I'm Going To Die
NOTE: Since morbidity is the theme of today, apparently, here's a thought I just had...
Let's assume for a minute that real life is exactly how it is in the movies. Okay, given that assumption, what would be the end result of the following scenario:
Girlfriend and I are in love. Things are going great in our relationship, generally, and specifically, issues that we've had in the past seem to have been resolved. All is right between us in our funky railroad apartment in South Brooklyn. Add to that, I'm a charming, hilarious guy who is kind and pleasant and fun at parties and she's a vivacious firecracker that's doing good work teaching the underprivileged youth of our city. The perfect couple? Of course not, but we're awesome in our own right and it looks like nothing but happy days ahead...
Give up?
The answer is this: In the movies, it's times like these when tragedy always strikes unannounced from the shadows. And it always befalls the boyfriend or the husband of the plucky, spunky lead... he's the one who invariably gets gunned down by thugs while popping down to the bodega for ice cream or Dr. Pepper!
Guys, I pop down to the bodega for ice cream or Dr. Pepper all the fucking time!!!
If life is anything like the movies (and, as we agreed earlier, it is), my days are numbered. And if it's not a roving band of thugs that get me, it'll be organ failure, or an out-of-control city bus, or an alien virus. The point is, I'm royally screwed and I'm not happy about it.
What's worse, there's nothing I can do to change things. I mean, sure, I could deliberately tank my relationship with Girlfriend, thus sparing my life and knocking me into an entirely different cinematic scenario (one with lots of drinking, like Leaving Las Vegas), but that's not an enviable alternative. For one... there's no snuggling (except for with skanky, sad Elizabeth Shue-themed prostitutes) and that's unacceptable. And I guess I could make sure Girlfriend gets killed instead of me, but that's only going to lead to her showing up as an undead ghoul seeking revenge from beyond the grave and that's not going to leave me any better off.
So I guess the only option I've got is to hope that I'm living in the sort of movie where the dead boyfriend can come back and have wacky misadventures with his loved one while teaching her lessons on healing (like in Truly, Madly, Deeply). Or, barring that, hope that it's the kind of movie where I come back and haunt the crap out of the tenants in my building after Girlfriend moves on (like... oh, I don't know... Ghost or something; isn't that what happened in Ghost?), because at least that'd be a hoot.
Either one of those options work for me, whomever's running things. You know, assuming that real life is like movies, of course. Otherwise, forget I mentioned anything.
Let's assume for a minute that real life is exactly how it is in the movies. Okay, given that assumption, what would be the end result of the following scenario:
Girlfriend and I are in love. Things are going great in our relationship, generally, and specifically, issues that we've had in the past seem to have been resolved. All is right between us in our funky railroad apartment in South Brooklyn. Add to that, I'm a charming, hilarious guy who is kind and pleasant and fun at parties and she's a vivacious firecracker that's doing good work teaching the underprivileged youth of our city. The perfect couple? Of course not, but we're awesome in our own right and it looks like nothing but happy days ahead...
Give up?
The answer is this: In the movies, it's times like these when tragedy always strikes unannounced from the shadows. And it always befalls the boyfriend or the husband of the plucky, spunky lead... he's the one who invariably gets gunned down by thugs while popping down to the bodega for ice cream or Dr. Pepper!
Guys, I pop down to the bodega for ice cream or Dr. Pepper all the fucking time!!!
If life is anything like the movies (and, as we agreed earlier, it is), my days are numbered. And if it's not a roving band of thugs that get me, it'll be organ failure, or an out-of-control city bus, or an alien virus. The point is, I'm royally screwed and I'm not happy about it.
What's worse, there's nothing I can do to change things. I mean, sure, I could deliberately tank my relationship with Girlfriend, thus sparing my life and knocking me into an entirely different cinematic scenario (one with lots of drinking, like Leaving Las Vegas), but that's not an enviable alternative. For one... there's no snuggling (except for with skanky, sad Elizabeth Shue-themed prostitutes) and that's unacceptable. And I guess I could make sure Girlfriend gets killed instead of me, but that's only going to lead to her showing up as an undead ghoul seeking revenge from beyond the grave and that's not going to leave me any better off.
So I guess the only option I've got is to hope that I'm living in the sort of movie where the dead boyfriend can come back and have wacky misadventures with his loved one while teaching her lessons on healing (like in Truly, Madly, Deeply). Or, barring that, hope that it's the kind of movie where I come back and haunt the crap out of the tenants in my building after Girlfriend moves on (like... oh, I don't know... Ghost or something; isn't that what happened in Ghost?), because at least that'd be a hoot.
Either one of those options work for me, whomever's running things. You know, assuming that real life is like movies, of course. Otherwise, forget I mentioned anything.
posted by Clinton at 1:09 PM
9 Comments:
I find it suspiciously suspicious that all we bloggers at the same time are being consumed with thoughts of our own mortality. It must be like when a bunch of girls get their periods at the same time. Weird!
That is weird. There's a collective enuii in the air, I guess. Probably comes from the aliens.
Have you considered the possibility that the two of you eventually get married and have a kid, the extra expense of which causes one (or both) of you to "temporarily" take on better paying but less rewarding work to make ends meet? The end result is still fairly grim. You either have resentment and divorce a la Ordinary People or death at the hands of your gay/homophobic neighbor like in American Beauty. In both cases you wind up living in the suburbs. I guess this hasn't been much help. Please disregard.
Maybe you reached the happily ever after part earlier than you thought you would? Either that, or my alien virus is juuust about to get ya.
Next time you go down to the bodega, please don't forget your ability to transform into a (presumably) bulletproof car.
J... Man, movies are fucking bleak. Why did I write this? I'm thinking I might just file this away in a folder marked "Sad" and leave it there to fall apart.
Brooklyn... Nah, because I still have to pay rent. But I like where you're head's at.
Hex... I CAN DO THAT???
Maybe this would be the opportune time to mention that I'm a brain-slurping zombie, and only dating you for your braaains.
Happy Ash Wednesday!
You certainly are keeping up with the mortality theme.
Geez, that J. is a ray of sunshine.
The human condition, man. It's lethal. Dig it.
-Phoenix
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