This will be a short post, but something I read struck me weird and I thought I'd share it because, hey, that's just the kind of guy I am.
I was in Barnes & Noble in Ventura when I spotted a very interesting looking graphic novel by the late Wil Eisner. Entitled The Plot, it is a historical account of the creation of the fraudulent Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a nasty little piece of propoganda used by anti-semites around the world to justify their hatred of the Jews. Actually, I need to go back down and just buy this book, but I was only in a browsing mood this day.
So I opened it up and began reading the forward. I don't know who wrote the forward, but discussing Mr. Eisner in the first paragraph he wrote this phrase: "...Until he died unexpectedly at the age of eighty-seven..."
Who the heck dies "unexpectedly" at eighty-seven years old? When I'm 87, should I be so fortunate as to live so far past my statistical due date, I'm going to walk around expecting to drop dead any moment. That way I'll always be ready to say goodbye, or at least make sure that the last thing I say to anyone is as pleasant as I can manage. I mean, who wants their last words to be, "What's wrong with kids these days?" Or you could insert whatever crotchety old phrase you wish there.
Unexpectedly! Hey, I know some people make it past one hundred, and thirteen years is certainly a very long time, but when you're eighty-seven, there isn't anything unexpected about death.