Saturday, December 10, 2011

In Your Ass, Eating a Ham Sandwich

I was going to write about something, but I forget what. I don't think it was the obvious choice of writing about Santa Youth. Oh yeah, dead people.

I was sitting around the house real quiet-like. I couldn't move. I decided to go for a ride around the neighborhood. I ended up in Inglewood Park Cemetery wandering around a mausoleum. It was surreal. totally empty of living people, but bursting at the seams with dead ones. There were long hallways with 20 foot high ceilings, the walls filled with names of the people inside. Some had pews like churches. All the windows were stained glass. My feet on polished concrete was the only sound.

I remembered that I had sent myself the location of Ray Charles' grave, and it just so happened that I was in exactly the right place. I found it and took a picture, and while I was looking at it muttered to myself, "Ray Charles is in there."


I also had the location of Ella Fitzgerald's body. It was in another mausoleum, a new one that is apparently one of the larger in the world. It didn't have the delightful creepiness of Ray's crypt. Here's Ella.