(Sort of) In Memory of George Carlin

First thing's first... This writing a blog thing is freaking tough!!  I wanted to find something in the news to comment on, but couldn't come up with anything for my first real post.

But I digress.  Without anything much of substance today I'll rely on the "random musings" that I warned of in the introductory post.

(Warning:  This rant turned out much longer than I anticipated.  Again, this blogging thing is tough!)

I found the George Carlin Stand-Up acts running as a tribute last night on HBO and decided to tune in for a bit.  I happened to jump in right at the point during the "George Carlin: Again!" special (circa 1978) where he was talking about death and dying.  During this portion of the show he made a comment that often one receives more flowers after they have died than they do during the entirety of the time they are alive.  This led me back to a thought I had recently regarding flowers and death:

I think we need to reexamine the current policy of bringing flowers to sick people in the hospital.   I think most would agree that in most cases the goal of a hospital visit is to cheer someone up.  I would argue that the unspoken goal of this cheering up is to aide in the recovery process or slow the deterioration process of the infirm individual.  Essentially, the endgame is to make people want to continue living, no?  In the short term (i.e. the length of the visit) I believe that flowers are usually suitable tools for the advancement of that goal.

However, what the flower giver is likely overlooking is the long term consequence of their choice in cheer spreading device which they are not witness to.  I imagine myself in a hospital bed battling back and forth with a life-threatening condition.  Each day would be both a mental and physical struggle as I tried to outwit my opponent in this most ultimate of endeavors.  I imagine my friends coming to visit to raise my spirits and bringing a nice bouquet of flowers.  The visit would be great, I would appreciate the gift and their concern, I would feel a new resolve to conquer my nemesis so that I could spend more time with the people I love, and my friends would leave congratulating themselves on their successful endeavor.  Everything is coming up roses right?  (sorry, couldn't resist the pun)

Fast forward a few days and I think things would be a little different.  The cheery scene of friends, fun, and flowers is no more.  I'm now stuck in what I could only assume would be the depressive equivalent of the soul-crushing loneliness felt by a character in an Edward Hopper painting multiplied by the abject terror felt by Raoul Duke (A.K.A. Hunter S. Thompson) while attempting to check into the Mint Hotel in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas".  Not only am I all alone and frightened for my life, but I now get to watch the flowers that were so thoughtfully placed in my room slowly wilt and die.  I can't think of anything that would be less helpful at such a critical and desperate time than watching something that was once beautiful slowly give in to its inevitable end.

So, in summary, if you happen to be a friend or loved one and you hear that I'm on the verge of death, please come visit if you're able but leave the flowers at the florist.  Acceptable substitutes include pictures of friends or loved ones, a quality book, interesting artwork (no watercolors), or a million other things that won't remind me of my impending doom for a week after you're gone.  If for some reason you just can't go to a hospital without foliage, how about a nice cactus?

Truth be told, I don't even like fresh flowers that much anyway.