Post-Croakage Directions

If I’m to have a memorial service PLEASE don’t do it in a Baptist or any other brand of church! Ya know, I totally get that the service is for the living BUT, dear friends and fam, try to keep who I actually am/was as a flavor running through the event. Here, I’ll help.

Avoid a church setting. Y’all know that I’m solidly ambivalent on the whole afterlife and god(s) question. If you must do the house of god thing, go Unitarian Universalist.

Frankly, a beer hall is FAR more appropriate. Preferably some raucous Irish joint like Finnegan’s Wake in Edinburgh. OK, I realize that destination funerals aren’t quite as stylish and IN as destination weddings (YET) but, ya know, think on it. K? Want someplace local? Eh, Louis, down here on the Neck or Froggies up on Sea Street would do the trick. Maybe the Red Parrot down on Nantasket? Or just leave it up to Jen. She’ll find a cool joint.

The set list. There needs to be one because GODDAMN we will NOT have A Charge To Keep, Amazing Grace (as lovely as that tune CAN be rendered) or A Mighty Fortress Is Our God sung at my memorial service. No, I do NOT care if those are your fav tunes. Just NO. My death/my tunes. Only fair. You will get your turn so please, mon ami, wait patiently.

So then, that list:

We open with Fanfare for the Common Man. The service should begin, MOST preferably, at dawn. My fav time of day AND this tune KILLS at sunrise!

Shapes of Things—Jeff Beck, Ron Wood and Rod Stewart. Play it loud like the liner notes command! Ya know, as long as it's on the turntable, spin You Shook Me too.

The entire, brilliant B side of Abby Road.

Leaves That Are Green and The Cool, Cool River—Paul Simon. Oh hells, put on The 59th Street Bridge Song too!

Aladdin Sane (KILLER piano!) and Heroes—Bowie

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For—U2
Add a sliver of my bad old self with Closer by Nine Inch Nails.

and finish off with This is the Sea by The Waterboys.

If there’s time between all the tunes DO have folks get up and tell wickedly embarrassing stories about me. I’m sure there are a few that I haven’t already blogged about. Heh. No. Honest!

I want my chums to have a blast—dance, get drunk, sing over-loud, long and off key, maybe go home with someone new and, just generally, have obscene amounts of fun in my memory. Hells bells, I won’t be here to do that anymore so SOMEONEs should carry on. Eh?

Why’s this all come up? Yesterday was Brian’s memorial service, held in a Baptist church with a preacher who OF COURSE didn’t know him AT ALL and a service which couldn’t have been more out of tune with who Brian was. (It’s painful using past tense when referring to our man) I get it—memorial services are for the living. Planning a service? Please remember: the dearly departed, in a lot of cases, had friends from multitude walks of life who want to honor his memory as the man actually was. If, as in Brian’s case, the deceased was a music writing, globe trotting, wildly adventurous gay man, you might want to keep that in mind when planning out his farewell to thee and shit.

When the preacher proclaimed that the greatest accomplishment of Brian’s life was that he believed in Jesus Christ I was ready to walk out. No, my delusional pal—Brian’s biggest win was that he was kind, warm and real with all who knew him. He had a buoyant, BIG personality that brought joy to everyone in his path.

To be fair, Baptist Preacher Man didn't tell us that Brian's in hell now and he did explain, for those of us who've never lost a love, that we never get over the loss. We learn to live with it. True. Well said! He also encouraged us to acknowledge our grief, give it room and get help if it becomes overwhelming (or words to that effect).

So, the dude went in for the save. Good.