When we were in Philadelphia last week, Mr. Never-Stops-Talking told an uplifting story about going to a “suicide funeral.” I guess the deceased had been married, had two kids in middle school, and seemed to be living the American suburban dream. Then one evening he walked out to his garage and shot himself in the head.
According to the storyteller there were no outward signs of trouble, and the whole thing was a mystery. But isn’t that the way those kinds of stories usually go? It’s more dramatic if there were no indications of a problem.
Anyway, the guy provided a couple of disturbing details, that I’m having a little trouble shaking.
He said they had an open casket, for one thing, and a baseball cap had been placed on the poor bastard’s head. And it wasn’t even straight, it was slightly askew, which made it worse somehow.
Also, during the ceremony the priest made reference to the suicide, in front of the kids and everybody, and reminded everyone that the man would be required to spend some time in hell. But, he assured the crowd, he would probably be able to earn his way out.
WTS?? Was that really necessary? Especially considering the setting? And what’s the deal with earning your way out of hell? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Please don’t tell me there’s brown-nosing in the afterlife, too? Oh, man.
Have you ever been to a suicide funeral? Or any unusual funerals, for that matter? Tell us about it. And what do you think of the priest and the baseball cap? Why can’t I get all that stuff out of my head??
Another questionable story I heard during Thanksgiving dinner: A friend of a friend is a school teacher, you see, in downtown Philly somewhere. And she had a student last year named La-a, pronounced Ladasha — the dash isn’t silent.
Heh. I don’t believe that one for a minute, it’s got urban legend written all over it, but it’s funny anyway. La-a.
What’s the most ridiculous first name you’ve ever heard? We worked with a man in Atlanta who had a daughter named Quintabitha, and that’s the best I can do right now. Do you have anything on this? Use the comments link below.
Toney is friends with the mother of the older Secret’s best friend. So, she and Toney constantly compare notes, and talk back and forth about all the latest middle school gossip, etc.
Over the weekend the woman (let’s call her Cindy) called Toney, and was upset at her son (we’ll call him Jesse), and the following conversation took place later in the day.
Toney: Cindy called today, all up in arms because she found another Playboy in Jesse’s room.
Me: Playboy? What is this, 1968? They still publish that?
Toney: I guess so.
Me: Huh. Well, you know (the older Secret) is looking at those magazines when he goes over there, right?
Toney: I don’t care.
Me: Yeah, I don’t either.
I remember kids getting caught with Playboy or Penthouse or Hustler Horny Dwarves #6 when I was a youngling, and their parents freaked out completely. They almost had their sons sent away to reeducation camps somewhere, to get their heads straight.
So, my reaction to all this is about 180 degrees out of phase from the parents of my youth. It makes me wonder (not really) if I’m doing something wrong. But come on… Those guys are almost fourteen years old. You might be able to confiscate their porn stash, but there’s no way to stop what’s going on inside their heads. All the disgraceful, disgraceful stuff…
Oh, I remember.
What do you think about this situation? Should “Cindy” be concerned about “Jesse’s” always-regenerating Playboy magazine? She keeps taking them away, and they almost instantly reappear… Ha!
Did you ever get caught with porn when you were a kid? Luckily, I made it through without experiencing that particular humiliation. What about you? Tell us about it, won’t you? And anything else you might have on this always-fun subject…
I need to call it a day now, and… go to work. (Hey, now I know where Drivin n Cryin got their name!)
FIRST, MOFOs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
First???
La-a is pronounced “Lahyphena”.
“Ladasha” is spelled like this: La—a.
I was afraid to enter my teenage son’s rooms, much less root around looking for “porn”. I mean, finding the crusty dirty bowls under the bed that contained god-knows-what, the dirty clothes that could walk by themselves??? Gives me full body shivers just thinking about it.
My sister was a sub teacher and had a child in her class with the name “Shithead” (I swear). She stopped and said, I think there is a mis-spelling here, how do you pronouce your name – he said it was pronounced “Sha theed”. Who would do this to their own child?!
La-a, complete urban myth. Swami, that was freakin’ hilarious, though!
Confiscating the porn only makes it more exciting to get the next one (and more variety of images). I say “ignore” it, too. Sheesh, kids can’t do ANYTHING these days.
With what’s available to anyone with an Internet connection today, “Cindy” should be very relieved that “Jesse” is only looking at Playboy magazines. Rather than, say, Internet video of a woman taking it up the rear while sucking on a second dude’s willy — ’cause “Jesse” could easily find that video, and tens of thousands more just like it, with a few simple clicks of a mouse. I can’t imagine being a 14-year-old boy today — I think my head would’ve exploded. The airbushed boobies of a Playboy Playmate were enough to get us young teens worked into a frenzy in the 1970s, so I just can’t imagine how a boy reacts to seeing hardcore video-porn today. And I wonder if it screws with their heads somehow, and we’re going to have a nation of sex-crazed wackos in ten years. (But then, that’s probably what our parents thought about us looking at Playboys 30 years ago, and is the reason for the harsh reaction of some parents back then.)
after i got divorced my mom found a couple of nude pics of the ex wife in a drawer while helping me move…lovely…..she had found the hustler/swank collection about 20 years earlier……never said a word about either…..thank god…….maybe ill be able to work that out of hell in a couple of hours…..
Went to the funeral of a cousin of a good friend about 6 months ago. The guy had gone through a divorce, had children (single digit to teen age) and was living, temporarily with his mother until he could get his own place. They sat down together, had Sunday dinner and chit-chatted, everything as a normal meal could or would be. After dinner, his mother decided to take a nap on the sofa and her son retired to his room and blew his head off. The minister at the service did the right thing and tried to assure the family and gathered friends that he would be ok in the after life. But, who the heck knows until you get there? Sounds like that Priest had a screw or two loose.
TOP TEN!!
Lahyphena – HA! good one, Swami!
Strange name:
Ma~
Pronounced Matilde (as in “Walzing Matilde”).
When I was young, I waffled around organized religion-trying to believe and be involved, but the final straw to my path to atheism was watching a TV preacher tell a call-in believer desperately seeking solace, that her suicide son was most definitely going to hell, because the bible states it and that was God’s law (complete with deep voice intonations and actual bible waving). Yep, all done with all that, thanks. If there is a hell, I hope that dude and his white pompadour hair gets there, and fast. Ass hat. Rant over, sorry.
Who the hell buys porn anymore? The internets provide so much of that shit that today’s teenagers will be completely desensitized by it by the time they are adults.
Never got caught with it when I was a teenager. However, I got the ass beating of my life when I was thirteen and got caught with (gulp!) Vivarin.
Mellancamps son is named SPECK. He has a facebook page now to promote a million people to join to get Dad to quit smoking. I propose that if a million people sign up, SPECK goes away, so we won’t ever have to hear the name SPECK MELLANCAMP again.
Cheeto, Limbo, Cracker-Jack, Orangejello, K-Martina, Salmonella, Velveeta-Genitalia, Catfish, Leroy, Coco-Puffs, Pluto, Penelope, Jack Daniels, Buford and Lemonjello. Aloe Vera, Maybelline, Gingivitis, Brillcreme, Cruex, NyQuil, Gangsta Q, Daffodil, Ron Bacardi, Captain Morgan, DeMoctorious, Delorian, Gyne-lotrimin, Fellatia, Chlamydia-Champagne. Nova-Scotia, Bubblicious, Couponita, Gonorrhea, Ice Bucket, Buttuglia, Visine, Margarita, Percolator, Terminator, Velcro, Taekwondo, Varicella, Chromosoma, Obstetria and Shi’thead.
On IPOD right now- “Stigmata”- Ministry
My next-older brother was the one that always got busted for porn. ‘Course he was the one bringing it in to the house so that stands to reason. I merely “borrowed” his and put it back in his room where Mom could find it (were she to go looking). One time I couldn’t get it back to his room before he came home so I buried it under some blankets in the hall closet. That way neither he nor my parents could catch me with the goods. Well I guess I forgot about it and 10 years later my Mom and Dad decided to paint the upstairs. Part of that entailed cleaning out the hall closet. Lo and behold there’s Penthouse 1978!
My Mom used to lecture my brother about the mags, saying “Timmy, if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all.” I’ve never forgotten that because it’s mostly true if you’ve only seen about a dozen or so. But the more you see the more you appreciate not only the wide range but also the subtle range of differences! Kind of like snowflakes!
About 5 years ago I looked on eBay for a copy of the June 1972 Playboy – the first one I ever saw. Not everything was exactly as I remembered it but it was absolutely tame compared to the stuff you can get today (and free too, on the internet, as noted above); even compared to Playboy today. It took years to figure out what my “kinks” were. Now you can do it with all-night session on the internet.
I knew a girl in high school called Corolla Venture…Venture was a department store over here along the lines of Target!
1) No way. Undertakers and their employees can fix anybody to look pretty “normal”. The back of the head might be missing, but they can putty the face and paint. Urban legend.
2) I’m not a Catholic, but as far as I know, if you off yourself, you go to hell. No post-mortem deal-making. But I’m just a retired Methodist.
3) LaDasha: Unless she’s an official Navajo code-talker, which would make her a 90-year-old male, it’s an urban legend.
4) Playboy: Baloni got this right. What you can see on the Web without a credit card is Playboy raised to the fifth power. And most porn sites come with many free cookies and plenty of spyware, so they have that going for them. Finding a Playboy in your son’s room presents a wonderful opening to talk about sex and STD’s and relationships. If the kids keep explaining it, the parents will understand sooner or later.
jtb
We used to steal my uncle’s palyboy magazines. We wanted to “read” the articles.
Maybe Jesse’s mom needs to “read” some of the articles with him so she can answer any questions he might have.
One time Mom caught me with a S&M magazine.She asked Dad what my punishment should be and he said “Well, I guess spanking him is out of the Question”.
Sorry — forgot…. Now on the Sony CD Walkman, “Smokestack Lightnin'” by Howlin’ Wolf.
jtb (daytime version)
A friend of mine is a teacher in Brooklyn, and every semester I get the rundown of the best names of the students in her class. This year’s winners: Pandora and Philander.
I am still blown away by D’Brickashaw.
Oh, and my mom was a labor and delivery nurse. One woman heard her use a word (not knowing it was a female body part). Later she said it was preety sounding and wanted to name her newborn daughter Vagina.
I always wanted to meet a girl named Vagina!
I judged a debate competition and one of the best competitors (he was REALLY good) was named Bee A. Ware. I thought he was pulling my leg and one of the other judges warned me off. I think his dad was pulling a “Boy Named Sue” scenario.
During my aunt’s funeral Mass in the early 90s, the priest’s beeper went off. Twice. And he stopped mid-sermon both times to check who was paging him.
I was wishing it was my aunt’s number calling from the great beyond It STILL pisses me off.
My dad killed himself when I was 25, which was appx 25 yrs ago. We had always been estranged from Dad’s family…cause my mom felt they were “nothing but white trash…whale shit” as my mom use to say. As we all knew back then, there’s nothing lower than whale shit.. During the calling hours (open casket), a group of folks walked in the funeral home and they looked like they had taken the short bus from the State school over to a Walmart. There wasn’t likely a complete set of chromosomes amoung any of them. They gazed at my Dad for a few minutes and then started screaming at my mom (then 50 yrs old) saying things like…”You bitch, you made him do this”…”you never loved him”…”he should have shot you instead”.
Yikes…my brother and I plus a couple of uncles stepped in and held them back because they looked like they were going to assault my mom. A fist fight broke out at my Dad’s calling hours at Whitty’s Funeral Home.
Simply excellent!!!
The cops came, arrested a couple of them…they were drunk and one had a hunting knife in his boot.
After all the dust settled…the funeral director lit a joint and said he hated his job mostly…except at times like this. Simply excellent comment.
First off, you have a refreshingly enlightened attitude towards the secret looking at porn. Don’t damn them for what you did yourself is my motto. Secondly, I’ve been to a Catholic suicide funeral. My friend Darrin started his car in the garage with the door and windows shut. No warning signs other than that he’d been sleeping in class during the week leading up to it which was unusual for him. They had an open casket funeral and I just remember three things. First his face was all awful looking and puffed up. Second, his parents appeared to have aged 10 years in a week. Lastly and perhaps most importantly the priest had the tact not to say that Darrin was hell bound. That’s a bunch of bullshit anyway. I’ve read the entire bible and the only thing it says that will for sure get you a ticket to the hell express is to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit.
Also, my mom found a porno mag, or “jack book”, as my father called them, under the extra sheets in the back of the linen closet.
I got home from school, greeted by my friggin hysterical-assed mother screaming at the top of her lungs about finding the skin mag. If Imy mom had discovered a 12 year old girl held captive in my room I do not believe she would have reacted any differently. She was completely losing her shit over a goddam magazine. What a fuckin psycho.
Maybe my dad should have capped her instead of himself. No wonder he did what he did (see earlier email from me).
Mexico Motorcycle
A few unusual first names I’ve heard, all girls: Dance, America, Freedom, Classy
The person who told you the La-a story was telling you in code “I am a racist.” Same for people who tell the Palcenta or Fe-ma-le story too.
I went to school with a kid named True Story.
Swear to god, true story.
Had a HUGE shoplifted porn stash……………..and look how well I turned out!
Regarding suicide furnerals…I think they’re always sad, for those left behind and for the one in the casket. But only God knows what was going through their heads and their inner struggles and rationale. He’s going to be a busy God on Judgement Day!
Here’s the skinny behind your Playboy situation. The kid has an easily accessible adult with a subscription. His mom really doesn’t have a problem with him “stealing it”, but when she realized that your secret had possibly been “exposed” she thought she’d relay a story that let you know he’d been exposed and that they weren’t the perverts giving your kid the inappropriate material. Because nobody wants to think their kid is at the neighbor’s house looking at porn with an adult present because that’s creepy.
Here’s my take on the suicide thing. Nobody, not even clergy are supposed to judge other people. It was not only rude to say those things at a funeral it runs counter to the fundamental Christian principal of forgiveness. It’s stories like these that give people the idea that Christians are judemental a–holes. The way it figure there are more priests and ministers in hell than suicide victims, but who am I to judge?
The priest must have been making a reference to purgatory, wich is like psuedo-hell where if the living pray hard enough or pay enough money to the church their loved ones can move on to Heaven.
Hell is hell, and like Heaven its forever, last time I checked.
Sweet sainted mother of Charles Nelson Reilly!
Working in a medical office, I see and hear many ridiculous names. But the best I have ever heard is from a plastic surgery resident I worked with who told a story about a kid in his New York, 90% Jewish elementary school who rolled in by the name of Cash Money Murphy. He said…”let’s just say you could pick him out of the crowd”.
Oh, knew a guy named Tom Morrow
And, 2 brothers employed in my company: Lake and Brooke Trout .
My mom had a lifetime subscription (or so it seemed) to Playgirl while I was growing up and she did nothing to hide it. My sisters, friends and I knew where to find the latest copy and perused it as soon as it came in the mail. My mother didn’t care. (She thinks Americans are too prudish anyway.) I think we’re all fairly normal despite a little porn early on. If I were a parent, I’d be far more concerned about my child being given misinformation from the anti-porn lobby and those who tout abstinence (while doing all manner of deviant, freaky-deaky things themselves) as the only way. We all know how realistic it is to expect young people to remain chaste and untouched until marriage. Instead I’d concentrate my efforts on making my kid into a kind, responsible, and respectful human being.
I’ll admit to prejudging people with ridiculous, concocted names. In my experience, if you have a name that makes you sound like a redneck, hillbilly, ghetto rat, etc., you more than likely are. Not that we should all be named Ann or John or Susan or Michael…. (No offense. My real name is common enough.)
Usually it’s the Roman Catholics and Evangelicals that are judgmental @$$holes. Take it from somebody that was raised as the former.
We had a worker this summer named Pedequarn. We just called him Pete.
As for the porn, I overlooked the magazines with my boy. It’s what you forbid ’em that perverts ’em is my opinion. I did give him “talks” on the internets stuff–mostly about wherever he went I could see if I wanted. Probably did more harm than good.
Been to a couple of suicide funerals, but that priest definitely sounds like he has a screw loose…totally inappropriate. Here’s my creepy funeral story…actually, it was at a viewing. The brother of a friend of mine was a very well known bartender in the area, and had been diagnosed with cancer. He held on for a couple of years, and through it all was nursed by his longtime girlfriend, but of course, he eventually died. So, at his viewing, they had a wedding. Yep, the longtime girlfriend showed up at the viewing in a wedding dress, and staged a symbolic ceremony, marrying the two of them. Even put a ring on his finger and everything. Can you believe that shit? Of course, the jokes were flying around the community once word got out that this had happened…the funniest of which was her asking if they would ever get married, and him saying, “Over my dead body!” Heh.
About the suicide funeral…. totally inappropriate to talk about it at the person’s send-off. Why rub salt in the open wounds of those who cared about the deceased? If I believed in god, he would be a kind and forgiving sort who had extra compassion for those people who are clearly distraught or disturbed enough to end their lives. (Those who do it to avoid punishment for heinous crimes are a completely different story.)
On another note: for those of you who are looking to increase your holiday music collections, Amazon is offering a free song each day until Christmas. (Song’s are chosen by Amazon’s MP3 staff.) Today’s selection is Joy to the World by Casting Crowns.
http://www.amazon.com/25daysoffree
I’m a teacher in a low-income school district, so I see a crazy bunch of names every year.
From this year’s roster:
Luzhenessy
Nairobi
Blessing
Meadow
Kwasatiriah
Zaqirra
Zariya
Dazya
Naiara
Arnasia
Quadir
Aleem
Bryce
Dayanarah
DaShaun
Jaiana
Iyanla
Jaymira
Jemilynn
Javian
Keanu
Khalil
Dondre
Cyndal
Jamila
Talisha
Yesenia
Javan
Jovan
Jovon
Apostrophes within names seem to be the big thing right now:
De’Jour
M’Ya
N’Ya
Ny’Ajah
A’Nya
Creative spellings abound as well:
Camryn
Aryanna
Kaiyana
Mariyah
Nadiya
Tyana
Tiyyana
Tayanna
Skylar
Khristina
Ivonne
Dante
Donte
Dontae
Izaiah
Juliunna
Erique
Nicolas
Siarah
Kayliegh
Johnathan
Been to one suicide funeral. My cousin’s husbad shot himself in the gut with a shotgun. Worst part was that I heard the phrase “his liver was dientigrated” over a hundred times.
The University of Georgia football team has a receiver named Rantavious Wooten. I get a chuckle out of that one.
Never caught with the goods, but I probably ruined my vision trying to watch “those” channels through the scramble on television.
Reminds me of a joke:
Joker: “Did your mom ever catch you jacking off in the closet when you were young?”
Jokee: “No”
Joker: “Yeah; the roof was always a better place to hide, huh”
I thought that Dick Trickle was the funniest name in the world
I went to school with a guy named Justin Case.
My 12 year old boy’s name is Conrad. I call him Cornbread. He asked me just the other day what jizz was. I said “where the hell did you hear that?” He said it was on some song he was listening to that was part of the chorus. So I explained to him what some of the terms for male bodily fuids were.
I worked for an attorney who had a side gig as the prosecutor for child support cases. One case had two children, twin boys named Oranegello and Lemongello. Yes, that’s orange jello and lemon jello but with the letters slurred just enough so it is only slightly less retarded.
My GF and I overheard a woman in a restaurant call her daughter Placenta. We looked at each other doubting what we had heard and then heard it again. true story, no racism involved.
All goes back to the fact you should have to pass a test to reproduce…..
Von Barron Isenogle, my wife showed me the guy in her HS year book. Pretty good name.
Went to school with brothers Anthony Lucaneous and Mathew Agustus. There was also Toast, Blunder, Remus, Walleye and Yard Ed but, I figure they wern’t using their real names.
Never got caught with porn, I could hide an elephant in a Volkswagon when I was a kid.
I just saw the stupid athelete name of the week Fla St LB “Dakoda” Watson. If youre going to name your kid after a state at least spell the f%&king thing right.
I see we’ve mostly moved on to names, but all the talk of death and funerals reminded me of two songs. I like them both very much although they express slightly different sentiments about death and growing old:
From 1965, our friends The Who…
People try to put us d-down (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Just because we get around (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
Things they do look awful c-c-cold (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
I hope I die before I get old (Talkin’ ’bout my generation)
And, John and John (They Might Be Giants) replied in 1985…
Sometimes I feel like being wispy
And once in a while I feel like being dry
But we’re doomed and we’re drowned by this feeling we surround
So I hope that I get old before I die
Ohhhhh
It’s a long, long rope they use to hang you soon I hope
And I wonder why this hasn’t happened
Why why why
And I think about the dirt that I’ll be wearing for a shirt
And I hope that I get old before I die
I’m just sayin’ it might be nice to be forever 27
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/27_Club
…and it might be OK to live long enough to regret living so long.
But don’t plan a funeral: have a memorial service. And put the person you trust the most in your life in charge of running it (frequently, not your spouse, but that’s a discussion for another day). My plan calls for mostly music, including the two songs above.
If this isn’t what they mean by urging citizens to have an estate plan, then I probably don’t have one of those — the above IS an outline of my estate plan.
And NO men or women of god running the show.
Now there’s a post that ended in a different place than it started. I had no freakin’ idea we’d end up at my memorial service. But whenever it is, you’re invited: good music and piles of pork and beef ribs.
jtb (daytime version, but sunset’s comin’)
Now playing on the Sony Personal DiskMan:
“One Thousand Shadows” by Romeo Void
RNK-I think you are pulling our legs?
Skipped the only suicide funeral I’ve had a chance to go to. A high school friend just out of college, just started working for IBM decided he would rather be dead than have anyone find out he was gay. I was pissed at him for offing himself so I went to my regularly scheduled apprenticeship training class instead of the wake. Never felt very good about it afterwards and struggled to ever look his mom and dad in the eyes after that. Jeezus wotta bummer.
A friend of mine wanted to name his first born Icabus because it would rhyme nicely with his last name. Wife put a big ixnay on that.
My porn, usually stolen from my older brother showed up missing from time to time, always assumed it was Mom who found it but thinking back my brother may have just stolen it back and found better hiding spots. Hmm.
Is there anyway to put spellcheck in this comment box. I think I spent five minutes proofreading and prolly still missed a couple.