I blame religious people for death. If America were a country of atheists, death would have been solved by now. We atheists know it's final. We grasp its seriousness. Tell an impressionable kid that Grandma, Grandpa, their dog Binky and their hamster Fluffo are all gone forever because we've never solved this whole death thing, and they're going to do what they can to help out.

"When I grow up," little Heather will proudly proclaim, "I'm going to solve death, so Binky and Fluffo and Grandma and Grandpa would never have to leave us."

But tell the kids that all these folks just wafted up to heaven, where they're given robes and halos and tambourines, and tell them we're all going to meet up later with Jesus for a fabulous, glittery reunion, and suddenly the kids won't take it that hard.

"Wow," little Heather says. "That's cool." Pause. "For Christmas, can I have a stripper pole?"

Frankly, then, I'm a little perturbed that we're making so much progress in so many other areas. Want aerosol scalp paint to cover up that bald spot? You got it. Want a crepemaker with built-in CB radio? Sharper Image has eight models. Want something to stop that heart attack? Oops. Would you settle for a toothbrush that plays "Don't Worry, Be Happy"?

Improving life is cool, but maybe it's time to focus on lengthening it. We've got TV channels dedicated to aging housewives, nostalgic war-mongers, tropical fruit. We've got remote-control can openers. We've got attachments that turn our vacuum cleaners into barber shops. And we're kicking off left and right.

So, adios, Farrah. It was fun, Ed. Great to know you, Michael. You're in our hearts forever. Right now, though, I gotta sign off. The mall opens at ten, and hot dogs on a stick don't exactly fry themselves.