On Wednesday, as you may recall,
looked at music as a force that shapes us from childhood on. And today- in a completely unplanned but much welcomed bit of serendipity- we look at the music (and more) that will trail in our authors wake.Now funeral arrangements sounds like a bleak and morbid topic but
fills it with as much life as, well, life itself. This whole piece- and the party it lays out the logistical details of- is joyful, witty, swaggering, boastful (in the best way) and brings a real smile to the lips. Which is the perfect energy to carry into the weekend.Enjoy.
TJB.
Today’s post is part three of my Good Death saga. You can read part one here, and part two here. But the post you should really be reading is Natalia on her own funeral. That post inspired this one and is absolutely hilarious. I am still not recovered from reading that one. Enjoy!
The day they bury me, the country's flags will fly at half-mast. Some fools will ask which country? All of them, you ignorant people, all of them.
There will be a kilometres-long queue of people wanting to enter the church to pay their respects in front of my open casket, where my perfectly embalmed body will lie dressed in the medicine graduation red dress that my mother sewed for me in the year 1999 because it still fits me divinely (die of envy, bitches). And they won't lay my corpse face down to show off my ass sculpted in marble because that would be weird but also because seeing my face glistening from all the formaldehyde they've injected me with will be quite a spectacle. My face will wear the smile of those who passed away with the work all done and the certainty that they did a fucking fantastic job of it.
After the mass, the eulogies and the sincere tears of those in attendance, porters will carry the coffin on their shoulders to my final resting place, which I have not yet chosen but which will have many trees and flowers sprouting from the earth. No wilted wreaths and bouquets or, worse, plastic flowers for me. Death deserves real life. I need to specify one small detail of great importance: I will have hired professional pallbearers from Ghana who will carry my coffin dancing, and a band will be playing “Can't Take My Eyes off of You” at full volume as the funeral procession follows us to the rhythm of the music. My little grasshoppers, I will be dancing even when dead.
Once I’m buried and the parade is over, the revelry will begin because one understands that there is no truer saying than “the dead to the hole and the living to the bread roll”, and I am going to stuff you with good food and even better wine.
The party will be held outdoors, in May, for example, so that it is neither too hot nor too cold. One of the advantages of embalming is that you can postpone the date of the party if you have died at an inauspicious time, for example, in December. You can't be buried if the skies are grey, uff, no, it's sad enough as it is without adding fuel to the fire. It will be in a garden area with coloured lanterns and lots of jasmine, lemon trees, pine trees, you know, the usual. The dress code will be "Gina Lollobrigida meets Rock Hudson in Rome...". There will be a barbecue for people to come and eat “disco-buffet” like, and music by Giorgi Dan will be played sottovoce in the refreshment area (open bar of course, I'm Valencian and we know money and balls are to be brought out on special occasions). There will be a wooden dance floor to make sure the heels sound as they should, clicking the floor to the rhythm of the music. I will have a Big Band that will play swing for the first two hours (women are obliged to wear Mary Janes to be able to dance wildly), and all the attendees will dance lindy-hop impeccably in a flash-mob style but spontaneously, without the need to rehearse. I can already see sceptical faces among my readers, but what can I tell you? It's my funeral, I’m having it this way, ok?
Ok, let's move on. There will be a moment when people will start dancing the limbo to the sound of “Mambo Italiano” only it will be called purgatory because we have to adapt to the circumstances. Glorious.
At around twelve or one in the morning, things will take a distinctly traditional turn, like a “remember” dance from a small Spanish village where the classics of my youth will be played: Chiquilla, Mucho Mejor, Sin Documentos, Miguel Ríos medley, La Flaca, Dúo Dinámico mix... now you're getting the gist of it. Maybe the Big Band will take a break, and I'll hire the DJ from Kiss FM just to make things run smoothly.
And finally, at six o'clock in the morning, when everyone is drunk and in a phase of exaltation of friendship, the Big Band will retake the stage and the final song - “I'll Be Seeing You” by Billie Holiday - will be played in such a melodic way that from that day onwards those attending my fune-fest will think of me every time they see the moon. Here I am, entering into posterity through the big door.
As you can see, I'm not messing around, this will be the event of the century. I am very sorry to miss my own funeral. But you don't have to miss it. If you want to, you can reserve your ticket. You only have to become a paying subscriber and you will receive an invitation card when the affair takes place. I think it's a more than acceptable price considering such a celebratory display of the life that was.
Yours in divine (im)perfection,
Ana
Expert in funeral processions
PS: I leave here the OST for you to enjoy already now.