When somebody dies, and a picture is published of the deceased, I’m always happiest when the picture is several years old. If the picture is too new, I’m distracted by background objects.
For example, when Vonda McEroe dies at age 77, and there’s a picture of her in 1985 with a console television and an old VCR, I think “Yeah – she lived a full life.” But, when Vonda McEroe dies at age 77 and there’s a digital image of her holding the most recent iPhone to hear ear, and I can see a Netflix DVD resting on the same Ikea bookshelf that sits in my living room, I think “JESUS. Here today, gone tomorrow. I could be next.”
Therefore, when my time comes, please publish only photographs of me that are at least twenty years old. I will look significantly better, and people will be less provoked. However, if I die of a heart attack, and there’s a picture of me eating a Double Down from KFC – that would be funny, and I would want that blown up, framed and placed on an easel at the head of the casket.