Can One of You Be My Next of Kin?

I called my father the other day to get his input on my garden (which is all planted now, and I'm very excited about it!). He had to call me back, and it happened that I was crossing the street when my phone rang. So we had this conversation:

I should send my dad this picture.

Dad: What's up?
Me: Hang on, I have to turn up the volume. I can't hear you over the traffic.
Dad: What?
Me: I'm crossing the street.
Dad: What?
Me: I'm walking to the bus stop.
Dad: Walking?
Me: Yes, walking. It's this thing people do when they don't have cars.
Dad: Where's your car?
Me: I don't have a car.
Dad: What? (You begin to see the common theme here.)
Me: I don't have a car. I ride my bike and take the bus.
Dad: What happened to your car?
Me: We sold it when we moved to Austin.
Dad: Oh. I thought you had a car.
Me: Nope, not since we've lived here.

You can see here that 1. I wasn't exaggerating when I said my parents don't read my blog; 2. Turns out my dad isn't losing sleep over my cycling all over the place after all; and 3. If you've read my blog for one day, you know more about my current life than my father does. Maybe he should check in with my grandma (his mother); I write to her about twice a year. She's probably more informed than he is. (And no, it's not like I haven't told my father this before. He also doesn't know what my major is. I'm not sure that he remembers offhand that I live in Austin.)

So, clearly, should anything ever happen to me, I'm going to need one of you to step in and tell the relevant authorities what I've been doing lately. Any takers?