crikey...a hundred times over
Sep 4, 2006 I found myself in a bit of a paradoxical state this morning as I sat down to put fingers to keyboard. I realized (although I knew it was creeping up on me) that my next post would be my 100th. (Yes, boys and girls...Hot Coffee at 100. Who would've thought that much caffeine could be good for you?)
I wanted to tell you all thank you for being there-for showing up along the way, mug in hand, to talk about Things. Thank you for reading me and making me laugh and saying kind things when I cried. Thank you for letting me fill your cups and in turn, brewing up your own blends for me to share. I wanted to have the 100th thing I posted here to be characteristic of What It's All About.
But I also wanted to tell you about why I am so profoundly sad to learn that The Crocodile Hunter is dead. I actually wrestled with this dilemma, if you can believe it. (And if you've been here for all 100 posts-you most assuredly can believe it.)
Then I had an epiphany strike me like a line of lightning. Do both, Switters-Style. Because rolling that way almost always makes perfect sense in the end.
I have always had an affinity for the mad ones. My friend Jack Kerouac and I were talking over coffee this morning and he nodded in agreement..."The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones that are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."
Steve Irwin was one crazy fucker. He was fearless, sometimes stupidly so...but I loved him because he had this unbridled enthusiasm for what he did. He was passionate beyond measure. He loved what he did and did what he loved and it was contagious. I adore that level of ebullience. I heart it more than coffee. When you decide to live your life with joy and excitement and silliness...you have really lived. I hope that I always carry that knowing in the very depths of my soul.
Some people are calling his death a "freak accident"...and while I suppose that you can call the manner less than typical...I think that it makes perfect sense. He died doing what he loved...so much so that it literally tore a hole through his heart. Not less tragic, mind you. I feel pain for his family that they lost someone they love and that his children will grow up from this point forward without pancake breakfasts made by dad.
But I am sad for the world, too. There are still plenty of crazy bastards out there. But we are all less one that was insane in the best possible way. That, my friends, is What It's All About.
Crikey. A hundred times over.
hcg
Thank you all for your kind words. I would write a haiku about how warm and fuzzy y'all make me feel...but that's more Joe's area. Or at least Jack thinks so.
View Printer Friendly Version
Email Article to Friend
Reader Comments (16)
Steve Irwin's death is extravagantly lamentable, and your words beautifully capture exactly why. Few people get to live and to die doing exactly what they love to do. Kerouac himself, despite his own words, didn't even manage to do that.
Thank you for being a beautiful maniac and for understanding that the world needs those.
This is the mania that will launch a thousand posts. We would each pillage Troy single-handedly to read them. Keep 'em comin'.
My whole family is in mourning over Steve Irwin. We squabble much, but the mutual love of the Crocodile Hunter actually kept us silent all in the same room. Dying doing what you love - I only wish to be that lucky. He was nucking futs, but that big smile on his face clutching a bewildered creature was priceless.
As are most, we are also mourning Steve Irwin in this house as well. The only, albiet, slight, consoliation is that he died doing what he loved. We should all be so lucky.
I couldn't believe the news about Steve...I mean, people like that don't die, they grow old and do beer commercials (onya mate!).
But now we have a connection. I was speared (in the foot) by a meta ray a few years ago. Since it was only the foot, I lived.
Next time you have coffee with Kerouac, tell him I said hi. And ask him to write more haiku.
I was saddened by Irwin's death as well, though mostly because I didn't expect to see him on the news. Pete Doherty I'd expect, but not Steve Irwin. Went down like a soldier, though, exploring to the end.
P.S. A friend of mine mentioned something creepy. There's probably audio and video footage of his death, since he was filming a documentary when it happened. Wonder if someone's planning on releasing it.
With regard to The Croc Hunter's untimely death, I agree that it is sad, yes. And freakish (only 3 people in Australia have ever died by stingray). But I have trouble biting on the whole "at least he died doing what he loved" opin. Not to make light, but he died by a stupid stingray. Not a croc. And while he may have loved all of nature's creatures, I don't think he ever saw this one coming. Nor did the rest of us. So I'm just not sure if he'd agree with the concensus that this was a good way to go for him...
Besides, who wants to die doing something they love? It seems to make more sense that a person would rather die doing something they hate. I mean, when I'm snow skiing, or mountain biking, playing guitar, or backpacking through Europe, I don't wanna die! I want to live for that moment...
But when I'm mowing the fucking lawn, or doing my goddamn taxes...those are the moments I'd welcome a stingray.
Crikey is right.
You made that up...there's no such thing as "blog cred." You're just trying to trick me, like that time my uncle told me that sitting on his lap would give me super powers. It's not true! You can't fool me!
Besides, last time I popped off I said I had a big DING DONG...not schlong. Please check your references... :)