MEET YOUR MAKER
The owner of Segway, Inc. and creator of the Segway died yesterday. How did he die? On his Segway of course. Which although premature and extremely tragic for his family, I figure riding out on something you created would be a nice way to meet your maker. When I go to the land of no pulse – if I must – I’d like to go old, docile, and writing something that pleases me on my laptop. Although saying that - hoping that my demise is in decades from now – I’m thinking my laptop will be replaced by some hologram I operate in the air with a weary flick of my arthritic fingers, like Tom Cruise in Minority Report.
Of course this got me thinking about death – as one does sometimes - and how many ways there are to check out of here. Some ways I wouldn’t like to think about frankly – trapped in a coalmine, or under a sheet of ice certainly top the list (I could go much more macabre, but why depress us all, frankly). And then there are some forms of exits that seem downright civilized; in one's sleep for instance, or dozing off on a bench overlooking a field of wild flowers and never waking up again. Yes, I’m currently trapped in a Hallmark card.
I think it would be nice if we could pick three ways we would like to go and the universe would pony up one, kind of like a death lottery (I’m sure some producer out there is penning the ‘reality’ show as we speak). I mean seriously, life for some out there is tortuous enough. Aren’t we deserving of a nice way to skip on out of here? Let’s see…my top three (universe are you listening???) I’d have to say the first one would be to die on a tropical beach in a sun lounger sipping a Chi Chi in one hand – if you’ve never had one, do try it, they’re delicious – and wolfing down an ice cream sundae in the other. I didn’t say this game would be grounded in reality.
Way number two: I’d have to say croaking, how shall I say this politely and without being crass, after doing the act with my beloved would be a nice way to go. Well, it’d be nicer for me and kind of scary for him, but that’s not my problem once I’m out of here. Sorry honey.
And third, seeing the King commit some amazing pride inducing feat – like you know, winning Wimbledon for instance. Stop laughing, it could totally happen. Where of course I’d be sitting in prime box seats wearing some amazing Philip Treacy hat, eating strawberries and cream, looking distinguished and regal of course. And just after he thanks me profusely in his victory speech for my amazing mothering skills and sings my praises for making him who he is…KAPUT. Out like a light I go. Anything after that would be simply anticlimactic.