Stuffing the Riddler in the Furnace
This weekend I conducted the “Great Album Giveaway of the Winter of 2015”. Yeah. That’s a wordy title but an event as importantand grand as this particular occasion required plenty of words and, obviously, plenty of albums. However, as I was preparing my albums for the six hour trip through central Ohio and southern Indiana, I noticed that my collection was missing some key discs.
My collection was built during the late 1970s and early 1980s. Although there was your typical Led Zeppelin and Bruce Springsteen in my current possession, it seemed that the majority of my favorite albums were missing. Back in the day, I bought Springsteen, Zep, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Boston out of duty. If you were collecting music, those were the “must haves” for parties and such. But, they weren’t the bands and sounds that were in my musical sweet spot back in those days. During those times when I was alone in my little apartment at Kent State and, thus, could listen to what I preferred, I listened to The Clash, the Sex Pistols, Bow Wow Wow, The Ramones, Blondie, Lou Reed (and the Velvet Underground), the Buzzcocks, Iggy Pop, Gen X and the Cars and other early punk, proto-punk or alternative music. I’d stretch my musical tastes and queue up the Grateful Dead and Bob Marley when I wanted to be a bit more thoughtful. Sadly, as I went through my albums to ready them for the trip to Indiana, it became obvious that my favorites were missing. Of course, I immediately blamed my brother and some friends. Because, if you can’t blame brothers and friends, who can you blame?
Eventually, calmer thoughts took over and I called Mrs. Riddler and asked her if she knew if there were any old albums at the Riddler compound. She responded with a “Yes. There are a bunch of them in the attic over the garage.” I hopped in the car with visions of being reunited with the Ramones and Deborah Harry.
When I arrived, my mother and I climbed the ladder to the second level of the garage. She meandered about without any direction. There were hand tools, old books, games, lunch boxes, posters and car parts littering the garage attic. She felt compelled to pick up each and every item she found and then ponder aloud about it. She kept saying things like, “Hmmm. I didn’t know we had one of these.”
However, I was laser focused. I plowed through any box that looked like the proper size for housing albums. My motivation was twofold. First and foremost, I wanted my albums. Secondly, it was -8 degrees Fahrenheit and it was too fucking cold to spend more than one extra minute in that dirty, poorly insulated and drafty garage attic.
Suddenly, I hit the mother lode. There was a box in the far front of the garage stuffed with albums. I squealed like a six year old on Christmas morning. I ripped open the box and discovered a cardboard container full of Mel Torme, Frank Sinatra, Julie Andrews, Bennie Goodman, their contemporaries, and Rogers and Hammerstein albums. Mrs. Riddler was stunned when I told her that they weren’t mine. She said, “Really?” To which I replied, “Do you honestly think I would own a copy of South Pacific?”
I quickly realized my defeat and told my mom that the two or three quasi-interesting Herb Alpert albums probably weren’t worth the effort to collect them, clean them and prepare them for travel. We left the frigid wasteland of the garage attic, sprinted through the breezeway and went back into the house.
The Riddler, suddenly realizing that I was there, came out of the study and tried to execute some small talk. Something he does poorly at best. Unexpectedly, he just blurted out, “Hey. I’ve decided how I want to go out!” Unprepared for the conversation, I said, “What do you mean?” He simply stated, “You know. What to do with me when I die.”
“Oh. OK. What do I do?” I asked. The Riddler, without any emotion, said, “Well, when you find my body, just grab it, stick me in the furnace and incinerate me.” Stunned, I was speechless for a moment or two. I stammered about for several awkward seconds and finally just said, “I don’t think I can legally stuff you in the furnace if I find your body.” He said, “Oh, I know that. I just want to be cremated. I don’t want any services. None of that religious bullshit. Just cremate me and be done with it. You don’t even need to have calling hours. If you want to have some people over to the house for pizza or something, that’s fine. Just don’t you dare take me to a church, spend a bunch of money on a coffin or invite a minister to talk. It’s all just a waste of time and money. Heck, if you find my body after your mother’s already gone, you can just let the cat eat me for all I care.” His instructions were fairly cut and dry and I really didn’t need to have him go into any more details. Although, I will have to admit that forcing the cat to eat the Riddler would seem unfair to the cat.
I turned to my mom and said, “Well, with that plan already out of the way. What do you want to have done?” She sighed, like she does, with only the slightest amount of exasperation, and said, “Well, I was fully expecting to be buried by your father. But, I really don’t want to be buried alone, so, go ahead and have me cremated too.”
I looked at the Riddler. He glanced at Mrs. Riddler, back at me and then turned to my mother and said, “Well, if you die first, we can bury you. You’ll never know the difference. In fact, I guess if you die after me, they can still bury you because, once again, you won’t know the difference.” She flatly said, “Exactly, it doesn’t make any difference.” Turning back to me she said, “Just cremate me.” The Riddler’s chest puffed out a bit. The conversation was finished and he could slide back to his introverted ways without concern.
As we quietly stood there, I eventually said, “I have two questions.” Before I could get either one of the questions out, my mother said, “Dump our ashes in Lake Cable. That’s where we met.” I shook my head in the affirmative. Then I started, “Do Moo Moo and Weaver…” and the Riddler cut me off. “No. You’re the executor of the will. That’s your decision and problem.”
Several more seconds of silence filled the air. Realizing that the conversation was, at this point, truly over, I simply said, “Got it.” We stood for a few more moments until the Riddler said, “The dog has been waiting for you to pet her.” I looked down and sure enough, there was Bonnie staring, optimistically, at me. Mrs. Riddler stood and said, “I’m having a cupcake. Would anyone like to join me?” The general consensus was, “Yes. We’d all like a cupcake.”
Now that we were done talking about “stuffing bodies in the furnace” it seemed appropriate and quite easy to go back to simply living. Such is the Riddler and his ways.