Al Deluise had a premonition he was going to die on August 8th. (Hey, that’s today!) But he doesn’t know what year…
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We are all going to die, that is something no one can avoid. One of the things that make death so intimidating is that we never know when it is going to happen. Even though I am just afraid of death as everyone else, I do have one distinct advantage: I already know the date when I am going to die.
In the winter of 1984 my friend Phil was having a Christmas party at his apartment. I didn’t know a lot of the people there, it was mostly his work friends, but I did recognize the Christmas tree in the corner so, with drink in hand, I went over to talk to it. As Phil worked the room he finally made his way over to me. I stood near the tree and feigned interest in one of his childhood’s homemade ornament that had ‘Merry X-Mas’ spelled out in macaroni glued to an inverted plastic cup painted white and covered in sparkles. Phil stared at me as I stared at the ornament and he asked, “What are you thinking about?”
For reasons that baffle me to this very day I said, “I’m going to die on August eighth”.
Phil looked at me, nodded his head in agreement as if I had just said, “The sky is blue”, then turned and continued being the dutiful host.
Up until that moment August 8th had no significance whatsoever in my life — after that moment, it became a part of me.
Over the years my friends learned of my predication about the day I was going to die.
I was often asked, “What year?” but I had no idea. As if predicting the actual date of my death wasn’t good enough, I had to provide all the details (people are so lazy). This led to speculations as to what year would look best on my tombstone. When 1988 rolled around fingers were crossed (not mine) that it would be the year.
“How cool would that look on a tombstone,” several people said, “8-8-88.”
I guess if you’re going to die, you might as well make it look good. But that day came and passed to the disappointment of my friends. I couldn’t take it personally that so many people rooted for my death because I opened the door with the predication in the first place – and I was flattered that so many people wanted my tombstone to look cool.
My next opportunity for the cool tombstone came in 2008 but unfortunately (unfortunately?) that passed without incident. I will not be around when that next opportunity arises for that cool ‘8-8-88’ tombstone. I’m not even sure if I’ll be around for the semi-cool ‘8-8-18’. I don’t exactly exercise, eat right, or take care of myself (my blog is called Conflict and Scotch for a reason). I do have high blood pressure; once had a blood clot go to my eye and I’m about to celebrate the second anniversary with that mysterious pain that lives under the right side of my ribcage (mysterious pains are so hard to shop for). Before I hit fifty those morbid inquiries of my demise were most definitely tongue-in-cheek. Now that I am over fifty the calls I receive are of a more genuine nature.
On August 8th of any given year I will get phone calls from people who say, “Just Checking in” or ask “So how are you feeling?” or those who sound genuinely disappointed when I answer my phone, “Oh, so you’re still alive?”
Once again the calendar has landed on my death-day. Will I live or will I die? Feel free to join in on this mortality game of Groundhog’s Day. Be sure to check back on August 9th to find out the results.
Will Al die or will there be three-hundred and sixty-five more days of Al (three-hundred and sixty-six more days of Al during leap years)?
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Photo credit: casch52/flickr
Well you certainly thought this through and will take it into consideration when the next August 8th rolls around – I do adhere to the Kurt Vonnegut ‘Slaughter House Five’ rule that all time happens at once – therefore I am already dead, the universe has exploded, and I am sitting in my grandmother’s living room eating cookies and drinking milk and watching ‘the Wizard of Oz’ where I am 5 years old…
Total lack of imagination here. Calendars are culturally constructed. There is no such thing as “August” in any real, concrete sense. “August” as a concept is only about 2000 years old. Simply change the calendar you use, or go to a part of the world that does not use a calendar with “August” in it, and you will live forever. Or, do like the pope did in 1582 and simply declare some days did not exist, so you can just skip over them. Or, if you simply cannot escape the narrow-minded confines of believing that August exists, then hang out… Read more »
So much can be taken from this. And it’s so true that we do have an expiration date and have no idea what that date is. My last surviving brother thought he would die in his 60th year but he is now 65 years old.
So, believing that 8/8 is your day, what do you do with your life until that day rolls around?
Well, I don’t pay much attention to the date until it actually gets here, then I just make sure I drive a little more carefully and be sure not to piss anyone off…glad to hear that your brother is still around – at least I left myself an open ticket – I might have the date right but the year is wide open…