Thanks GK. For me, add to "a lawyer, a thief or a banker" the word "consultant." Things I will never have been in my life.

As an intrepid scribbler in a dying industry (guess which one?), I appreciate the appreciation of obituaries in general. Papers now charge to run full-length obits, did you know? In my mind that's kind of sad. But, oh! You're welcome to share your memories of the dear departed online, at the funeral home's website.

I've lost many close to me who helped fuel my love of language and people. Who am I to take their lance forward? Oh, but I try.

I'm long a fan of western movies. They deal with death the best, I think.

It's not a movie, but a comic strip, and for some odd reason this sticks in my mind from my midwestern youth, many years ago: "You plug 'em. We plant 'em." -- Tumbleweed

We shall all be a little more dead when this lovely man sheds his mortal coil. To the Great Intelligence that permeates all: Thank you so much for Garrison. (Nice try with "W", but that free-will thing really can come back and bite your butt. We'll all clean up a bit and keep on truckin'. See You later....)

a few years ago a letter arrived from my father (a big fan of yours by the way), out of the blue. It was his obituary, self-penned. He was in his late 70s and in good health, mentally and physically. I was stunned at first, then thankful as it seems the best way to ensure that the record will be as he wishes. It also lets the offspring and spouse off the hook, which is very generous.

I have received an updated version on a couple of occasions and my stepmother has the most recent one. He is still in good health, bu it lies waiting for when it will be needed.

AAAAAAAAh ha ha ha ha ha ha h ahuhchoke cough sputter.

Excuse me.

Hairball.

The Egyptian rubbed the inside of the black Talapia generously with garlic, lime, and cumin. The professional masseuse(csws)delivered a free massage, sang to me, and cooked me a Nile "Kneel" dinner between dancing to the Egyptian music.

It always amazes me. See what a decent kitchen pass can accomplish?

Bahabek. My new word.

tyai

14 days in consciousness training. Day 3.

This letter cost nine dollars.

And then there was another ten thousand in there, somewhere, for advertising.

Worth every red cent.

You know, "Guantanamera" does not take that long to sing from beginning to end.

The world is spinning rather quickly of late and tossing many to the spectre of unkown destination. What with dreams being crushed and futures laid waste we are all apt to urge an obituary contain a request for the recall of the lines "Cowards Die Many Times before their Deaths but The Valiant Taste of Feath but Once" - but any printing or utterance of the poetic words would be small comfort for the masses who daily slip a way to unemployment, illness, homelessness and general destitution.

Today I expect to read countless 'Obituaries' about some form of death in these the days of the "Winter of our Hardship" .... Indeed many a person's demise comes in varied forms that are all to heartbreakingly familiar for those who tread this vast but fast shrinking orb ... an orb that is sadly also the dwelling place of 'Ponzi Princes' and 'Robber Barons' who in a manner akin to the dark angels spectre have hastened the 'Hearse of History' on so many fronts.

Irregardless the current malaise you have lightened my load a bit with this tidy missive on a seldom examined branch exercise of the black art dear Garrison ..... and for that much thanks.

Great bodies of work exist in all shapes and sizes, lengths.

In literature one mans prime rib is another mans tapioca.

Succulent/ bland. It's funny that the most prolific of critics come to the table with nary a morsel of their own food for thought to share. Then commence to "shred to the bone."

Or as the late Bernie Mac might say, "...bust yo head till the white meat shows." Until you, yourself have been published I suggest you to leave the heavy-handed criticism of others alone, go quietly to the back of the room and sit down and collect your thoughts on a topic dear to your heart and pound it out..wait to see how many come thronging to assay. Brace yourself. At this point you may want to consider that application to the Communist Party.

In life, "Its always something." Gilda Radner.

Herman Melville never made much money writing books..but he never sold out..he told of the stories/ life events that mattered to him..greatness lies in the eyes of those that paste together obituaries.

You should know that every member of Congress in his day got a copy of his novel, "White Jacket." Heres looking at you.

As an inkstained wretch at a newspaper in the Southeast, I got overexposed to obituaries, something the editors who had been there since the 1950s seemed to think were big news. The funeral homes that phoned them in hewed to the "flights of angels sing thee to thy rest" school of obit writing. People whose lives had ended in their 20s at the blunt end of a shotgun blast in the outlying counties were usually described as having "died after a brief illness," and attempts to deviate from this South'n gentility in the name of the truth were met with anger by funeral directors.

What was truly telling about so many of these obits was how bland they were, reflecting lives rooted in the same small town: "He was a lifelong resident of Baxley. He was a truck driver, and he was a Baptist" was sometimes the total of their lves.

The one that really stuck out in my mind was the fellow who was survived by two cousins, who were husband and wife. We called back to teh funeral home, thinking somebody had garbled that one in tranmsmission. They hadn't. I wondered if it was a small town where everybody looks alike.