Luck, or TMI

“Uncle Joe” once said “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.” I’m not entirely sure what he meant, and it’s possible that it lost something in translation. I take it to mean that we are more affected by one death we are personally involved in, than a million we know little about.

I’ll admit that when I read about many strangers dying in some distant land, it’s a lot less upsetting than hearing about a single person dying whom I happen to have met; even if the victim is someone I only met a couple of times, their tragic death will still make me pause to re-evaluate things.

However, if I subsequently hear that their tragic death was due to autoerotic asphyxia…somehow I can’t help pausing to re-evaluate again. When Tory MPs do it, it doesn’t really elicit surprise; but to suddenly find out such a thing about someone you hadn’t previously had reason to flag as a complete deviant, that’s a different matter.

I don’t think I’m a particular judgemental person, and nor do Meyers and Briggs. I think I’m reasonably hard to shock, too. Still, a few days ago I was wondering how or why a certain person ended up dead, and now I’m thinking that maybe I’d rather not have known.

In a way, AEA is even more tragic than suicide. When your death makes Elvis’s demise look dignified, it’s inevitably going to color how people remember you. The prospect of achieving long-lasting fame via News of the Weird or Fortean Times probably wouldn’t be much consolation, if you were around to be consoled.

I still remember the photograph of the poor guy somewhere in Latin America who was crushed to death by an earthquake whilst in the middle of attempting to make love to a chicken. Now that’s bad luck. Not that I believe in luck, really, but I do believe in not tempting fate. So if you, dear reader, are in the habit of staying home alone and choking yourself into semi-consciousness for a good time, please just stop. It’s not how I want to remember you. Buy a chicken or something.