Many philosophers have long held that finding purpose in life is only possible in virtue of the fact that one day we are all going to die. Without the specter of death haunting our daily existence, it would be hard to find the meaning in doing anything at all.Prior to the late 20th century, such thoughts were little more than metaphysical speculations. Yet now that living forever is becoming increasingly realistic thanks to advances in cryonics and other life suspension techniques, does this mean that life is going to become increasingly meaningless?
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I decided to drive out to Nederland, Colorado, home of Frozen Dead Guy Days, to look for some answers.Heralded as "cryonics' first Mardi Gras," FDGD began out of desperation in 2002. The Nederland Chamber of Commerce had been tasked with designing a spring festival that would drive tourists (and more importantly, their dollars) to the small mountain town about 30 minutes outside of Boulder.
In a state saturated with scenic mountain villages, the Nederland Chamber of Commerce couldn't exactly count on playing up the town as a destination for the outdoor enthusiast to bring in the big bucks. Thus, after much deliberation, the Chamber of Commerce decided to organize the festival in honor of their most famous resident, albeit one who never actually "lived" there: Bredo Morstoel, better known by most of the local residents simply as "Grandpa."
Bredo arrived in Ned as a frozen corpse in 1993, flown in from Norway by his grandson Trygve Bauge, who wished to cryonically preserve his grandfather in a shed behind his house. Bauge had spent the better part of a year constructing a shed where he planned to store Bredo along with several tons of dry ice, making it so fortified that it was capable of withstanding an atomic blast.Shortly after Bredo's arrival, Bauge was contacted by a family from Chicago who wished to have the remains of one of their family members stored by Bauge. He accepted their offer and soon his shed housed two frozen corpses, making it perhaps the most low-tech cryonics facility in the world.Bredo arrived in Ned as a frozen corpse in 1993
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While Bauge had no problems managing his small off-the-books cryonics facility, the Nederland city council was far from pleased. It had denied Bauge's request for a permit to build a cryonics facility in 1992, and in 1994, when it was discovered that Bauge had not only built the "facility," but had also found its first two tenants, it went out of its way to make his life hell. The history of Bauge's struggle is as interesting as it is bizarre: after a long, drawn-out process which garnered international attention, Bauge was eventually deported for his violation, although his grandfather was allowed to stay in the shed.The first FDGD was held in 2002, seven years after Bauge's deportation, and was by all accounts a success. Now in its 14th year, the festival has only continued to grow: last year over 10,000 people descended on Nederland, whose population is just under 1,500, and managed to bring hundreds of thousands of dollars in revenue to the town. This year, Nederland was expecting to top 14,000 due to a lucky break in the weather.
FRIDAY
Bauge was eventually deported, although his grandfather was allowed to stay in the shed
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After several hours of this, it became quite clear that the festival had very little to do with Grandpa Bredo. In fact, it appeared as though the festival had very little to do with anything at all. I left the tent that evening with my head swimming from a potent combination of cannabis and craft brews, no closer to finding the meaning of life (or even the festival, for that matter). I hoped the following day would be more fruitful in my quest to find life's purpose.I would not be disappointed.
SATURDAY
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As I waited for the race to begin, I struck up a conversation with a festival goer who also happened to be a veteran coffin racer. He had opted out of the coffin races this year in favor of the polar plunge. I asked him about the point of coming out to Nederland to jump in freezing water and race around as costumed pallbearers. According to him, "there is no point. We just want an excuse to turn out and act weird for awhile. It's a celebration of the absurd, really."After the coffin races I headed up to the main thoroughfare, which was packed full of tourists from Denver and Boulder perusing stores hocking crystals, geodes and FDGD regalia, most of which played on puns involving marijuana and/or Grandpa (Grandaddy purp—get it?). As I walked further down the street, I passed a number of "poets" reading their verses from atop beer kegs (one guy was pretty much just shouting Diddy lyrics at passersby) and eventually arrived at a side attraction which I had heard a lot about since my arrival: turkey carcass bowling.
The game, which is exactly what it sounds like, had attracted dozens of spectators who were cheering on the competitors with more vehemence than anything involving a turkey carcass should ever warrant. Every now and then, the audience would erupt in cheers when a competitor bowled a perfect game, or emit a groan as bits of turkey flesh exploded into their faces."The chamber of commerce asked me to come up with something for the festival. It's been great for business."
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I asked one competitor, who has just bowled two perfect games with his turkey, what she thought throwing an avian carcass at bowling pins has to do with a frozen dead guy in a shed."Honestly, I don't think there is any connection at all," she tells me. Why do it at all then, I ask. "I mean, how many times in life do you get to bowl with a turkey? I guess that's a good enough reason."
SUNDAY
To my left, a young couple discusses the finesse of tossing the fish. "You have to go with the softball windup," says the woman. "Grab it in the gills and let 'er rip." After about an hour of tossing, the fish becomes so mutilated that it is impossible to throw any further. As the crowd waited for the replacement salmon to thaw, I approached Hillary, the owner of the Sundance restaurant to see what this event is all about.
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"Are you from PETA?" Hillary asks me. I tell her I am not. "Okay, good. We've had some problems with them before." I tell her I can believe it. "Well, I tell them we give the fish to the coyotes and birds. It was going to be eaten anyway."The next contestant approaches the line to throw the fish and I asked Hillary what throwing a frozen fish across the hotel's front yard has to do with a frozen dead guy. "Nothing," she said. "The chamber of commerce asked me to come up with something for the festival. It's been great for business."
After the fish toss, I return back to town for the final organized event of the festival: a Rocky Mountain oyster eating contest. (A primer for the uninitiated: Rocky Mountain oysters are a dish of bull, pig or sheep testicles.) At FDGD, the goal is to eat as many as possible for a shot at $100. This year, 30 people have signed up to shove their faces with deep fried balls, a record for the festival.Having never tried Rocky Mountain oysters myself, I asked one of the youngest participants in the contest, a 7-year old, what they tasted like. "They taste like balls," was his astute response. Another contestant told me that they tasted like "fucked up chicken nuggets."Hoping to give my readers a more accurate description of the taste of bull testicles, I tried one of the contestant's leftovers. As it turns out, "fucked up chicken nugget" is a pretty accurate description.
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As the festival was winding down for the day, I found Joe Gierlach, Ned's mayor, wandering the streets and decided to give my quest to find the meaning in life, and FDGD, one last shot. I asked the mayor, who has presided over four festivals, what he thought Frozen Dead Guy Days was all about."The story of the [Trygve and Bredo] is really a metaphor for a lifestyle of individualism," said Gierlach. "We all come to live in Nederland because we don't want to live in middle America. So FDGD is a celebration of that. Also, we get a lot of tourists and they drop a lot of money on local businesses. So from an economic standpoint it's also about increasing the velocity of money."
I left the festival slightly disheartened at my seeming inability to find the meaning of life at an event predicated on celebrating birth, death and everything in between. At the end of the day, it seemed that FDGD was just a giant libertarian orgy held to pay tribute to the gods of commerce by capitalizing on the loss of a beloved member of a Norwegian family.
As one festival-goer put it, FDGD is about "making money and hopefully having a good time while you do it," which to me seemed like a pretty good representation of life under modern capitalism in general. Recent advances in technology may be contributing to a death of meaning in our lives, but as FDGD is wont to show us, just because technological advances and industry call all the shots, this doesn't mean there isn't time to have fun on our long march to the grave. In fact, the increasing rationalization and monetization of all aspects of life is all the more reason to party for absolutely no reason at all.As the town of Nederland disappears behind snow-capped peaks in my rear view mirror, it dawns on me that perhaps I had actuallydiscovered something profound at Frozen Dead Guy Days. The festival had provided me with a tiny glimpse of what it means to be alive, about what it means to laugh in the face of our impending doom, and the importance of turning the negative into the positive—maybe. Or maybe it was just a good excuse to drink beer, eat balls, and use a frozen turkey for a bowling ball.All photos by Daniel Oberhaus"The story is really a metaphor for a lifestyle of individualism."