thanks, dr. moscot, for fixing my right eye.
having pink eye makes me think about death. those of you who know me will no doubt throw your hands up in the air at my particular brand of hypochondriacalism, what with me equating pink eye with death, but here's why.
this is the second time i've ever had viral conjunctivitus in thirty-four years. and it made me wonder: how many times have i had other sicknesses? then i started wondering about all the other things i've done so far: i had the chicken pox once. the middle and ring fingernails on my left hand fell off once after those fingers got smashed in a door way back when i knew that kid richard jones. i lived in new orleans once. i've owned five swiss army knives. maybe six. i've seen nine inch nails ten times (or nine-and-a-half, if you demerit for that business at the new orleans house of blues); but how many times have i seen star wars? how many pairs of sneakers have i had in my life?
there's probably one way to find out: and that is to die, and then go to heaven. which, of course, would mean i would have to believe in it. which i don't.
but if i did, i imagine heaven to be a place where you can ask all kinds of questions that no one else really cares about. i'm not ready to sit at the foot of god, or vishnu, or mohammed, or even bono, and ask such inanities as, "what's the secret of happiness" or even (for they must have tourists in heaven) "why am i here" but rather, something definite. "how many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches have i eaten?" "how many were just peanut butter?" "how many were on wheat bread?" "did i ever have any other type of bread than white or wheat for the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" "what was my favorite day to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?"
in other words, everybody in heaven should be allowed to see the baseball card-y stats on their life. everyone gets their own peter gammons, who can, at your bidding, rattle off any triviality or bring up any highlight reel about your life you want. "tim," he would say to me, "you first listened to living colour's vivid on december...etc etc." he would show me at all the concerts i've ever been to, which would finally give me an answer as to who that girl was that stole my u.n.o. hat while i was in the pit at pearl jam in '93.
maybe peter gammons could have one there for me. a bright, blue, white and red u.n.o. baseball cap.
so there's a way for those of you keen on jesus (and his ilk) to get me to convert to your respective religion: promise me, with pie charts, photographs, and notarized papers from stephen hawking, that i can ask questions about my life and see all the things that i've done in heaven, then i'm down. i'll be your dumb follower, and ignore the sciencey stuff.
but last i looked, stephen hawking wasn't signin' no papers.
oh well. man, i loved that hat.