Thursday 5 November 2009

Wednesday 4th November 2009 - Disrespecting the Dead

          I'm sure everyone has seen the Russian Forklift driver demolishing a warehouse full of vodka.  It's the sort of magnetic viewing that pops up on all news channels across the entire world.  And if, somehow, you missed it, I bet it's the most popular thing on UTube.
          There was, however, something much funnier on American TV this week, which may not not have made it across the world.  Since it involves a convicted rapist murdering countless (so far) women, it may not be in the best possible taste.  But it passes my test: it is actually funny, although very definitely in the category 'black'.
          After the arrest, and court appearances, police have recovered ten or more bodies from shallow graves, and (I don't quite know how to put this) 'bits and pieces' from the cellar.
          Then it turns out that the neighbours have been complaining for years about the smell.  The sausage factory next door (shall I pause for a moment while you rush for the bucket?) actually dug up its sewers and replaced them. 
          Perhaps our murderer should have done a Sweeney Todd.  Perhaps he did!
          You couldn't make that up, could you?
 
          One of the Glasgows was buried without dates, but still carrying his qualifications:
[n0368]
I don't like making fun of innocent real people, but I really cannot resist the temptation to say this stone should actually read "my son the doctor is dead".
 
          The courthouse wasn't much fun ( that's probably why I'm making black jokes).  We're now back east with a vengeance.  The is no plat of Glasgow, as far as I can see.  And all the surveying is done in 'metes and bounds' rather than the ranges and townships of the newer states.  Out west, you can work out where somewhere is by the survey discription in the deed.  But here, you just get a jumble of lengths, directions and markers.  So you would have to be pretty experienced surveyor to see that two descriptions were the same piece of land.
          Anyway, the real story here seems to be about George L Glasgow extending his store to a Post Office, and deciding that when people wanted to buy lots nearby, he would describe them as the "Village of Glasgow", probably for promotional purposes.
 
          Later that night, I went down the bar to see the Yankees (formerly the "Highlanders") winning the World series.  But there were two grown-up ladies sitting beside me discussing how awful it had been leaving their men: "I sat in that trailer, crying my eyes out, thinking nobody would ever want me again" sort of stuff.  I quite forgot about the baseball.  What was so entrancing was the way they talked as though I wasn't there.  At some points I almost believed myself that I wasn't there.
          It turned out, at the end of the evening, that they were working out what was the best advice to give a daughter on how to do the same thing.  Oh, and the Yankees won.

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