Post Four: Don't Mess with Beasts

Dudes, don't underestimate the horse. Or any other large easily spooked wilderbeast.

That is unless you want to spend a couple of hours with me on a cold metal table naked. Well, you'll be naked, but very dead. It won't be fun. I don't want to wire your jaw back together and pull out your teeth to replace them with plastic. Ta!

Peace

Post Three: This ship was built to last.

I'm keeping this post short and I intend it to be sweet.

Eulogies. I love them.

It seems that there is a stock standard format that some eulogies follow. Generally this type of eulogy will cover the 'essential' checklist of birthdate, one or two childhood memories, marriage(s), occupation and sometimes a favourite pastime. I'm not knocking these memoirs, however my favourite funerals to go to are the ones in which I learn unique things about the deceased, true gems of intimacy that not only enlighten me on the life of the person I got to know on the mortuary slab, but give me a little slice of wisdom to use in my daily life that I only moments before didn't have.

My favourite eulogy so far was delivered by an elderly mans best friend. They had been best mates for about 40 years and not only was the delivery throughout unfaltering and entertaining, humourous and insightful, but the old man unashamedly shed a tear at the conclusion. He farwelled his friend respectfully and thoughtfully and it made me blubber.

I'm a stupidly awkward person and not terribly sentimental, but I hope I convey to my friends how much I enjoy their company. It took me a long time to find people that I am not only comfortable around but I genuinely think they are pretty cool. Hurrah! I don't want to wait until some horrible tradgedy or illness to tell my friends that I think they're awesome. So to you, thank you, I love you, and don't die.

Enough said. xoxoxoxo

P.S. I also love The Duke Spirit. Listen to them. Sexy sounds.

Post Two: Death and winter, sittin in a tree...k-i-s-s-i-n-g.

Is it winter yet?
I'm not all up on my seasons, but I think next week is the official start of winter....and for the funeral industry things go nuts. Hundreds of elderly folk die in the midst of the night and I have to wrangle them out of their cute flannelette twin sets and unbundle their toes from their cheap crazy clarks knitted bed socks. It's sad sometimes, but more often than not I find it kind of sweet when they look so cosy all winter-fied. Pity about the poop and purge and other assorted soilings, but not everyone dead smells. Maybe 60%? Handy fact.

Anyway, I'd much rather die in winter, because if you die in summer and no-one finds you the rate of body decomposition in the australian climate is insane. Unless you die in air conditioning you'll be stinking and bloated like a hit and run kangaroo on a highway in no time.

An old deceased lady came into the mortuary the other day and she died with one hand on her chin as if she was pondering the meaning of life itself. Her index finger was even isolated and curled, I think thats like a traditional break dancing pose too. Maybe she was into that. It was possibly the coolest death position I've seen yet. I hope she premeditated it. This brings me to my point anyway, meanderingly...I wish some crossing over-anthony robbins-clairvoyant- psychic shit happened to me at work. I've been counting how many body preperations I have done since commencing business at my new operations centre (13 months approx) and I am up to body number 1199. Crazy huh. Imagine if I could ask them what they think the meaning of life is, or even just hear what their voice sounded like, or what their favourite colour was. Damn, I wish I could know what they think the future holds for the environment and the community and all that scary global stuff....I wish they'd give me all their knowledge. My closing thoughts probably lie in the fact that we underuse our elderly, or at least the non-senile ones. Hell, the dementia stricken are at least cute and often have fantastic cynicism and impeccible comical timing. My goal = talk to the nearly dead!

Peace

Post One: The Joyous On Call Slog of a Funeral Director

Ah, a new blog. At least you don't have to sit and try to figure out my handwriting. Hoorah! At first my writing would be pretty and precise like the initial pages in a primary school exercise book, but after the first couple of entries most people would no doubt give up on my scrawl. I think people's handwriting says a fair amount about their personalities...which reminds me...choosing a font on the computer is interesting too. In my opinion most fonts are shit. Font people need to do some serious work. I think they are the people responsible for printing southern cross and frangipani bumper stickers. Correct me if I'm wrong but this is just an observation. Woah, major divergance...

Anyway, to the main point of this blog, I propose to blog about the comings and goings of the Brisbane funeral industry. Moreover, I'm a young mortician thats pretty much bored of having too many stories and no one alive around me to talk to during business hours (A bit of an exageration, but really, a lareg percentage of the funeral workers I know aren't too lively themselves). PLEASE NOTE: CO-WORKERS don't take offence, y'all are aight with me.

Damn it....I'm on call and someone just died...gotta go pick them up. See, this would be the rushed part where my handwriting would traditionally become doctor like.

Peace.