Camper Van Beethoven, "O Death"
CVB's take on the Appalachian traditional. Like a lot of people my age, this was the first version I ever heard, possibly because nobody much listens to Dock Boggs anymore. That isn't a dig, just a sad statement of fact.
I feel warmed-over. My innards do not agree with my outards. A more sensible person might see a doctor, but have you seen the kind of people who go to doctors' offices? They're full of sick people, it's absolutely terrible.
That is a joke. On several levels, one of which being I don't think I feel bad enough to actually go to a doctor even if I were the sort of person who visited doctors, ever. There's the other level, right there: that under any circumstances I just don't ever go to a doctor and not for any reason as sensible as the fact their waiting rooms are full of sick people. I just don't like to go. A coupla years ago, when I was in my car accident, I probably would have left my broken wrist alone had I been left to my own devices: "Yeah, sure, my arm is swollen up to the size of a tree trunk and I can't move my hand, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I'll maybe stop and get some aspirin on the way home or something. Lots of orange juice, it'll be fine."
People will inevitably want to know why I'm like this; well, it's irrational, meaning not rational, meaning not reasonable. And therefore defies explanation, explanations bead up and roll off the imponderable surface of it like overpass spit hitting a really, really good clearcoat waxing. I can wholeheartedly agree with anyone who tells me I'm supposed to go to the doctor for routine checkups or when I'm feeling ill, and not only that, being a perfect hypocrite in this regard, I'm first to tell someone else they ought to go to a doctor when they complain of some ailment. That's different, you must understand: that involves people who aren't me going to the physician. It makes no sense, anyway, and I agree, and the logic of friendly and helpful advisors and people who care is unassailable. I agree completely, I should see doctors more often. And....
And it isn't going to happen. I'm very sorry. I just have to admit this up front. There's no good reason for it.
If Death were actually an august personage, scythe and bony fingers or no, my whole non-approach to personal healthcare might be more sensible. I could, I imagine, try to bargain, though on further thought I'm not sure with what. What are Death's hobbies, aside from the obvious ones like plucking kittens from the nest and breaking airplanes, etc.? Pushing old ladies into intersections against traffic and jumping out of the bushes to frighten joggers on their morning run, that kind of thing? Would Death be happy if I offered to buy him an ice cream cone with no limit on the toppings? Would he like a nice pen and pencil office set monogrammed with an ornate "D"? Well. Maybe bargaining would be harder that I think, after all. What we all do know, to be sure, is that pleading doesn't work.
I feel warmed-over. My innards do not agree with my outards. A more sensible person might see a doctor, but have you seen the kind of people who go to doctors' offices? They're full of sick people, it's absolutely terrible.
That is a joke. On several levels, one of which being I don't think I feel bad enough to actually go to a doctor even if I were the sort of person who visited doctors, ever. There's the other level, right there: that under any circumstances I just don't ever go to a doctor and not for any reason as sensible as the fact their waiting rooms are full of sick people. I just don't like to go. A coupla years ago, when I was in my car accident, I probably would have left my broken wrist alone had I been left to my own devices: "Yeah, sure, my arm is swollen up to the size of a tree trunk and I can't move my hand, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I'll maybe stop and get some aspirin on the way home or something. Lots of orange juice, it'll be fine."
People will inevitably want to know why I'm like this; well, it's irrational, meaning not rational, meaning not reasonable. And therefore defies explanation, explanations bead up and roll off the imponderable surface of it like overpass spit hitting a really, really good clearcoat waxing. I can wholeheartedly agree with anyone who tells me I'm supposed to go to the doctor for routine checkups or when I'm feeling ill, and not only that, being a perfect hypocrite in this regard, I'm first to tell someone else they ought to go to a doctor when they complain of some ailment. That's different, you must understand: that involves people who aren't me going to the physician. It makes no sense, anyway, and I agree, and the logic of friendly and helpful advisors and people who care is unassailable. I agree completely, I should see doctors more often. And....
And it isn't going to happen. I'm very sorry. I just have to admit this up front. There's no good reason for it.
If Death were actually an august personage, scythe and bony fingers or no, my whole non-approach to personal healthcare might be more sensible. I could, I imagine, try to bargain, though on further thought I'm not sure with what. What are Death's hobbies, aside from the obvious ones like plucking kittens from the nest and breaking airplanes, etc.? Pushing old ladies into intersections against traffic and jumping out of the bushes to frighten joggers on their morning run, that kind of thing? Would Death be happy if I offered to buy him an ice cream cone with no limit on the toppings? Would he like a nice pen and pencil office set monogrammed with an ornate "D"? Well. Maybe bargaining would be harder that I think, after all. What we all do know, to be sure, is that pleading doesn't work.
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