Swan Song (WARNING: Avert your gaze, all ye whose boobs are named Mork & Mindy, for herein lies some Christian folk music.)

It's Sunday in 50 minutes, and I'm busy making Mo a mix CD per her request after her recent accidental brush with Jennifer Knapp. I was soundly berated for not providing a warning of impending JESUS!-ness and then asked to provide a compilation in the same breath. With Maura, blatant contradictions in terms "typically happen often, Justice Scalia (heretofore known as Evil Genius, and/or El Bastardo)."

And that last sentence is a private joke, so no -- it shouldn't make sense to you unless your name is Maura and your boobs are named Mork and Mindy (heretofore known as M&M).

Anyway, all this holy music makes me realize that it's time to update my list of funeral songs and email it to my sister to make sure my funeral stays current and hip and isn't given over to Mrs. Townsley, who'd probably play "To God Be the Glory" in honor of the one jillion times I had to play that hymn from 1994 to 2002. Don't get me wrong; being a church pianist rocks, but That. Hymn. BITES. The final moments of my funeral have been set in stone since 1998, when I had a three-day fever and lost ten pounds in (basically) 20 minutes and was this close to being taken to the hospital (and dying): as my brother and five of my platonic crushes carry out my mangled body, the BeeGees' "Stayin' Alive" will pipe in over the airwaves, and life-sized cardboard cut-out of me will pop up from the top of the coffin. I don't care what you say, I've been imagining this scene for 7 years now and I still think it's funny. SO THE KID STAYS IN THE PICTURE.

I'm gonna end this post now and post in a series because five people told me this week that my posts are too long and they can't make it through them. To be continued...in ten seconds.