Freaky Friday (in which Our Hero is Assaulted)

I try not to get too autobiographical here. First, my life is pretty boring what with the wage earning, space exploration and crime fighting and all. Second, nobody should like talking about themselves that much. Blogging by its very nature should be enough self-indulgence for oneself.

But last Friday was a swell capper to the week. And all of this is true. I swear to God it is.

At 11:00 am, I attended my best friend's mother's funeral. I counted and this is only the third funeral I've ever had to go to. Clean living I guess.

A dinky little church out in the farmland of Michigan. You drive across bare, snow-covered fields and hope you don't have Bruce Springsteen's The River in the CD player of your car and a loaded gun in the trunk, because you'll kill yourself and won't make it.

Now I never met my buddy's Mom, so I was really going for him. Put in a quick appearance, sit in back, duck out early if no one is looking. No such luck. Old people sat behind us. Old people who sang loudly. Loudly and off-key.

And I know why people don't dig church. Music from the 6o's--the 1860's. A priest/minister/shaman who is completely out of touch. And bagpipes! They always like to go with the bagpipe at a funeral because only the deceased is spared from the caterwauling. And I can't hear Amazing Grace without thinking of Mr. Spock at the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan and getting a little verklempt.

At lunch afterwards, Wife and I were commenting about the music. We were both trying to decide what we'd play at the funeral if the other one died. I was opting for Hate Myself for Loving You or Your Love is Like Bad Medicine. She was leaning toward Julie Brown's I Like Them Big and Stupid or Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones. You know...the classics.

After lunch, I got my annual physical. And because I'm 40 now, I got the complete physical. Yes, grab your cheeks and spread them, the Bareback Mountain, the welcome to Deliverance County physical. And what really twists me up, is that I didn't come back with any retort to the process. Granted this is completely unlikely. I just held on to that damn exam table and prayed for it to be over. What I should have said was one of the following:

• Doc, do I get to keep your watch?
• If you find my dignity, let me know.
• Usually I get dinner before I let someone do this.
• But can you clap?
• [singing] Fly me to the moo-ooo-oon.
• [as Morgan Freeman] That was the longest night of Andy Dufresne's life. Oh, Andy.

I'm sure there are others. At least my Doc is a woman and has small hands. Can't wait till next year.