never say never to always

Going home for Grandpa Harold's funeral on Monday. Dad called and broke the news as gently as possible this morning.
I only visited him a few times, but he seemed quite happy that I did visit. Dad said that last time I came home and hung out in the hospital room, it was the best day he'd had for a month.
I wish I'd been closer to him. We didn't really talk much or spend as much time together as I would have liked. The only time I really got to be with him without Grandma Debbie fluttering around was in high school, when he'd drive me home from school every day. I enjoyed that.
I'm not as close to my dad's side of the family as the rest of my cousins are, I think. I say this without bitterness or rancor. I'm not a black sheep, or unloved or unloving--I love my family, and I know they love me. And I like spending time with them. I just don't get to spend as much time with them as I'd like to, and I don't quite have the bond with most of them that, say, Rebecca does. (One could blame this on college, but I wasn't even quite that close before college.)
In addition, I seem to have no grasp of family dynamics. I can't tell who's in the doghouse for bad behavior and who's not. I kind of assume that we're all one big happy family with no major problems. Either my lack of proximity contributes to this sketchy grasp, or I'm just bad at group dynamics in general.

On death, then. It seems to be the general consensus that fast, painless, and sudden death is easier for the person that has to die. I think, though, that a slower death is easier for the family and friends. There is less of a shock when the beginning of the end is announced, there is more time to set things in order, make arrangements (both material and emotional). Time to pay debts and respects, time to say things unsaid before and know that they will be heard by ears that can still hear, not lost to an open grave and cold grass. The pain of knowledge of death is dulled by pity for the pain of actually dying, and when the end comes, it is a relief.

"When a man is prepared to die, it hurts us more to see him die than it does him to do it."
And on that note...diversion, diversion. I need one, or I'm going to start crying, and when I cry too hard, I tend to throw up. And I just had dinner too.

Got to watch "Bartleby" yesterday while Sasha was off being a desk slave. (She usually has Duran Duran or Bob Marley or Dean Martin playing on endless repeat, and while I don't mind a few bars of "Reach out towards the sunrise!" while I'm reading, such music would undoubtedly spoil the mood of almost any movie.)
The movie was billed, on the DVD cover, as a "side-splitting comedy!" Yuh-huh. It was sad. Probably one of the saddest "funny" movies I've ever seen. Then again, I probably have a different perspective on it than whichever numb-nuts reviewer decided to write that particular blurb. The theory that Bartleby was autistic seems very, very correct to me. (Also, went and read The Ocean Doesn't Want Me Today right before watching the movie, so there was that as well.)
Since I got it on DVD, there were actor interviews. Purported as being "in character." I only bothered to watch Crispin's so far; it was, I felt, somewhat unsatisfactory. One of the questions asked was something along the lines of "So, whaddya think of the original story?" His response was something very vague and stuttery about capitalism. I kind of wanted to go over and stroke his hair and give him a glass of water. (But I can't do that through the TV screen, and if I gave a glass of water to the TV screen, it would short out.)
(Also, for the record, I would say that if the story is about anything other than Bartleby and his mental disorder, it's probably about the Western obsession with productivity and the Protestant work ethic. The message is quite clear when The Boss is asking Bartleby whether he can justify the way he's taking up space--you must contribute something to society in order to recieve the basic necessities of life. No points for just being human.)

Big Slide Show and What Is It? occur in two weeks. This is very, very up-in-the-air at the moment. In order to get there, I have to do two things:
A) Get tickets.
B) Get a ride.

Part B) is possible but not guaranteed at the moment (there's only one person that I could get to come with me, and that depends on schedule, so nothing definite yet). Part A) is not happening because the only way to get tickets is through Ticketmaster, and they want a credit card. Problem with this is that I don't have a credit card. I've got some Visa-like thing I got in the mail from a school bank freebie, and I'm scared to activate it because I have a vague idea that they will start charging me for not having any money.

Options:
A) I get my mom or some other credit-carded person to buy tickets for me and pay them back with laundry quarters. (Just kidding. I have money Dad gave me.)
B) I activate credit card and hope they don't send the Visa dogs after me.
C) I don't get tickets, and I spend April 16th in my room whimpering and bugging Kathryn.

ETA: Also, I just looked up the Adult Swim schedule for about the next month, because I have nothing better to do, and I have noted that "Roswell That Ends Well," otherwise known as The One Where Fry Travels Back In Time And Does It With His Grandmother Because His Grandfather Is Gay/Dead From Nuke, is showing on April 12th at 11 P.M. Eastern Time. (Actually 11:30, because Futurama is on at 11:30. But "Family Guy" is also funny.) bttf_slash people might want to take note of this. (Is it really pathetic that I'm rather excited about it?)