Forget about a commemorative bust as well. My great friend and fellow neurotic Shane Nelken of the Awkward Stage used to work in the funeral industry (that’s what they actually call it), and from what he’s shown me, death’s accoutrements are both wildly expensive and wildly tacky. The exorbitant financial strain of a granite slab shaped in your image will only prompt your family to choose something like one of those caskets with flocks of doves engraved on the corners (The John Woo Special), or a gravestone with an etching of the sun setting over “the 19th Hole” – I can’t imagine even avid golfers want that hanging around their decomposing corpses for all time. Eternal flames are usually reserved for beloved heads of state struck down in the prime of their life, and even a southern Baptist gospel choir will be a bit much (although it’s a nice touch if  someone wants to splurge).

the funeral industry - not tacky at all.

What I’m looking for is the kind of simple, elegant funeral you can only see in movies -  sort of like the one Axl Rose had for Stephanie Seymour at the end of the video for “November Rain”,  only without Axl or Stephanie (Slash can come though).  I’d want it to be in a tiny country church like Albert Finney’s funeral in Big Fish (even though I’ve never sit foot in a country church….ever). Among the songs I’d insist be played would be  “Many Rivers to Cross” by Jimmy Cliff, a beautiful, souful song that’s mostly about failure and disappointment (actually, I stole the idea for this from the movie “High Fidelity” – if it works for the other JC, it can work for me).  This would followed by a eulogy,  after which whomever is presiding over this period at the end of my life’s sentence would invite the congregation to come up and recount stories about me (kind of like a celebrity roast – perhaps it would be apropos that I be cremated afterwards).  The funeral would then end with a benediction where people exhort me to not fuck up in the afterlife as I did in the real one, then a video montage of all my finest moments ever recorded on video, set to Bob Dylan’s “Girl From the North Country.”   That’s it.  Well, I’d like it if the men were in seersucker suits and all the women wear low-cut sundresses with big hats,  like they’re attending the Kentucky Derby, but I’m realistic (see previous paragraph).

I’ll leave it to the attendee’s imagination as to what stories they might tell.  Funerals are more for them than the departed, and if they follow the Bette Davis rule, they probably won’t cause a fuss by telling a story that puts me in a bad light…unless my ex’s attend, then it could get awkward.    So really, the only loose end to be tied is the eulogy, and lucky for whomever is planning my Final Bow,  I have written one below:

Hi! Chances are if someone other than myself is reading this out loud to you right now, it’s because I’m dead.   Hopefully, I went quick and painlessly – maybe doing something fun, like sex or bowling.  If I went in a way that was lingering and deprived of dignity – well, that kind of stuff can be character building, can’t it?

Some of you may be sad, a few of may even be happy.  For those who are sad, it’s no doubt because you added to my life, just as I added to yours, and both of us are richer because of it.  For those you who are happy about my death,  I hope it twists the knife a little to know that while I was here I had the best time I possibly could – not as good as some, but better than most.

In my time,  I did some phenomenal things:  I got to scuba dive with huge six-gill sharks,  ride my motorcycle at 150 miles per hour in the desert, and almost had my eye poked out by one of Jennifer Aniston’s nipples.  I managed to see my heroes Bowie, Springsteen, and The Who perform before they kicked, earned the respect of Liam Gallagher (and then possibly lost it a few minutes later), and had Janet Jackson call me a schmuck (with love).  I learned the kind of satisfaction that comes from creating something you can be proud of, as well as profound joy that comes with making a friend for life.  Not everything went my way, but a lot of things turned out in ways that surprised me, and that wasn’t bad at all.

I never lost my sense of humour, or sense of wonder,  and while I was uniquely gifted at feeling sorry for myself sometimes, I could still find the good in a situation, no matter how bad. I treated people as fairly as I could, and without judgment.  I never asked for more than I thought I deserved,  never took more than what I was entitled.   I got to watch the Big Lebowski and discover its awesome grandeur, and if anyone at this death bash has their wits about them they’ll go home and watch it in my honour.

Of course, life wouldn’t be life without a few regrets – I wish I’d been stronger, and braver. I wish I’d been more willing to risk rejection or embarrassment to get what I want, more willing to get in a fight for what I thought was the right thing. I wish I’d made a bigger difference, changed the world for the better.  I regret wearing acrylic sweaters and hypercolour t-shirts in high school, and dying my hair blond was something I really wish one of you had talked me out of.

I especially regret hurting the ones I loved – your trust was something to be cherished, and I’m sorry that I realized it too late.  It doubt it’ll help, but I did try to learn from those mistakes.

Nonetheless, I’m proud of the life I led, and perhaps my proudest achievement was becoming a friend to each of you.  You could’ve chosen anyone on whom to bestow your love, and you chose me.  I could be wrong, but I take that to mean you saw something good in me, even when I couldn’t see it in myself.  For that, I was always grateful.

Okay, so there you go…all the heavy lifting is done for you.

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