The memorial service happened. I was pretty cynical about the whole thing. First of all, the irony of having a Jesus-this, Jesus-that minister make nice talk about an archaologist whose focus was the peopling of the Americas say, 100,000 years ago.

Then there was all the talk about this saintly figure who walked among us... He was a figure in his field, I hear. Fine. But the man was also somewhat paranoid, always seeing people as back-stabbing him. And that was no saint, this man who was on his fourth marriage. Or who, once-upon-a-time, decided that he'd let my mother "raise the boys". His accomplishments were professional -- not personal.

I dislike the way that the traditions of grief in the US involve smoothing over every wrinkle. When I die, talk some trash about me, folks. Nice guy that I am, I'm still an irritating, dysfunctional bastard in many respects -- and don't you forget it.