When I Die...

Please don’t say I’ve “passed on” as I never passed on anything that I thought would be fun or right for me. I will have died. It’s okay to say, “Well, Scott’s dead.”

Originally I thought I might like a big funeral. First, I would insist on certain people being kept out. You know, the ones that were looking for forgiveness a little too late. Like a good nightclub, if you weren’t on the list you wouldn’t get in. (Even if you tried to tip the bouncer, Vicky Saunders, who has already volunteered for this position). I thought of choreographing the whole event ahead of time. March of the Siamese Children from King and I would play as everyone came down the center aisle in the funeral home (since I got this idea, whenever I hear this song, I think of everyone of consequence in my life smirking and rolling their eyes as they’re walking to take their seats). I would have someone sing, “For Good” from Wicked and would have handwritten notes I’ve written ahead of time (obviously) to everyone that were printed on the front, “I’ll be with you, like a handprint on your heart.” I’m always disappointed more people don’t send notes anymore.

But the more people that die around me, the more I begin to re-think what my send off might entail. I’ve decided to be cremated (shhh, don’t tell my Jewish relatives) after donating whatever organs are useful to someone else, so really, seems silly to have a bunch of people looking at an urn so I started thinking that there shouldn’t be an actual funeral. Maybe everyone should just do “independent study.” As they say to you before you audition, “In your own time.” So whenever and whatever you feel like doing, do it. Yup, independent study seems best to me. Just do whatever you want to do to remember me. I’ll be dead and there’s nothing I’ve done in my life that hasn’t crossed the line of good taste more than once or twice so whether you decide to burn candles and incense in reflection or hire a prostitute in my memory, it’s all up to you and thank you in advance.

Now the next piece we need to cover is when you’re talking to one another after my death. I’ve made a lot of shit up in my life and my best friends are good liars too so feel free to “have at it” and make up whatever you want. “There was this time we were on the Matterhorn in Disneyland with Scott and he stood up and mooned the Abominable Snowman.” If it makes you or the person you’re talking to laugh, then even if I didn’t do it, I would probably have liked to do it or lied about doing it myself so go for it. Of course mention my great style, tiny waistline, hair, writing and other things but here’s what NOT to do. Please don’t say I’m dancing or putting on a show with everyone else who died before me. I will not be dancing with them because I won’t have a body (see getting cremated a couple paragraphs up). And when you hear a song that makes you think of me or something else that makes you think of me, then just enjoy that moment without posting or tweeting that you know I was with you. Most likely I’ll be doing much more important things than altering the playlist on a radio station after my death. Frankly, I’ll be running the God Damned place, wherever I end up. (Even if it’s just running my ashes in the urn, I’ll be like I Dream of Jeannie in the bottle. Oooh, note to self, get Jeannie bottle instead of urn or Aladdin lamp for ashes.)

For so many years I’ve been told I’m going to hell because I haven’t taken Jesus as my savior, because I’m Jewish, because I’m gay, because I’m a pain the ass, the list goes on and on. So should I end up in hell (although to be clear, I’ve always believed there is no greater hell than the one we make up in our own minds while we are here on earth) I’m going to make sure I get there first so that when my friends get there they’ll have to live with my color scheme and set up. Here’s a shocking glimpse, don’t expect throw pillows, can’t stand ‘em.

There’s truly so much to think about as you get older and death gets closer. Sure, I could get hit by a bus tomorrow but I don’t really live in a city where I walk around so probably not happening that way. Here’s hoping however it happens, it’s quick. I do NOT want to linger. I’ve always said I would not be one of the people living under the ground for ten years on cans of tuna if there’s a nuclear holocaust. I want to be the person saying, “What’s that lig…” and dead before I finish my sentence.


Yup, I feel as though I’ve got this death thing covered. It’ll all be organized ahead of time so no one has to go to the trouble of wondering what I would like (and so they don’t fuck it up). And should you miss me after I’m gone or have some piece of juicy gossip you want to tell me, just call my number and tell or leave a voicemail for whoever has my phone number after I die. I know they’ll appreciate (and so will I).