When my time comes, there will be no article in Wired.

When my time comes, the people who do know me and care about me, probably won't know till well after my cats have turned my corpse into their final kitty buffet.

If anything, I'll be the standard news-of-the-wierd story of a life gone bad, the usual story of didn't tkae it seriously, just too busy, whatever excuses my friends will come up with, to soothe any hurt they might feel. Or maybe they'll just go, "About time".