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Have you ever thought about dying? No, really, it’s not that I don’t like you, but we do tend to shy away from dwelling on the inevitable, ignoring the fact that it’s practical to make early arrangements for when one’s demise eventually transpires, and much easier for our loved ones to cope with.

Of course, if our relatives do make any mistakes with the funeral arrangements, they can always give us a call afterward to sort it out.

Now, if that last paragraph leaves you scratching your head in confusion you’re obviously not part of the techno-savvy generation, who are quick to ensure their cellphone is well charged and in their best suit pocket prior to the earthy sod being finally placed over them.

It’s all in an article by Diane Mapes on MSNBC.Com yesterday, entitled, “Bury me with my cell phone,” – along with a brilliant cartoon by Duane Hoffman.^[1] Apparently, more and more people are insisting on taking their cellphone with them on their final journey into the Great Beyond.

It’s not that folks still harbor the old fear of being buried alive, it’s more along the lines of the ancient Egyptians or Vikings, who had their most precious possessions buried with them. Nowadays, of course, it’s not considered seemly to demand the wife, or mistress, be interred along with hubby, and they’d probably object, so I suppose a cellphone is the next best thing.

Funeral directors are keen to point out this is only an option for burials. Cremations and cellphones don’t mix. The batteries have a habit of exploding in the furnace and, well, it can make a terrible mess. They’ll happily drop the phone into the urn, once the ashes have cooled, for a small additional fee.

There is, of course, the question of pollution to be considered. Modern electronic gadgetry is not renowned for its greenness. Phones contain all sorts of nasty chemicals and heavy metals that would wreak havoc on the environment if we all insisted on taking our iPhones on that final journey.

And who’s to say it would stop there? I’d quite like my laptop, and there’s always one idiot who’ll insist he’s just not going if he can’t take his new, fifty-two inch, Sony flat screen, with the home theater surround sound and three ‘Mighty Mountain Mover’ sub-woofers.

Frankly, I think I’d prefer the peace and quiet of a nice woodland glade, where I can lie in my Kinkara Botanica Restspa burial shroud^[2] with its delicate stripes, a posy of sweet peas over my heart, and the song of a nightingale to lull me to eternal rest.

Oh, darn, is that my phone ringing…..?

^{[1] “Bury me with my cell phone” MSNBC, December 16th 2008}

^{[2] “Kinkaraco Green Burial Products”}

Filed under: O death, where is thy ring?

Some people can prove most irritating, even when you’ve never met them. Take, as an example, the boy who delivers the local papers. I’m talking the advertising rag here, not the proper local newspaper. I don’t subscribe to that. Well, there’s no point; I don’t have any hogs and I’m not a farmer growing corn, and if you’re neither of those the local newspaper is not for you.

The price of hogs and corn is the reason the local paper exists. Often, it’s the main headline. Corn is up, or, hogs are down; it’s what consistently stares back at you from the news stands six days a week. There’s no newspaper on Sunday. The staff are all in church.

That’s the other thing you’ll find in the local paper, besides commodity prices: a list of local churches and the times of their services; plus pages devoted to who’s born, married, or recently deceased. So you see, as I have no hogs, corn, or religion, and everyone in town’s a stranger to me, I have no need whatever of the local newspaper.

Delivering newspapers was the first job I ever had. I was only twelve and very proud of my profession. I took the work seriously. My bag, wherein reposed the neatly folded broadsheets, was a prize possession. I would collect my papers from the shop in the early morning hours and cycle from door to door, popping a paper into each mailbox. It took about an hour before school, and earned me the magnificent sum of fifty-six pence per week.

In Illinois it’s very different. The delivery person drives around in a beat-up old pickup, hurling the papers out the window. Often, they land on the front lawn, or in the driveway. The first you know its there is when you back the car over it, reversing out the garage.

The last couple of weeks it’s been way too cold to get out and pick them up, so they’ve accumulated. You’d think, on seeing last week’s still lying there, they wouldn’t bother leaving another. But, no, a fresh one appears regularly, waiting to be crushed by the wheels of the car.

It snowed heavily last week, six inches or more. Mind, it didn’t last very long. Within a few days a thaw set in and it all melted. It had been no fun trying to reverse the car out over it every morning, so I was glad when it was gone.

This morning I backed out as usual, only to be jarred almost out my seat as the nearside rear wheel hit a huge lump of papier mache welded to the concrete. It took ten minutes with a garden spade to prize free the rock-hard remains of half a dozen advertising rags, chemically transformed into a model Eiger in the middle of my driveway.

Damn that delivery boy.

Some people can prove most irritating, even when you’ve never met them.

Filed under: Things that piss me off

Muntadar al-Zeidi threw his shoes at George W Bush as a gesture of contempt for the US president. Al-Zeidi has now disappeared, imprisoned by the Iraqi government, and no-one knows where. Despite mass rallies in Baghdad and calls for his release from around the Arab world, to date the Iraqi government is remaining quiet about his whereabouts, and his welfare.

Immediately following the incident, George W Bush remarked, “this is what can happen in a free democracy.”

It can happen under any type of regime. It should be the consequences of such actions that are different in a free democracy. Throwing shoes at a visiting American president, even one responsible for invading your country and indirectly causing the deaths of your relatives, is not generally a wise move. Muntadar al-Zeidi is either very brave or rather foolish.

What, one wonders, would be the result of an American citizen throwing his shoes at George W Bush – say, on the White House lawn or in the Rose Garden? Assuming, that is, said citizen could ever get close enough. Undoubtedly, they would be wrestled to the floor, arrested, and carted away. One might hope that, after being duly charged, they would be released on bail pending a court appearance and the imposition of a slap on the wrist, a small fine, and suitable caution not to do anything so foolish again.

Of course, in America one can never be sure about such things. US presidents are considered almost divine – even the retarded variety, like George W Bush. A charge of treason or attempted murder, or something equally silly might be made to stick, incarcerating our citizen for the rest of his life.

What chance then, Muntadar al-Zeidi?

I suppose it’s in his favor he chose a US president rather than an Iraqi one. Perhaps, in Iraq, that may not be considered so serious. I guess it just depends how much pressure US officialdom can bring to bear on prime minister Maliki.

Or, given that’s it’s the season of goodwill and the outgoing US president will be pardoning all those Wall Street crooks and swindlers, and others from his administration presently languishing in jail for ‘doing their duty’, perhaps he could pardon al-Zeidi as well?

Mind, frankly, I wouldn’t want to be pardoned by scum like Bush, if I were in Muntadar al-Zeidi’s shoes; though it’s unlikely I ever would be, given that only yesterday they were whizzing perilously close past Bush’s nose.

I wonder how many human beings around the world would have willingly given up their Christmas break just for the sheer joy of seeing at least one of them land squarely on the presidential hooter?

There’s no God, yer know?

Free Muntadar al-Zeidi. He’s Sparrow Chat’s Christmas Hero of 2008.

Filed under: Free Muntadar al-Zeidi