My brother got this crazy idea somewhere that he wants a bench to be made of his bones (including skull) in a park or somewhere, with a vaguely pompous plaque that then invites you to sit your ass down on him. He wants to continue to unnerve and alarm people in death.

Tell your brother I approve of his idea and wish to subscribe to his newsletter.

Just wrapped in linen and planted six feet deep.

Yeah, that has a certain appeal.

On this subject, has anyone read Stiffed by Mary Roach?

It's fascinating. She goes into all the various things that happen after you're dead - regular burial, cremation, crash test dummy, body farm, etc. Some of it is hard reading, and not always the parts you expect.

But her writing style is very Buffista, so it's a hugely entertaining read even if you have to skim over a part or two.

I really enjoyed the section of J.G. Ballard's memoir where he talks about his cadaver in medical school. It's kind of a love note, though not in the necrophilia way. Maybe a little, but more the intimacy of knowing this woman through anatomical dissection. She had been a doctor herself and left her body to science. It was macabre, and funny and lovely and weird.

Speaking of dissection, have you all seen that new book out of vintage dissection photos? It's not about the cadaver but the culture of medical school anatomy classes, and how people would pose with the cadaver and write mottos in latin in chalk along the side of the dissection table and suchlike.

Traditional Jewish burial is wrapped in linen, put in a plain wooden box (no varnish or metal pieces), and buried. I think I read somewhere that some communities don't use a coffin, just the linen, but I can't remember who or where.

While taking my cousin to Midway Airport yesterday, we drove past the cemetary where Al Capone is buried (under a marker that resembles the Washington Monument, but is surrounded at its base by a hedge which conveniently covers up the family name, only seen if you can look over the hedge).

History Detectives did a bit on Emma Goldman this week, and I used to live in the town where she's buried (close to where most of the supposed Haymarket Rioters were buried after they were executed). Lots of anarchists/labor people buried there.

It's kind of a love note, though not in the necrophilia way. Maybe a little, but more the intimacy of knowing this woman through anatomical dissection. She had been a doctor herself and left her body to science. It was macabre, and funny and lovely and weird.

We had pretty much that conversation at a memorable Christmas dinner one year when my friend Kristen was in med school.

My SIL says she'd do it, too. And then makes bawdy comments.

I kidna am charmed by his idea. Imagine a bunch of skeleton chairs of a family instead of headstones. It amuses me. We are definitely related.

I am going to be a cadaver in a medical school. My mother wanted to buy me a plot so I could be buried next to her and my father in a cemetery designed to be easily mowed. I declined.

Both of my parents donated their bodies to the U of Iowa medical school. After the school was done with them they were cremated. Right now my dad is in my brother's office and my mother is on top of my sister's bookcase.

I want to send them into space but I can't convince my siblings.

My dad wants his ashes scattered in Yosemite. Grandpa's scattered at his ranch. Grandma was cremated and is I guess at my uncle's house. Great-grandma, likewise. Other grandfather is buried down in Colma, and Babushka is up in Santa Rosa in a site of her second husband's choosing because he's kind of an ass. Well, more than kind of, but not because of that particularly. We don't have a lot of tradition to fall back on, is my point, I guess.