Well, fellow internet users, wonder no more. As of today, Google is giving users the opportunity to “plan their digital afterlife,” with a new feature called Inactive Account Manager, according to their Public Policy Blog. This feature allows users to leave instructions for the management of their so-called “digital assets” after they die. So if you get bored of G-chatting and cleaning out your spam folder during office downtime, take some time to wrestle with your mortality. There’s an app for that!

The account manager can be found on the Google Account settings page. From there, users can instruct Google what to do with their Gmail messages and other Google data should their accounts become inactive for a certain period of time. Users can choose a timeout period of three, six, nine or twelve months. At this point, Google will send users a text message and e-mail a secondary address to make sure they are actually dead, and haven’t just, like, decided to go back to using hotmail or something (RIP, catlover1998@hotmail.com).

Once Google has verified that you are no longer of this earth, your data will either be deleted or sent to “trusted contacts.” So now is the time to think long and hard about which of your cyber-buddies you want to bequeath all your worldly digital possessions too. Also doubles as a great snub for someone that you've left out of your actual will!

As the post on Google's blog reads:

“We hope that this new feature will enable you to plan your digital afterlife — in a way that protects your privacy and security — and make life easier for your loved ones after you’re gone.”

Ah yes. Because nothing eases the pain of losing a loved one like being sent all their old emails.

The victim, Robert Ethan Saylor (ABC)

Today's ruling won't bring back Robert Saylor, the young man who died in police custody after employees of a Frederick, MD multiplex called the cops on the 26-year-old with Down Syndrome for trying to sit through a second screening of Zero Dark Thirty. (He had only paid for one viewing.) But the court's decision on Friday to call the death what it was--a homicide--is a step in the direction of justice, which is more than can be said for the case thus far.

Here is the order of events from the evening, according to ABC's Channel 7:

Saylor was at a movie theater with a health aide in Frederick on the night of the incident. He had just watched Zero Dark Thirty and refused to leave the theater after the film ended, authorities say.

Three deputies were called to handle the situation. Saylor was handcuffed and was allegedly resisting arrest when he had what authorities describe as a medical emergency.

According to a law enforcement source familiar with the case, the 26-year-old went into distress when he was put face down on the ground.

Deputies removed the handcuffs and took him to a hospital, where he was later declared deceased.

Frederick New Post wrote that Mr. Saylor died of asphyxiation, adding that "the deputies who were with Saylor at the time of his death, identified as Lt. Scott Jewell, Sgt. Rich Rochford and Deputy First Class James Harris, continue to work their normal assignments while the case is being investigated."

All three deputies "exercised their rights under the Law Enforcement Officers' Bill of Rights and have not made statements in the case." Frederick County State's Attorney Charlie Smith said he won't pursue a "partial file," since the medical examiner has only provided them the cause and manner of death. The same goes for the internal investigation in the police department, which is still waiting on information like the location of Saylor's caretaker, and whether or not there were any witnesses before they try to extract statements from the officers' involved.

A re-creation of what didn't happen to Justin Bieber. (Getty)

During a recent gig at Madison Square Garden, Justin Bieber was not, we repeat, was NOT, strangled to death with a paisley tie and then castrated in a plan hatched by a convicted child rapist and murderer serving time in a New Mexico prison. Once again: this did not happen.

But it almost did.

The strange story begins with Dana Martin, a 45-year-old with a Justin Bieber tattoo on his calf, who is serving out a life sentence in Las Cruces for the rape and murder of a 15-year-old Vermont girl in 2000. Mr. Martin met parolee-to-be Mark Staake in prison, and hatched a plan to have Mr. Staake and his nephew Tanner Ruane prune Mr. Bieber of his plums during his November 28 concert at Madison Square Garden. Each testis was worth $2,500, according to The New York Post, which, most tween fans well tell you, is quite a low-ball number (woof) for such pricey family jewels.

The other element of this totally fail-proof plan was Mr. Staake and Mr. Ruane strangling Mr. Bieber to death with a paisley tie. Yes, it had to be paisley. No, the color didn't matter. It just had to be paisley.

Luckily, when the bumbling duo were picked up separately by the authorities, their plan was easily traced back to Mr. Martin, as he had strangled his last victim with a paisley tie.

For now, Mr. Bieber's balls remain safe. And probably insured for much more than $2,500, though lord knows some people *cough*ScooterBraun*cough* would probably be happy to have Mr. Bieber remain a prepubescent castrato for the rest of his life.

Bedos, Richard, Fonda, Rich and Chaplin in All Together.

Jane Fonda’s first French-speaking film in 40 years finds her leading a joyous ensemble of septuagenarians in a sweet, thoughtful and spirited examination of how to grow old with dignity and pride in a regrettable era when senior citizens have been reduced to the status of a political agenda. At 74, Ms. Fonda is a testament to the benefits of exercise, the stimulation of cognitive effort, up-to-the-minute cosmetics, a healthy lifestyle—and the money to afford them all. She is glorious at any age, in any language, and is a class act on the screen who is always welcome. 

In All Together, sensitively directed by Stéphane Robelin from his own intelligent screenplay, five close friends for 40 years who begin to sense, feel and smell their own mortality decide to bypass the cruel third act that awaits them, circumventing the inevitable horrors of the retirement home by moving in together. Jeanne (Fonda), born in America but living in France for most of her life, looks young enough to be the others’ granddaughter, but she’s an academic dying of an unspecified terminal disease who keeps her condition secret and confides in no one. Her husband, Albert (Pierre Richard), is a celebrated photographer in the early stages of Alzheimer’s who is losing his touch, balance and memory. Their friends Annie and Jean (Geraldine Chaplin and Guy Bedos) fight constantly, their outbursts fueled by the futility and frustration of Jean’s eroding virility as a left-wing political activist. He still finds plenty of passionate causes to protest, but nobody pays much attention to the anger and drive of an old man; even the police refuse to arrest him for disturbing the peace. The odd man out in their group is Claude (Claude Rich), a randy bachelor who still clings to his dwindling reputation as a lady-killer. His libido is still active, but his heart not on par with his sex drive. Climbing the stairs to visit a prostitute, he suffers a stroke. Gathering around his bed in the hospital while his grown son demands that he move to a pensioners’ home, the friends make a life-altering decision to move into Annie and Jean’s spacious home. If anything worse happens, Jeanne rationalizes, “we could all help each other cope.” In France, the movie is called And If We All Lived Together, which is probably a better title. From the day they all transport their books, music, creature comforts and boxes of belongings to the new house, the trajectoryfollows them through the experiences of aging—both funny and touching—with affection and compassion. Clearly they need each other to keep going. And the thread that links them is Jeanne’s handsome dog walker Dirk (Daniel Bruhl, who played the German war hero in Quentin Tarantino’s unforgettable Inglourious Basterds), an ethnology student who is studying them, culturally and domestically, for a Ph.D. dissertation he’s writing on senior citizens. Nothing of portentous profundity happens to address the Big Issues—Annie turns the garden into a swimming pool for her grandchildren, Albert’s dementia grows, and Claude bribes Dirk to fill a prescription for Viagra—but the inevitably sad ending is leavened by a sense of community that continues even after death. The acting is solid, and the maturity of vision mixed with humor should appeal to the same audience that turned The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel into such an unexpected runaway hit. Jane Fonda may be the marquee value, but she does not act like a star. Admirably, she fits into the veteran ensemble like the seasoned pro she is, and in All Together, she’s only one of the many important and diverse pieces of a jigsaw devoted to Ruth Gordon’s premise that age is only something they stamp in your passport.

rreed@observer.com

ALL TOGETHER

Running Time 96 minutes

Written and Directed by Stéphane Robelin

Starring Guy Bedos, Daniel Brühl and Geraldine Chaplin

3/4

Mr. Tyler managed to get off approximately 16 shots, wounding several other victims. The two dead are thought to have been specifically targeted by the gunman, who then opened up random fire on two separate parts of the store before turning the gun on himself.

So far, police have not identified the two victims, nor any predicating incidents that may have caused Mr. Tyler to single out these two of his fellow employees.

More news as this develops.

Fellag is Monsieur Lazhar.

From French-Canadian writer-director Philippe Falardeau, a filmmaker whose work is seldom seen outside of the Toronto International Film Festival, comes the Oscar-nominated Monsieur Lazhar, a tender, evocative film about how people of different ages and ethnic backgrounds can bridge generational gaps and learn from each other when they are united in a need to overcome grief. It is simple but eloquent, disturbing but humorous, and always gripping.

Expanded from a one-character play that was a huge theatrical success in Canada, Monsieur Lazhar is about a middle-aged Algerian immigrant named Bachir Lazhar (Mohamed Fellag) seeking political asylum in Quebec when he lands an important position in a Montreal elementary school to replace a beloved teacher who has just committed suicide in her classroom. Despite reservations, the overworked and distraught principal hires him based on his claim to 19 years of teaching experience in his native country. He has no idea what challenges he’s in for—traumatized children, a faculty as much in need of counseling as their students, and only one psychologist to address all of their problems. Generous, patient and caring, the new teacher works hard to win them over, focusing special attention on two of his unhappiest pupils—the 10-year-old boy who discovered the body of his teacher hanging from the ceiling and a girl who misinterprets the event and resents her classmate intensely, provoking him to violence. But the reason for his sad eyes and warm smile becomes evident as Mr. Lazhar’s hurdles at work are exacerbated by his own personal problems—the recent loss of his own children back home in Algeria, burned to death in a fire after his wife wrote a book criticizing the government, and the revelation that in Algeria he was a restaurant owner, not a teacher. He has lied about his credentials, placing his future in jeopardy with Quebecois authorities, but his faith in humanity remains undaunted. His wife was the teacher, persecuted for her political views and targeted for death, and as the days progress it becomes clear that Mr. Lazhar is using her humanitarian teaching methods to help others. It works. Between curing their nosebleeds and migraines, enduring their pranks and sharing their amusement at his broken English, he gradually earns their trust and wins them over. By disregarding the uptight pedagogical methods of the school board and encouraging his students to share their feelings, Mr. Lazhar learns to open up his own heart, face his own fears and confront his own grief, long hidden and dormant. Ignoring the warnings of the principal, he tries to reach the children by channeling his own personal experience with death and avoid deportation from Canada at the same time.

So many films about education present teachers and students as adversaries. Among the many strengths in Monsieur Lazhar is the way it unites them on the same team as they seek answers to heartbreaking questions about death. Considering the subject matter, it could have been a dour and very slow film indeed. But whether Mr. Lazhar is clashing with the baffled parents and academic robots who are barriers to the children’s emotional progress, or appealing to the compassion of fellow teachers, writer-director Falardeau fills each scene with so much movement and character revelation that you are always aware of the subtext. The movie fares best in its comparatively smaller moments, with continuing emphasis on Mr. Lazhar’s moving attempts to reach his pupils (i.e., breaking the rules by occasionally touching them with a show of affection they are missing at home, listening to their confessions, and encouraging them to express their feelings) on a level that extends beyond dictionaries and verb conjugations. The performances are perfect, the teacher’s idealism balances nicely against old-school cynicism, and the children bring an accuracy to their words and actions that never seems like acting, while Monsieur Lazhar builds hope in the face of tragedy and sheds new light on the question of what is truth and how we find it.

rreed@observer.com

MONSIEUR LAZHAR

Running Time 94 minutes

Written and Directed by Philippe Falardeau

Starring Mohamed Fellag, Sophie Nélisse and Émilien Néron

3.5/4

The soiree at 583 Park Avenue had kicked off with a sober multimedia tribute to the late photojournalists Tim Hetherington and Chris Hondros. But unlike previous years, even a cascade of wine and self-congratulation could not keep crushing mortality at bay. It was everywhere!

Los Angeles magazine snagged the feature writing prize for "The End," an exploration of what befalls the body after it dies.

Christopher Hitchens's Vanity Fair essays on his battle with esophageal cancer won the columns and commentary award. In accepting, Graydon Carter paid tribute to his longtime friend and colleague, but ended on a light note. "He's made remarkable signs of recovery--he's lowered his intake of Scotch," Mr. Carter joked, "but he has developed a taste for sherry."

And then there were the undead, the editors not present--they'd been fired or pushed out--but whose work lived on in the approval of the American Society of Magazine Editors. Harper's editor Ellen Rosenbush accepted the award for reporting, although her predecessor Roger D. Hodge had edited the winning piece, and Times Magazine editor Hugo Lindgren took home two Ellies for pieces published under Gerry Marzorati. The subjects of their award-winning work? The mysterious suicides at Guantanamo Bay prison and the bedrooms of dead soldiers, respectively.

From the "Last Supper"-style press table looking over the balcony, the crowd was reminiscent of a circle of Dante's Inferno but the Transom was informed that the ballroom had been built by Christian Scientists, who believe that death itself can be staved off by the healing powers of prayer and virtue.

For the secular reader, longevity is all one can hope for. To that end, ASME honored Rodale's service titles, Women's and Men's Health, the latter for a piece called "I Want My Prostate Back." On stage, editor Dave Zinczenko launched into a public service announcement about prostate cancer. It was second only to Tom Wolfe's Creative Excellence Award acceptance speech in length.

Life among the living remains, as T. S. Eliot wrote, very long.

kstoeffel@observer.com

"Even merchants of morbidity are entitled to the full protection of the law," he wrote. (Wait, really?)

So New Yorkers can now go back to puffing away in blissful ignorance of the harmful effects—poverty, cancer, etc.—of their vile if alluring habit. Which should make us all breathe just a little easier.

Meanwhile, if you're thinking of having a smoke right now to celebrate, the Daily News has thoughtfully compiled a slideshow of other anti-smoking grossout pics. Enjoy!

As for the people praying for his survival and begging against his death, Hitchens concedes just this much to the AP: "I think it's a nice gesture."

''I'm perfectly sure that there is nothing to be gained from it in point of my health, but perhaps I shouldn't even say that. If it would do something for my morale possibly it would do something for my health. We all know that morale is an element in recovery,'' he said. ''But incantations, I don't think, have any effect on the material world.''

Hitch gets even icier in the first installment of his Vanity Fair series, Topic of Cancer, asking his readers to "Please do not trouble deaf heaven with your bootless cries." This sentiment, however, is rejoined by something of a caveat: "Unless, of course, it makes you feel better." 

So go ahead and pray for Hitch! Especially if your lifestyle bears any resemblance to his "bohemian existence," and you want to delude yourself into thinking that your excessive smoking and drinking won't lead to, well, cancer. Just keep on praying.