Watching Empire (which I pithily refer to as, "How to Make a Mess of Estate Planning"), starring Terrance Howard and really really starring Taraji P. Henson, has inspired me to follow @EmpireFOX and to take a closer look at the quality of my eventual, closer than not, end of lifeness.
Spoiler alert: Lucious (Terrance Howard's woefully lurid leading man) is dying. His doctor gives him a three-year shelf life. And no one knows the Empire's Emperor is dying. Not just dying dying like we are all going to die; but rather, is dying with knowledge, in secrecy, and with an expiration date.
As Lucious calls his three sons to the table to discuss who might become heir apparent, I am appalled by his callousness and comparably intrigued by his courage to face his own mortality to make such a deliberate move. What he did was noble. How he did it galvanized a war between brothers that could surely make the opening season of #EmpireFOX trend worthy for weeks to come.
Amidst the music and misogyny, haute couture and homophobia, board room with a breathtaking skyline view and cast of the-year-of-light-skinnedness, unfolding before viewers is a metanarrative on endogeneity-- life and death, phileo and sibling rivalry, gayness and straightness, and living and dying. But... is there a better way to live while while we are dying? A better way to break the news to the family? A better way to wrangle away the physicians power to inform AND persuade? A better way to transfer positional power without creating a familial war? A better way to live when we are dying? A better way of choosing to die when we can no longer maintain our quality of life? #Empire defines endogeneity of life and death for clergy and physicians like the chicken and the egg for farmers and philosophers.
Follow me on Twitter for my day after and occasionally live tweeting on the ratchet fabulousness of Cookie (will somebody please give her a grown woman's name soon?): homomysanthrophic lore which oozes out of Lucious like au jus from a 14-hour brisket; and this conglomerate of ghetto aristocracy. But for now, I am compelled to talk about death. Actually, to think more about 'quality end of life before I die or lose mental acuity to make choices of how and when I want to die' decisions.
In my Wendy Williams-esque voice, I ask, "how're you DYING?" During this inaugural season of #Empire, I seek deeper answers for myself and to give others something more practical to ponder than cultural idioms, religious platitudes, and bio-theological quandaries.