Special Discount

Sometimes the best way to get your point across is to employ a little self-deprecating humor, because we can't seem to help walking away from a conversation without thinking, "Do I do that?"


Beginning with German morality plays in the 14th century, Death has been winning all the arguments, only to engage us in a feverish dance as the curtain falls. I haven't been able to determine, however, if the dance is a celebration, a victory lap, in response to the shedding of our skin, or cruel treatment designed to mock our gravity.

I'm drawn to the celebratory aspect simply because I'm, essentially, optimistic. The notion that after death we will become re-associated with our true nature has become a standard belief throughout most cultures and religions, even in psychological forums after Jung's re-assertation that the cross, the tree of life, represents our vegetative and therefore unconscious state. That's something I would dance for.

However, the phrase "Dance with Death" has a decidedly rancorous feel to it, even though most cultures claim that Death is an Angel of God, with the Archangel Azrael, most often assigned the duties of rubbing your name out of his little black book. All the promises of an afterlife can't compare, I guess, with the smell of K.F.C. and that damned dipping sauce.

Whether we're dancing out of his way or dancing with joy or dancing just because Death gets a kick out of making us look like a fool, dance we must, it seems. I'm going out with my best shoes on, frankly, because there's nothing I can do about it. I just hope the music's good.