formerly plentiful, glossy brochures for jewelry or cruises, my mother now receives a whole different class of mailings.
The mindset of corporate America seems to be as follows:
Over 65 = OLD Is susceptible to financial pleadings from starving children, homeless veterans and any religion promising eternal life. Must need denture cream, walking aids, hearing aids, spurious arthritis remedies, personal alarms, medical and prescription discount plans, and "final arrangments."
That's right. As my mother enters her "golden years" - while holding down a full-time job - the funeral industry is gleefully plotting my mother's eventual demise and offering her all sorts of options for pre-paying her final expenses.
Really. Shouldn't these hyenas have been coming around 20 years ago, when she had a husband and a little disposable income? Is it really necessary that my mother open her mail box every day to several full-color, exclamation point laden reminders that she's old? Is today the day she needs to choose between burial, cremation, or being interred in a reclaimed lighthouse off the coast of Catalina, or launched into space in an urn or whatever other choice they may manage to come up with?
I find this to be, at the very least, tasteless. My mom has a much different take on it and, rather than pontificate on it, I'll let her own words speak for her, and far more eloquently than I probably would. What follows is the letter my mom wrote to a cremation company from which she has received multiple mailings.
Prepare to be dazzled, although I am sure there are some (the cremation people among them) who will be surprised that someone of such advanced years, someone so aged and decrepit, could manage to stay upright at the computer long enough to type this missive, but she did. (If you've ever wondered where I got my sarcastic streak, you're about to find out.)
****************************
I find it incredibly insensitive and downright ghoulish that companies like yours, much like vultures circling carrion in the desert, lurk nearby as I celebrate my 70th birthday, hoping to profit off my impending demise.
I hate to disappoint you but I am in ridiculously good health, have no major health problems and come from a long line of folks who survived well into their 90s. If my impending doom is what you are banking on to put in your new pool this summer, you’re in long in for a long hot one…which may well be your ultimate destination anyway.
You people give new definition to the concept of opportunistic greed. You can’t let someone simply enjoy their 70th birthday. No, no, it’s apparently your God -given right to remind us old folks that we are about to shuffle off this mortal coil and become worm food, and to ensure that we know that that you take pride in making sure we don’t get back up again. I’m so happy to know that you would dispose of my body in an “earth friendly manner” (Wow that makes me almost look forward to the trip!). Too damned bad I already have a burial plot next to my husband, so I guess I won’t be “going out green”. I would rather wait for rigor mortis to set in and be pounded into the ground like a rail road spike than use your service.
I love the “100% satisfaction guarantee" you offer! Has anyone ever claimed it? I think that’s a pretty safe bet isn’t it? How could anyone be disappointed in your caring commitment to turn me into a crispy critter?? And how will they ever know if you did a good job or not? Do I get sent back to the kitchen like an undercooked salmon fillet?
As for the government mandating our “estate and personal options,” what the hell are you talking about? That makes no sense. How does anyone mandate your estate? What, Uncle Sam has a hit out on me? Or are you implying that you’ll have me in powder form before Uncle Sam gets his meat-hooks on my insurance policy?
As for “Do I want an unknown funeral director involved in my end of life decisions” I don’t plan on asking my undertaker whether I should lay down and start pushing up daisies or not! That’s kind of God’s area of expertise, don’t you think? Oh, that’s right, you green types don’t believe in God. You’re God! That’s what gives you the right to mess with old people.
Do I want an unknown funeral director?” Yes! Yes I do. Since he or she is going to see my naked old carcass, I prefer anonymity.
Since you are so into leaving the planet in good shape why don’t you come up with a recycling program to re-purpose the dead? I mean, burning seems so wasteful of good resources, and recycling us is so organic! You could extend our arms, shellac us and use us for coat racks! There’s always taxidermy… little kids scared of the dark could have granny sitting in a rocker in their bedroom at night. Have you ever seen Soylent green? I mean why waste all that protein? I‘m sure you and your “be one with the universe” buddies, should be able to come up with a useful way to re-use us old, non productive types.
My plan is to have myself stuffed with middle finger firmly extended so you can shove it up your greedy, insensitive, ecologically correct ass. Now take me off you mailing list… and speaking of mailing lists and ecological responsibility, how many trees are hacked down so you can send out our invitation to the Grim Reaper's ball?
Without a drop of respect since you showed me none,
Merle L. XXXXXXX
PS: If you’re going to be so politically correct…you might try and get my gender right. I’m a woman.
********************
So, stick that in your pipe - or crematorium - and smoke it.
In America, of course, celebrating one's 7th decade is so common that it's become a marketing opportunity! That's right, the elderly are now targeted for all kinds of advertising, for all kinds of products. Gone are the direct mail campaigns for pre-approved auto loans, cosmetics, and vacations; offers of investment services and life insurance, once voluminous, have now dwindled to a mere trickle. Instead of the formerly plentiful, glossy brochures for jewelry or cruises, my mother now receives a whole different class of mailings.
The mindset of corporate America seems to be as follows:
Over 65 = OLD Is susceptible to financial pleadings from starving children, homeless veterans and any religion promising eternal life. Must need denture cream, walking aids, hearing aids, spurious arthritis remedies, personal alarms, medical and prescription discount plans, and "final arrangments."
That's right. As my mother enters her "golden years" - while holding down a full-time job - the funeral industry is gleefully plotting my mother's eventual demise and offering her all sorts of options for pre-paying her final expenses.
Really. Shouldn't these hyenas have been coming around 20 years ago, when she had a husband and a little disposable income? Is it really necessary that my mother open her mail box every day to several full-color, exclamation point laden reminders that she's old? Is today the day she needs to choose between burial, cremation, or being interred in a reclaimed lighthouse off the coast of Catalina, or launched into space in an urn or whatever other choice they may manage to come up with?
I find this to be, at the very least, tasteless. My mom has a much different take on it and, rather than pontificate on it, I'll let her own words speak for her, and far more eloquently than I probably would. What follows is the letter my mom wrote to a cremation company from which she has received multiple mailings.
Prepare to be dazzled, although I am sure there are some (the cremation people among them) who will be surprised that someone of such advanced years, someone so aged and decrepit, could manage to stay upright at the computer long enough to type this missive, but she did. (If you've ever wondered where I got my sarcastic streak, you're about to find out.)
****************************
I find it incredibly insensitive and downright ghoulish that companies like yours, much like vultures circling carrion in the desert, lurk nearby as I celebrate my 70th birthday, hoping to profit off my impending demise.
I hate to disappoint you but I am in ridiculously good health, have no major health problems and come from a long line of folks who survived well into their 90s. If my impending doom is what you are banking on to put in your new pool this summer, you’re in long in for a long hot one…which may well be your ultimate destination anyway.
You people give new definition to the concept of opportunistic greed. You can’t let someone simply enjoy their 70th birthday. No, no, it’s apparently your God -given right to remind us old folks that we are about to shuffle off this mortal coil and become worm food, and to ensure that we know that that you take pride in making sure we don’t get back up again. I’m so happy to know that you would dispose of my body in an “earth friendly manner” (Wow that makes me almost look forward to the trip!). Too damned bad I already have a burial plot next to my husband, so I guess I won’t be “going out green”. I would rather wait for rigor mortis to set in and be pounded into the ground like a rail road spike than use your service.
I love the “100% satisfaction guarantee" you offer! Has anyone ever claimed it? I think that’s a pretty safe bet isn’t it? How could anyone be disappointed in your caring commitment to turn me into a crispy critter?? And how will they ever know if you did a good job or not? Do I get sent back to the kitchen like an undercooked salmon fillet?
As for the government mandating our “estate and personal options,” what the hell are you talking about? That makes no sense. How does anyone mandate your estate? What, Uncle Sam has a hit out on me? Or are you implying that you’ll have me in powder form before Uncle Sam gets his meat-hooks on my insurance policy?
As for “Do I want an unknown funeral director involved in my end of life decisions” I don’t plan on asking my undertaker whether I should lay down and start pushing up daisies or not! That’s kind of God’s area of expertise, don’t you think? Oh, that’s right, you green types don’t believe in God. You’re God! That’s what gives you the right to mess with old people.
Do I want an unknown funeral director?” Yes! Yes I do. Since he or she is going to see my naked old carcass, I prefer anonymity.
Since you are so into leaving the planet in good shape why don’t you come up with a recycling program to re-purpose the dead? I mean, burning seems so wasteful of good resources, and recycling us is so organic! You could extend our arms, shellac us and use us for coat racks! There’s always taxidermy… little kids scared of the dark could have granny sitting in a rocker in their bedroom at night. Have you ever seen Soylent green? I mean why waste all that protein? I‘m sure you and your “be one with the universe” buddies, should be able to come up with a useful way to re-use us old, non productive types.
My plan is to have myself stuffed with middle finger firmly extended so you can shove it up your greedy, insensitive, ecologically correct ass. Now take me off you mailing list… and speaking of mailing lists and ecological responsibility, how many trees are hacked down so you can send out our invitation to the Grim Reaper's ball?
Without a drop of respect since you showed me none,
Merle L. XXXXXXX
PS: If you’re going to be so politically correct…you might try and get my gender right. I’m a woman.
********************
So, stick that in your pipe - or crematorium - and smoke it.
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