7 Sept 97 
 
Well, I got to find out one of the benefits of being eucharistic minister  
for Catholic Mass (those are the people who say "The Body of Christ" and  
"The Blood of Christ" --- did anyone say the Church wasn't pagan?).  You  
have to finish off all the wine before putting back the chalices.  I've  
never chugged a glass of white wine before, no matter how weak.  I tried  
slamming a Brain Hemorrage (sp) once, but the floating liquor went up my  
face into my nose instead of down my throat.  The dangers of being on a  
cruise. 
 
Where was I?  mmmm, New York I think. 
 
This week has been such a bummer, international news-wise.  All that's  
needed now is for the Pope to die.  I can't wait for the end-of-year  
corpse call: when all the news shows and magazines enumerate the people  
who have passed on (this is an ex-person!)  Many of whom you never knew  
were still alive, only to find out -- surprise!  they've been alive all  
along, until -oh- just a few months ago.  It's bad enough to notice the  
death of public figures one may have admired or respected, but you have to  
go through it again at least once more at the end of the year. 
 
So to all my favorite authors, actors, scientists, etc.: if you're going  
to die, do it in the last week of the year.  Then I'll only have to mourn  
once. 
 
I like to ooze pain, then clean up and move on.  Everyone who knows me  
knows how _well_ I clean, and you can bet I don't want to do a cleaning  
job twice. 
 
Hearing about Princess Diana's funeral yesterday reminds me what funny  
things funerals are.  They actually can be quite hilarious and painful at  
the same time.  At my father's open-casket wake, a little girl looked at  
my dad and pronounced: "He looks funny."  Well, his hair had been...  
_moved_ somehow and the lipstick wasn't applied very straight and there  
was visible foundation line... but what do you expect from small-town  
South Carolina?  In the funeral procession, my sisters and I told ma we  
would make good on one of dad's threats: to confront our grandmother with  
the time she had stolen our Easter candy.  The laughter at funerals is a  
strange kind of laughter, but it's almost always there.