Ave Maria, gratia plena, Maria, gratia plena

I was at a funeral this morning, for the mother of a classmate of mine. (And saw all my old elementary school teachers, which was kind of a mindfuck.) Whenever I go to funerals, I always like to keep track of the music, because inevitably someone sings Ave Maria and the whole church ends up in tears no matter how they knew the deceased. It’s, like, the cry-song for Catholics. There’s others, like Amazing Grace, On Eagle’s Wings, Bridge Over Troubled Waters, and so forth, but the Ave Maria is the one that inevitably brings down the congregation, at least in my experience. When I die, I’m not sure if I want to engineer my music to make everyone cry, or leave a clause in the will to demand they play, I don’t know, Dance Dance Revolution music. Something to mess with the mood, you know?

Anyway, the whole thing has left me a bit sad and vaguely thoughtful and smelling somewhat like incense, and since nothing good ever comes of that I’m just going to switch gears entirely and jabber about unrelated things.

( Some last trifling thoughts on Chicago, sex with Bono, and the peculiarity of AUs in regards to Brokeback Mountain. )

Tomorrow, I have to attend a formal ball. I didn’t know these damn things still even existed. Now I’m trying to remember all the stuff my cotillion class tried to teach me. If they make me foxtrot, I'm doomed.