humans are funny

Category: death

  • Auntie Bev

    My great aunt died last week.

    Beverly Jean Gedda Harper.

    She was an observer. A quiet smiler. A believer. I didn’t see her too often, but I wish I had. She was a peaceful keeper of so many answers I didn’t even know I wanted.
    Her husband and her brother died in a camping accident. Her daughter had polio. Her son died before coming home from the hospital. What was all that like? I wish I’d asked.
    She never gave a hint that she lived in that past. Life! She still laughed. She still lived on surrounded by family. Every time I saw her, she’d smile this wondrous smile, as if to say, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

    It’s in my genes that smile.

    My grandma, Beverly’s sister, was a notorious trickster. There was always a fake puke somewhere in our house when she lived there. Or a fake fly in a fake ice cube in someone’s drink. And, of course, the Whoopie cushion. Always a Whoopie cushion.

    My family is my family. And they’re the best family I’ve ever had.
    And the weirdest part: Lots of them are dead.
    Yeah.
    My dad. All my grandparents. Dead! Dead! Dead!

    Some people have gone through their lives without experiencing death. They have young parents who last forever. I’ve understood death since fourth grade when I saw that funny grandma who looked funnier than usual as she lie in a box wearing the dress she only used for special occasions. I personally thought she looked better in housecoats. I STILL miss sitting on her lap.

    And then my grandpa died. And my father. And my other grandma. And then a friend. And then more friends. At least ten people from my high school class have all left the earth. Most by drugs. Some by car accidents. A few suicides.

    All these people I used to know.

    So many deaths! They are a vivid reminder that, SHIT, we are all going to die! AH! I mean, in a hundred years, you guys won’t be reading this. There won’t even be computers. Hopefully not blogs. Probably no more outside. Definitely no more laughing. And we’re all gonna be dead. ALL OF US! Sorry. I don’t mean to be a spoiler, but WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE. Sometimes, usually when I’m taking a bath, I think about my one-day heyday as a vibrant senior citizen. Or my legacy as the World’s Oldest Person Who Writes about Vaginas. And then how I will one day no longer exist. AT ALL! It’s so weird. Yet feels good to know I’ll be leaving such an imprint on society with my vagina.
    But I try not to think about that stuff. Because it’s better to just live. And not take baths.

    You had a good heyday, Auntie Bev! I’ll ask you those questions one day.

  • Life!


    This blog has been about death for weeks. Come on! Let’s talk about life. Because we’re alive. Life is precious. Life is beautiful. Life is a cereal. Cereal is for breakfast. I love savoring a hot beverage in the morning. The steam wakes me up. Reminds me that I’m alive. Life! Life goes on. Remember that show? That show was Chad Lowe at his best. I wanted to sleep with him even though he had HIV. Maybe this is a pattern. Maybe I should date people with HIV. Or Down’s Syndrome. That show really put Down Syndrome actors on the map, and there needs to be another show soon that does that. Oh, but there really aren’t many TV shows anymore. Just reality shows. And that might be a hard sell. Although I feel like TLC would do it. It would be called Ups and Downs. Do they already have that? Maybe they do. I’m lost without my TV. I just stream The Bachelor when I don’t feel like thinking about anything, which is sometimes a lot of times. I also like to eat olives. Olives are small explosions of flavor, and I can’t live without them. But I didn’t like them until I was 25. I am quite troubled by the fact that I missed out on such salty sliminess for all those years. I refused to try them because they looked ugly. And it took me 25 years to learn. That’s what scares me about having kids. They’re going to say that they don’t want to try something and I’m going to know it’s really great and they’re not going to figure out until 25 years go by and I’ll have to be patient for all that time. Being a parent just seems like a lot of waiting. And a lot of answering questions. I wonder if my kids will ask me what it was like when there were places like Japan or California because those places won’t be around when I finally have kids in 100 years. I also wonder if we as a human race will figure out how to live underwater one day or if we’ll just collectively say, ‘Hey, let’s just not be a species anymore. It’s too hard trying to be like Kevin Kostner.’ Oh shit, now I’m talking about death again. Maybe I’m just morbid. Maybe it’s because I just read that Nate Dogg died. Even though I know every single word to his ‘Regulator’ song, we weren’t close. So, I won’t be writing some sad tribute to him here. Although that song did mean a lot to me in the nineties. Mount up. I mean, it’s sad that he died because he’s just gone suddenly but he did write a song about shooting a bunch of people, so you can’t feel that bad. But he might have changed since the nineties. I did. Thank heaven. For 7-11. Slurpees totally gross me out now. They were for times pre-olive. My palate is ever-changing as I grow older and get closer to death. Life!

  • Fuck you, weather

    In the grand scheme of time, Mike DeStefano and I merely passed through each other’s lives. Still, this man had a profound effect on my life, my life’s purpose, and everything I want to be. I’m not just saying that because that’s what happens when somebody dies– we make the dead guy seem grander than they were. No way. This guy was grand. A whisper from him was so loud. And he whispered that I was somebody and that I can do anything. He believed in me. And coming from a guy who was sharing his story honestly and making a living at it, that meant more than anything. And I never told him.

    Regret. Regret. Regret.

    Hoping that a major part of purgatory and/or dying and/or afterlife is blog reading, I’m saying it here. Everything I’m so grateful to have learned from Mike DeStefano:

    Before his death:
    1. If your first conversation is about the moment you decide to commit suicide and how it actually makes you happy because it’s clarifying and definitive, there’s really no need to ever talk about the weather. It now seems pretty pointless to talk about the weather with anyone. Why not just have meaningful honest communication? So what if it’s just someone you met in the elevator? Tell him about your alcoholic dad. Do it. Fuck weather. Or traffic. Or fart jokes. (Poo jokes an occasional exception).

    2. There is humor in absolutely everything. Even AIDS. Because Humans are Funny. I knew that before, but it’s nice that Mike confirmed it for me.

    3. When my dad killed himself, I thought him a coward. He was faced with a fork in the road, both paths seemingly helpless dead ends. He didn’t feel up to finding the magic key that would reveal another option. He just gave up. I always figured that was a conscious choice he’d made. He could have chosen to live and figure life out. For years I wondered why he didn’t just make a different choice, but part of me thought that was just my idealism speaking. Mike proved to me that it was possible: He had a Comedy Central special. And before that he was a drug counselor. And before that he was a drug addict. And before that, he was twelve (one of his jokes). He said, “Life is brutal at times. But not only can you survive it, you can turn it into something pretty cool.” And he did. And my dad didn’t. But I will.

    5. We also have another conscious choice: Do we make an impact on everyone we meet or do we remain forgettable?

    4. I’m so happy that I have suffered. Suffering makes the rest of life seem beautiful. Suffering takes the pain out of parking tickets and little things. Suffering is what makes us all the same.

    5. Acceptance. Unattachment. It’s all possible, which is great because wanting someone to change for you is much more painful than accepting them. Even if he thought you were a douche hack comic, he wanted you to be better. Even if he saw that you just wanted to talk about weather, he knew you’d figure it out eventually. He was judgmental in his jokes only to make people more aware. When speaking at an NA meeting, he said “There’s nobody in this room that can’t achieve anything they want to achieve– unless you’re thinking of becoming a pro ball player or a stripper. Don’t be retarded about it.”

    6. There’s something very sweet about a guy with a Bronx accent calling you a cunt.

    7. I really don’t hate the word ‘cunt.’ It’s just a four-letter word. Why do we give it so much power? Why does the majority get so offended over so many things? Get over it. Go have an ice cream sandwich.

    What I learned from Mike’s death:

    1. Don’t fucking wait. How many times have we learned this lesson? I didn’t tell him how much he meant to me because I figured I would tell him later. Thanks a lot, later. You really fucked me.

    2. Don’t assume. I just assumed Mike would be in my life. Assumed he would be so proud of Taboo Tales and would want to publish a story in the anthology. Assumed I would see him in NY one day. Assumed he would help me get an agent so that I could travel around to colleges and talk people out of suicide (his idea and I love it). All of those assumptions were wrong. I fucking made an ass out of you and me. Dammit.

    3. Assumptions are what makes death hurt more. Because now I have to re-imagine all those events.

    4. I have a new respect for Facebook. It really helped me grieve when I could see so many others also in pain. Misery loves company? No, misery loves Facebook.

    5. Mike had just put on his one man show, ‘Drugs, Death, and Disease: A Comedy.’ He spent one hour on stage talking about his life and deep meaningful issues, things he learned from suffering. Issues that weren’t fighting with fart jokes to get laughs in comedy clubs. Issues that deserved a stage and an open audience. He said to his producer after the show, “I’ve said everything I’ve ever wanted to say.” He was done. He no longer needed to be on earth. How many of us can say that? How many of us can say that we’ve squeezed every bit of ourselves out? How many of us has squeezed the juice out of all our relationships? How many of us really take advantage and not for granted?

    6. I am so grateful for the community here on this blog. Thank you very much for virtually holding me in your arms.

    7. All comedians die early. Fuck. Was just about to start doing more stand-up. Next up: Zach Galifinakis. I feel it.

    8. You can fall more and more in love with a person even after they die. Watch this short film:


    And if you really want to know even more, this link leads to the entire story.

    “When you give, it’s the only time you can see that you have anything…  Me being alive is a very improbable thing. Of course I give to people. I’m happy to be alive.” -Mike DeStefano

  • I really hope it’s true that when we die we become unicorns because today my friend died.

    You know when someone dies and there’s that weird transitional period where you’re not quite comfortable using the past tense to describe that person? That’s where I am right now.

    Fuck.
    I don’t want to say he WAS an amazing person. That’s what you say about people who weren’t amazing.

    But this guy is. Was. And his surprise death helped me figure out why we fear dying so much. I think it’s because love is real and it’s the best thing we have.  And it fucking hurts when it’s gone. Suddenly. One moment: love. Another moment: half of love.

    That’s why we fear death.
    That’s why I already miss my friend, Mike DeStefano.

    I met him two years ago.
    I was stuffed in some office cubicle at some horrible advertising job. His story came on the Moth podcast. This very one:

    You should make the time to listen to it because his writing is so honest and real and you’ll cry. Big, fat, lovable tears. If you don’t listen to his story, I’ll tell you the scoop: He and his wife did a lot of heroin years ago. So much so that they got HIV. She got sick. And he devoted his life to taking care of her. But she died and then his dad died and then he wanted to die. And, man, I’m not doing his story justice. Just fucking watch it. He was ready to commit suicide when he ran into this Tibetan monk who taught him meditation. And he turned to telling jokes and getting his story out, and he was probably the original Taboo Taler.

    And there I was in that cubicle trying to write some shitty ads for some shitty bank and instead I just sat there stunned and firing off tears. And so I emailed him. I told him he was inspiring. And that I was happy he didn’t commit suicide because the world needed people like him to tell stories like his. And he emailed me right back.

    And we talked a lot. And he told me I needed to tell my stories too. And he read this blog. And he supported me. And he tried to connect me to all the right people. And he told me that I wasn’t cut out for a cubicle job. And that meant the world to me. And I felt like he could see me. I felt like I had someone in my corner.

    Mike was the only person who could call you a cunty whore without being offensive. He’s the only person who I didn’t make fun of for NEVER using the correct ‘your’ or ‘there.’ Seriously, he could not get that shit right. But I totally fucking accepted him. And he accepted me. And we were just two fucked up people sitting across from each other at dinner and that’s how we liked it. Sometimes there’s nothing better than being with someone else who is just as fucked as you are. I just felt calm with him. I felt safe. He was my lama, and he took all the pain away and made me feel normal and loved. And I asked myself if I could marry someone with HIV. That bastard seriously made me contemplate some deep shit.

    Everyone who ever met Mike probably shed some tears today. He made us all feel like he woke up in the morning just for us. He’s not crying. But here we are eating pizza in bed and feeling sad for ourselves because we won’t get to see him again. Grieving seems so selfish to me sometimes.

    In this case, I think grieving is more than that. So much of me is devastated that his message didn’t get to more people, that more people didn’t have the privilege of learning from him. But I think it got to enough. I think he figured out how to really make his life mean something. He didn’t have to. He could have gotten depressed and overdosed or gone crazy from all the pain he witnessed. But he chose not to. He chose to help people instead.

    If you haven’t already, learn something from his story. Listen to his jokes. Buy his CD from iTunes. Here are some of my favorite DeStefano quotes:

    “I went into a Chinese restaurant. They had a suggestion box so I wrote: FREE TIBET.”

    “I take something that I find interesting. And it’s usually something that’s painful, that people find revolting, that has hurt me personally or I see hurting other people. And I’ll go up [on stage] and I’ll just bring it up. And it’s such a thrill to find the funny in it.”
    See why he was my mentor?

    On National Pride:
    “It’s so stupid the shit we’re proud of. You know how you came to be, sir? Your parents fucked. That’s how it happened. There’s nothing to be proud of. For any of us. Your parents had sex. And your dad wanted a blow job that night. How’s that feel? You’re just a blow job that got out of hand.”

    “People think I’m dark. I think you’re too light. That’s the fucking problem. Too much fake fucking optimism. Fake fucking positive thoughts. Positive affirmations. Fuck you. You’re so full of shit, man. I just want people to know that I know. Fuck you.”

    “People who are scared of commitment. They’re good people. That means they know what commitment is.”

    On his censoring on NBC:
    “It’s not NBC’s fault. It’s the American people, all these litigious people… All you people that want to sue all the time because your feelings got hurt. You fucking weak, pathetic, fucks. I’m gonna write a letter. It’s all white people too.”

    “I love people who are aware of how fucked up life is.”

    “I start from suffering and darkness because that’s what needs to be made light of.”

    “If a comic starts off a joke with ‘Isn’t it funny when…,’ they’ve already lost me. If it’s already funny, what the fuck do I need you for?”

    Mikey D… A fucking heart attack? Really? You survived HIV and heroin and that’s how you go? You’re a fucking pussy.
    You know what else, you fucking whore? Thanks for living as long as you did, long enough to touch so many lives with so much of the positivity you pretended not to have. I fucking love you.  And I still do and there’s no way I’m switching to past tense on that one.

    *The F word and all its variations in this post sponsored by Mike DeStefano.

  • I’m a Chupacabra & You’re a Unicorn

    My friend, Madge, is 62. After her dining room table lasted her twenty years, she bought a new one.

    “It’s so weird to think this could be my last dining room table,” she said.

    Holy shit!

    I mean, Holy shit.

    I’ve heard that we are all going to die. I know people die. I saw my grandmother in her casket when I was eight (and poked her body because my cousin dared me to). Plus, my dad never calls me anymore, so I’m pretty sure he’s dead (although, I still slightly suspect he faked his death to move away to his secret family in Idaho– road trip to Idaho pending).

    I get it. People die. Everybody dies.

    I’ve even contemplated my own death. I like to ask myself about my own death pretty often. I’ll say, “Hey, Laurenne, would you be okay with dying today?” Or sometimes my own demise is forced upon me when I’m just walking in a really bad neighborhood (which I do pretty often because I like to live on the edge). I’ll say, “A bullet could go through your brain any minute now. Are you ready?”

    And usually it’s a yes. Usually, I think about all the times I’ve laughed in my life and all the people I love, and I say, “Yes, I think if I HAD to be okay with dying today, I’d be okay.” When I landed in Papua New Guinea and the guy in line behind me in customs told me he was 100% positive that I would be raped and maimed if I stepped into the street, I did it anyway because I had prepared myself mentally for my own death. And because I’m fucking crazy sometimes. And because I was in Papua New Guinea! Totally cool with dying after that.

    But mentally prepared for dying is one thing. Actually preparing for dying makes me want to crawl in a hole and avoid avoid avoid. Actually buying the last dining room set ever in your WHOLE LIFE…? I don’t like it and I don’t like that I don’t like it. Some cultures celebrate death. In Bali, they party when someone dies. The human is able to pass onto the next life, which has the possibility to be so much better. So why not celebrate? And in India, death is not so scary. If you’re a devout Hindu and you die by the Ganges, no biggie. But, in this society, death is looked upon as such a horrible ending. We escape conversations about death and whisper about the poor souls with cancer and then soak up boxes of tissues when they finally disappear.

    When we know death is close, we do everything we can to keep it away. We’ll undergo any operation necessary to hold on just days longer to our precious lives. Yet, we can’t stop ourselves from eating Big Macs and shooting up schools.

    Most people in this country believe in heaven, yet still we still hold on so tightly to life. Why is everyone so scared to go bowling with their great uncles in the sky? Either we’re all aware that we wouldn’t be dressed well enough to get passed the heavenly doormen, or there’s a little part of us that thinks heaven sure sounds like something we just made up to make us feel better about dying. We have no proof and no idea about what death could be. Really, dying is like walking into a dark room. What if we turn on the lights and it’s better than expected?

    I may tell myself I’m okay with dying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I’m finished. I want to see more of the world and make more of a difference and love even more people and laugh a million more times. And to me, death takes that away. But maybe it doesn’t?

    I would like to salute my friend and her dining set for addressing death as the inevitable mystery that it is. It’s just some thing that happens. Perhaps not a horrible thing. We’re all going to die. And we don’t even know what that means.

    Possible things that happen when we die:

    1.   Our souls travel to a Universal hub. We have to take turns coming back to Earth to learn lessons. But we all think Earth is so boring and petty, so we have to Rock, Paper, Scissors for it.

    2.   We find out that all the mythical creatures actually exist in another realm. In this other realm, I am a chupacabra and you are a unicorn.

    3.   We find out we’ve been in the matrix. Laurence Fishburne is there and then we all wear black coats and then there’s an oracle and then some more stuff happens but I don’t remember cuz that movie was a long time ago.

    4.   We all become shape-shifting ghosts and we meet up once a day to watch all the human teenagers masturbate. Because we think it’s funny.

    5.   We find there really is a heaven and hell. And that we’ve actually been in hell this whole time.

    6.    Nothing at all happens. We just die. But there’s a perfect few seconds right before we realize there’s nothing when we’re able to regret ever wearing MC Hammer pants.

    Anybody else have a good theory?