Monday, June 14, 2004


Between the death of Ronald Reagan and Ray Charles, and the season premiere of "Six Feet Under", I thought it might be appropriate, however morose, to outline my final wishes for my ten faithful readers.

By the looks of it, you would have thought Reagan was still alive and had been killed while singlehandledly destroying Al Qaeda with one arm tied behind his back. As a former president who served two full terms and whose face came to symbolize the greatness of America all over the world, he deserved nothing else. But the only lesson that I'd one applied to my own ceremony that Reagan's funeral has taught us, is that the funeral should be a celebration of life. (All of the partisan bigots on both sides who used his passing as an opportunity to spell out their politics deserve to be stuck with the rest of the drunken white trash who argue over the will.) That means, nobody dresses in black unless they're trying to look like a Blues Brother.

Just like Reagan, I want my ceremony to be held at dusk. Not only is the light beautiful and peaceful at that hour, but it also will give everyone a chance to sleep in that day.

On Six Feet Under, Nate Fisher (Peter Krause) secretly follows his deceased wife's wishes and buried her, sans emblaming fluid, out in the middle of nowhere. I'm not quite that earthy, and the amount of Starbucks and McDonalds I imbibe have probably already begun the embalming process, but I don't think a normal burial would be appropriate either.

In short, donate my body to science. Ideally, an all girls medical school. Just in case my soul doesn't leave my body right after I expire...

A headstone would be neat at the Hollywood Forever Cemetary (Jayne Mansfield and her decapitated head aren't buried there either), to be buried alongside the other ghosts of the silver screen.

Finally, please greatly exaggerate the circumstances of my death. Death by heart attack or bus or allergic reaction to bad chinese isn't the stuff legends are made of - so make something up. Something tragic, something cool, something ghost stories are made of. And every year, on the anniversary of my death, please be sure to have a seance or attempt to reach me via Ouija board so, ideally, I can scare the crap out of everyone.