.....thanks, bbc for the Turkey. Whatever LEJ pays you, it isn't enough. I won't bother you any more for now, let you tend to the payin' customers for once. I seem to be in arrears, but the proprietor of this reputable establishment is kind enough to tolerate my occasional indiscretions, bless him. I think it's his compassion for the company I keep that restrains him from tossing me out on my ear sometimes. What's that you say, Jack? About Death? Let me tell you, old son, you and those of your ilk sometimes court Death a little to arduously, if you can feature that. Otherwise you'd be here today churning out those gems of literature- a little longer in the tooth and more grey around the muzzle, to be sure, but none the worse for wear ... no, on second thought maybe it was precisely your indifference (or was it fascination?) to Her that impelled you toward Her, promoted and encouraged your penchant to live a few lifetimes in the span of a short one, and to chronicle it with the immediacy woven right into the fabric of the story as a painter renders feverish brushstrokes to canvas, to capture the image in his mind's eye before the sun sets on the horizon; even as you caught Her eye with your indifference, She followed you around like a hungry cur, your constant companion, as She is to all us mortals, a gentle and sometimes welcome reminder of our indistinguishable and pathetic flame-out on the backdrop of mortality. But don't get me wrong. I'm not saying ignore Her. She is a stern and demanding mistress, and if you spurn Her, She has an effective and profound way of currying favor with you. Sort of like, 'What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.' My child was hit by a car, breaking his leg, and while waiting in ER for the bone doctor to finish his golf game, I took the opportunity that the pain afforded to focus his attention and told him that Death was kind to him this time around, that She had just given him a little love tap to teach him that eight year old boys aren't invincible. So at an early age he has seen a pedagogical profile of Death, one that I hope he remembers for the rest of his life. And I, too, have caught a glimpse of Her face, bleeding out from stab wounds in the leg, side and neck; in the back of a Greyhound bus in Abilene, Texas, cut up over a vacant seat. As the sirens wail somewhere behind me or from within me, and my essence flows out of me warm and strangely comforting, I am surprised that I am not writhing to break free from the clutches of some death-spasm, but that if I am to pass from this life right now, it will be an easy transition, or so it seems at the moment - all I have to do is close my eyes. Then comes the realization that Death is easy; what's hard is holding on to the relentless and daily grind of Life, to let Her ravage you sufficiently so as to make you unrecognizable to the procession of family and friends who come to pay their final respects at your open casket. 'What don't kill you, makes you stronger.' No, I don't want Death sneaking up on me, snatching me unawares from behind at the final moment. I put my order in now for a long and lingering disease, one that gives me ample time to reconcile with Death; to make Her my dear and trusted friend; to meet Her on Her own terms; to see Her face lucidly when She comes for me; to welcome Her with open arms when the time comes....wait, is that John Clellan Holmes I see coming through the door? Or Richard Brautigan? bbc, I'm ready for another (pontificating with my wise and learned tavern companions sure gets me thirsty), when you have a moment, thank you, and LEJ, Bill would like to show me that trick with the shot glass...but I am of a mind that that kind of entertainment is best delivered out in the parking lot, so as to not besmirch the fine reputation and integrity of your unique sanctuary. I'll leave it up to your good judgement and sagacity. Then I promise I'll get back on Kesey's bus and stop scaring off your regular patrons....