Now, about my funeral. First of all, I am from San Francisco, and in San Francisco, they are very particular about the disposition of one's earthly remains. Nearly all the City's dead people, including such luminaries as Emperor Norton I, were dug up and moved to south to Colma in the 1930s due to the scarcity of land. (San Francisco, bordered on 3 sides by water, is only 7 miles square.)
Now one thing I love about the Catholic Church is you're allowed to choose your own readings and music for your funeral mass. For my Old Testament reading, I've decided on the Prayer of Jonah. That's right after Jonah's been swallowed by Troutzilla, and he's trying to bargain his way out of it. That is so much my spiritual life right there. It always reminds me of the time I went on the death-defying Giant Dipper roller coaster in Santa Cruz which I'd promised my Mom I don't know how many times I would never do. And I thought for sure I was gonna die. I kept saying "Just get me through this one, Lord. I'll go start an orphanage in Calcutta!"
And then after my funeral I want my friends to sneak out to Sloat Boulevard and the Great Highway in the middle of the night and scatter my ashes under the Doggie Diner head.
Great plan, right? People will always know where to find my final resting place. I mean, you can see the Doggie Diner head from blocks away. And there's always parking out there.
Well, then I'm at Mass last Saturday night, and they have these brochures on a table by the door, and I pick one up as I'm leaving Mass, and it's a brochure from Catholic Cemeteries of America, and it's all about how you're not allowed to scatter your ashes. Or even keep them in your house! You have to deliver them to nearest Catholic Cemetery so they can be reverently stowed away.
I can't win for losing here!
So now I'm thinking if I can't be scattered I at least want a Doggie Diner head on my tombstone. I'm gonna call Holy Cross in Colma and ask them what's their height limit.