November’s Dead Rubber Post
“Dead Rubber”, according to one of my marathon googling sessions, means “boring”. My “Dead Rubber Posts” are my monthly blog cop outs. I give myself permission once a month to publish a post that isn’t up to my usual stellar standards. Some of you might not recognize any difference between these and my other posts (which is a sad commentary on the hours I usually take to polish them before hitting the “Publish” button); nevertheless, I feel I should be up front when I’ve spent less time composing a post than I did addressing an envelope to my mortgage company.
I was trying to postpone my Dead Rubber post until later in the month, but I went to see David Sedaris tonight and it’s a “school night”. He did recommend to an aspiring writer in the audience to “write every day”, neglecting to say how much. I am pretty sure he meant more than the “Great job!” I scribed on my student’s papers this afternoon.
I have decided to start gathering unusual obituary statements. I did not set out to collect these. But they keep appearing to me. It’s not that I even usually read the obituaries. Every once in awhile, I run out of Sunday paper to read during the week. And, as I gulp down my breakfast at 5:30 a.m. I must read something. So I skim the obituaries.
A few weeks ago, I mentioned the prominently displayed obituary headline, “She was skilled at Bunco.” I’m not sure about you, but to me that seemed an odd way to immortalize someone. But certainly not the oddest.
Today, I chanced upon an even stranger sentence buried deep within an obituary of a woman who “supported live music, the arts community, and hula-hooping.” In addition to these worthy pursuits, this woman “held a great appreciation for port-a-potties.”
Please don’t let someone put that in my obituary. Because I don’t. And never will. Ever. Appreciate. Port-a-Potties. I don’t care if I just drank two gallons of Diet Coke and I’m in the middle of a treeless, building-less prairie being filmed on a reality show and it rains for two days straight.
Now that we’ve got that cleared up, does anyone else but me wonder what her coffin looked like?