I want to preface this entry with an appropriate quote from Chuck Klosterman's "Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs" (it's an amazingly hilarious book that you should read!)

Timothy McVeigh was executed on June 11 of 2001. Around the time of his execution, the Chicago Tribune ran a breakdown of all 168 people killed in the Oklahoma City bombinb. Here are some examples of how the victims were mentioned:

• Donald Earl Burns, Sr., 63, taught woodworking for many years.
• John Van Ess, 67, played national championship basketball as a student at Oklahoma A&M.
• Karen Gist Carr, 32, was a member of hte Toastmasters International.

There's nothing intrinsically wrong with any of these details. However, as I read and reread every little bio on the list, I found myself deflated by the realization that virtually everyone's life is only remembered for one thing. J.D. Salinger wroter Catcher in the Rye; for all practical purposes, that's it. He may as well have done nothing else, ever. As time passes, that book becomes his singular legacy. He's certainly famous, but 98 percent of the world doesn't know about anything else he's ever done. Eli Whitney invented the cotton gin; every other element of this existence is totally irrelevant. Bill Buckner let a ground ball go through his legs in the World Series and cost the Red Sox a championship; in fifty years, everything else about his career will be a footnote.

This doesn't just apply to second-rate celebrities, either. It's equally true for normal citizens (case in point: Oklahoma City bombing victim Oleta Christine Biddy was undoubtedly a complex human, but the readers of the Chicago Tribune only know that she "always had a smile on her face"). Beyond your closest friends, you can probably describe everyone you know with one sentence.

I think this is what motivates people to have children. Everyone agrees that creating life is important, so having a child guarantees you've done at least one act of consequence. Moreover, it extends the window for greatness; if your kid becomes president, your biography becomes "the parent of a president." The import of your existence can be validated by whoever you bring into the world. But this doesn't always work. In fact, sometimes it makes things worse. Which is why the most depressing thing about the Oklahoma City bombings is that there's now an innocent woman whose one-sentence newspaper bio will forever be, "She was Timothy McVeigh's mother."

I was wondering what people would say if I were to pass away tomorrow. Granted, it would probably be nice things, but what would it be? I don't feel like I've been a particularly great and consistent friend to anyone in particular, nor do I feel like I've been the best son. People say that I've accomplished a lot, but everything that's of any value in my life is all in the potential. I could created something great; so far my track record isn't great (For the record, I don't consider Tabulas a great accomplishment; anybody can create a free service that's successful given the netizen's appetite for free services. I'm not saying this to be modest either. It's a simple fact that I've long-sinced accepted. Tabulas' success will only be measured by its commercial success, which lies wholly on the success of 2.0.). I've not been a particularly great brother to my sister, nor was I a particularly great boyfriend to my ex (nor have I been a great post-relationship friend to her).

I haven't been a good student, and I haven't showed much work discipline over the past few months. So what am I?

If I were to die, how would I want to be remembered? Would I want someone to carry on hosting roykim.net forever? Would I want someone to just wrote a simple note on the front page telling the world of my untimely demise? Would people actually care more about my death or the fact that a lot of my services would now be suspended (come on, admit it ... you would care more about the services!!! the death of some random dude on the internet shouldn't concern you!).

I am for some reason always drawn back to tribute sites like this one. It's just a random person I've never met, yet now I know they're dead. It also is really weird to read the journals of dead people. Not really sure why, but all entries are written with the idea that there will be another one after it. But there isn't. And that bothers me a lot.

But yeah, if you were to pass away ... how would you like to be remembered?