A BoB short:

Shriya Shah-Klorfine, 33, of Toronto had dreamed of climbing to the top of Mount Everest since she was nine-years old. On Saturday, after an intense seven-week sojourn to the top, Shah-Klorfine placed a flag on the mountain’s summit, becoming the fourth Canadian woman to scale Mount Everest.

But she did not have much time to relish achieving her lifelong dream. Shah-Klorfine died later that day alongside three fellow climbers during their descent. According to some reports, the deaths were the result of exhaustion and altitude sickness.

“My wife was someone who lived life to its fullest, with irrepressible energy and vitality,” said her husband, Bruce Klorfine, in a statement to the Canadian Press. “She died in the pursuit of her dreams, and with the satisfaction of having achieved them.”

On the climb’s website, the self described “daring lady” patriotically declared, “This is my dream and passion, and [I] want to do something for my country.” Shah-Klorfine was born in Nepal but considered Canada her home. She boisterously added, “Nothing is impossible in this world, even the word ‘impossible’ says ‘I M POSSIBLE!’ ”

The main climbing season on Everest runs from March to June, providing a narrow window of opportunity for adventurers. An estimated 150 climbers took advantage of a break in the weather on Saturday to attempt to reach the top, leading to congestion and potentially lethal delays for any carrying limited oxygen supplies.

- Emily Olesen

Macho Man is dead.

Who’s next? Hulk Hogan? The Ultimate Warrior? Jake The Snake Roberts? In fact, how the hell did Jake with all his drugging and boozing outlive Randy Savage anyway?

As more of these forgotten heroes enter their 50s and even 60s (yikes!), I guess they’re going to start dropping like flies. All the ‘roids and pills and liquor and drugs. Hard to believe some more of them haven’t met the same fate as good ol’ Randy.

I have to admit I felt a bit empty when I read about Savage’s death in a car crash, after a suspected heart attack. But why the melancholy? It’s been almost 20 years since I watched or even cared about wrestling. I can’t remember the last time my brother pile-drived me into the cement in our semi-finished basement. No idea where my old hard-as-nails plastic action figures are. My ancient Wrestlemania VHS tapes were sold long ago in a garage sale.

That being said, I got a boyish thrill when Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler did so well a few years ago. And I was bummed when Mickey Rourke lost out to his buddy Sean Penn at the Oscars. I even found myself defending the realness of wrestling to my wife the other day. “Yeah, it’s fake, but you have to invent your character and hone your skills. You can’t just be some muscle-bound monkey off the street and be champ the next week.”

What was I saying? Who cares! It’s bloody wrestling. My wife is right. It is fake. Wrestlers are actors. Their antics rival those on the daytime soaps for absurdity. They’re just a bunch of goons in banana-hammocks, pounding each other into oblivion.

But Macho Man was always my favourite. I can still hear my dad mimicking his trademark “oooh yeah!” and “Dig it!” and me and my brother crying for more. Those were great times. Some of the best times we had.

Oh. So I guess that’s why his death hit me so hard.

Sorry for calling you a goon, Randy. Rest in peace.

Zobmondo is a wonderfully bizarre book crammed with handy conversation starters for parties or family gatherings, as is the board game. Let’s play. The idea is to choose from one of two, weird alternatives, for example: “Would you rather have to kill Winnie the Pooh or Bambi?” Or here’s a question that it probably wouldn’t be wise to ask at an animal activists’ convention: “Would you rather bite the head off a live gopher or thoroughly lick a cat’s butt?”

Having fun yet? Try other questions here.

Granted, these are unlikely scenarios. So here’s a real-life one: would you rather have the right to kill and skin a cat 200 or more meters from your home or have the right to put your goldfish in a fully transparent tank? Under Switzerland’s new animal rights legislation, the correct choice is mandated. The Swiss can kill and skin a cat as long as it’s far enough from one’s property, and sell the pelt. A Swiss goldfish, on the other hand, must have some privacy; therefore, it can’t be kept in an entirely see-through tank.

The Swiss have gone even further to protect their scaly friends: by 2009, fish must be snuffed in a humane fashion. That means immediately after capture (except for the ones destined for that fish tank, I guess) and with a blunt instrument. As well, hooks and live bait can only be used in certain situations, and anglers must take a course in the art of humane fishing.

Sounds to me like there are a lot more fish-huggers than cat fanciers being heard in Switzerland at the moment.

This raises a host of questions. Will the Swiss also have to kill their cats humanely? Would a cat killing a goldfish be humane, or would the cat owner be charged? One couldn’t blame a Swiss cat for reaching out and snuffing the life of a juicy goldfish that swam contentedly around its partially private fish bowl, especially if the cat’s impetus was frustration at the inequality of the animal rights system. Switzerland is the only European country that still permits the sale of cat pelts, although the Economy Minister has promised to end that soon.

Canada appears to be strangely silent about fish-killing practices and acceptable standards, although people the world over know our standards on seal-clubbing. If clubbing a fish is deemed humane in Switzerland, perhaps we can assume that’s the kindest way to end all animal and aquatic life. Too bad we can’t ask the seals.

On the other hand, Canadians don’t have the right to skin and wear bothersome cats. Further, we actually get upset when a cat is tortured or killed, as demonstrated by the case of four Camrose, Alberta teenaged boys who broke into a home in December 2007. As the other teens likely stood and watched, two of the boys microwaved the family cat. The two 16-year olds were recently sentenced to 100 hours of community service each. They also have to get rid of their family dog, can’t play video games, and have a strict curfew. There was no mention of being denied further access to microwaves.

So . . . let’s play Zobmondo again: Would you rather microwave a live goldfish or stop killing other living creatures altogether and not have to worry about humane death methods?

Note: no cats or fish were harmed in the writing of this article.

Death is inevitable. Even worse, death can be expensive. Granted, we won’t live with the expense once we’re gone, but our offspring or friends may.

Fortunately, the options for disposal are many.

Among them is procrastination. Alan Derek of Bristol, England lived with his dead room-mate’s remains on his sofa for at least five years, and as many as 10, depending on which account one reads. (The BBC version of the story: “For more than five years.” The Guardian: “For up to eight years.” The Scotsman: “For nearly 10 years.”) All would agree it was a long time for a corpse to share space on a couch. Though no foul play was involved, neighbours believe that Derek, who is said to have mental health problems, was afraid to contact authorities.

On the other hand, Ivan Bosanac of Zagreb, Croatia postponed the need to dispose of his remains. Bosanac’s nephew reported him missing in 1999, but it wasn’t until August 2007 that his body was discovered by a neighbour, who told the Vecernji List he found the skeleton, dressed in a winter coat, when he went to clean the attic apartment. Said the neighbour: “I’m sure it is Ivan. I knew him for years.”

If you’d rather not linger after you’re gone, you might want to make your own arrangements. The options range from free to exorbitant. Among the latter — possibly more appealing to exhibitionists-at-heart than the average human being — is to donate your body to art. The Body Worlds exhibit displays bodies in which water in the cells is replaced with plastic. Another free alternative is to donate one’s body to science by simply following the directions on such sites as the Anatomy Gifts Registry.

If being a science experiment makes you queasy, simple cremation is a popular and inexpensive alternative, the choice of over 70% of British Columbians. It’s more expensive than donating, but you can always opt for immediate disposition: cremation with no funeral, but with an urn provided for the ashes. The costs range from $750 — $965.

Burial is more expensive and the cost is on the rise. There are several elements to consider, including coffin styles (ranging from cardboard to mahogany), linings, services, and plots. In Abbotsford, B.C. the cost of a burial plot alone will double as of April: up to $4294 from $2147. In Surrey, the cost is $1600 for residents and $2550 for non-residents. And space is running out. So little room is left in Vancouver that many of their dead now reside on the North Shore and in Burnaby.

One unique alternative is a “memorial reef,” composed of cast concrete containing cremated remains. The reef is dropped into the sea to create new habitats for marine life. Costs range from $2495 for the Sea Oates Community Reef to $6495 for the Mariner Memorial Reef, which weighs in at 3800-4000 lbs.

If you’re concerned about taking up valuable real estate above or below sea level, a classy option is to have LifeGem turn your carbon into a synthetic diamond. You’ll still have to pay for a burial or cremation, as all they need to turn you into jewelry is a strand of hair or 8 oz. or less of toasted remains. But you’ll sure be pretty. Costs range from $3499-$19,999 for a loose diamond, with settings extra.

Looking for an even more high-end after-life? For $67,000, Summum will provide permanent mummification. The finished product is then wrapped in cloth and covered in a decorative or traditional casket. Or turn yourself into a corpsicle. Cryonics is the not-so-ancient art of using cold temperatures to stop the dying process when ordinary medicine no longer can. While the law requires the individual be legally dead, cryonics begins the moment the heart stops beating, in hopes that a cure will one day be found for whatever ailed the “client,” who can then be revived and healed. Alcor Life Extension Foundation will preserve an entire body for $150,000, or, for a bargain-basement $80,000, they’ll do just the brain, a process known as neuropreservation. So far, though, proof of concept remains elusive — no cryonically-preserved corpse has yet been brought back to life.

While it’s true that nothing in life is certain except death and taxes, at least the former offers some choices. Take your pick, while you can.