Ideally, you should have a permanent yet frangible, perhaps copper-gilt limestone or something vulnerable to acid rain, large marker with a hundred score partly intelligible yet important and interesting words on it, written in a hard-to-decipher but elegant and beautiful script.
And there should be instruments nearby (on chains to protect casual theft).
For cleansing and restoration.
Take what can be used from the remains.
Take the remainer, grind finely, and add to the compost pile. Don’t let the funery industry get a red cent more than they are required by law to get.
Then take all the money saved there, and have a nice proper bash with my family and friends.
Dad did it right, IMHO. My Dad’s in the closet. 
He died, having left specific instructions regarding organ harvesting. He was older than 70, so only the kidneys and liver were harvestable ( PA state law. Apparently that varies state to state).
He wanted to be cremated. He was. He’s in the closet now. Mom will sprinkle him in the ocean this summer. He loved the ocean, and stood in almost all of them worldwide during his lifetime.
I like the idea of a cheap disposal, and a big party produced with the funds saved.
Or, donate the big bucks you woulda spent to a charity. Or invest it in a new car and name it after the deceased. 
OK… a little late, but here goes:
50% of ashes sprinkled throughout my veggie garden
The other 50% sprinkled into the injection mold of a Frisbee machine to make as many NON-biodegradable Frisbees as possible so I can bequeath my favorite toy to all my children’s children’s children’s children, etc.
“Here…shut the fuck up, go outside, and take your damn great-great-grandpa with you.”
I would like to be buried in the ground naked without a box or a drop of chemicals, no watch, jewely, dentures or glasses. Nothing. Come by in a year or 2 and plant a tree over me.
Oh, and as for music,
Sympathy for the Devil
Sorry about that. I really should learn to warn people before tossing out that line (it’ll probably prove to be my best line ever [which means mebbe it should be my epitaph!]).
outlierrn: Good luck finding a place to be buried. These modern grave factories shudder at the thought of somebody planting so much as a crocus, much less a whole tree. I’ll take an old cemetery with character any day.
[Bob Knight]
When my time on Earth is gone,
And my activities here are past,
I want they should bury me upside-down,
and my critics can kiss my ass
[/Bob Knight]
That’d be fun. And a great epitaph to boot!
For me this about wraps it up…
Please don’t bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I’d druther have “em” cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don’t mind the size
Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get “em” out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I’ve got your nose
Sell my heart to the junkman
And give my love to Rose
from John Prine…
Full lyrics Please Dont Burry Me
tsfr
I want my services in the afternoon, because I won’t be getting up early for the funeral and by God neither should anybody else.
Take what y’all can use from the body, cause I won’t need it anymore.
If any of my family is still alive-- which they shouldn’t be, my final responsibility is to outlive my ancestors-- they’ll probably want to bury me. Well, bury me in my steel-toed boots, in Levi’s, and one of my t-shirts-- and a pack of smokes and lighter in the pocket, because I’ve quit for the rest of my life, and I never said anything about after that. Oh, and somethin’ to read. And my glasses! Don’t forget to bury me in those!
I would not mind a minister to say something at my services, but I also want a designated heckler in the crowd in case the minister gets onto that hellfire topic.
If my family’s all gone, then I’d like to be cremated, and I’d like my ashes sent somewhere I’ve never been.
Preferably–Mars.
(We’re a bunch of space nuts, aren’t we?)
I’ll be the voice of convention as the other end of the spectrum from the OP. Traditional Catholic Mass, burial in consecrated ground. My parents have the list of readings and hymns to sing (“Sing With All the Saints in Glory” is essential as is the Luke “you will be with me today in paradise”).
The only twist would be that after the official service is over, I want them to blast “Blow Gabriel Blow” from the De-Lovely movie soundtrack over the sound system.
I was low, Gabriel, low,Mighty low, Gabriel, low.
But now since that I have seen the light
I’m good by day and I’m good by night
So blow, Gabriel, blow.
snip
And now I’m all ready to fly,
Yes, to fly higher and higher!
'Cause I’ve gone through brimstone
And I’ve been through the fire,
And I purged my soul
And my heart too,
So climb up the mountaintop
And start to blow, Gabriel, blow
snip
I want to join your happy band
And play all day in the Promised Land.
So blow, Gabriel!
First call the organ donations people, in case there’s anything they can use.
What’s left gets put in a stretcher, wrapped up in a blanket with something heavy and tossed into the sea.
I like fishies, don’t mind being eaten by them.
I am an organ donor of course. I have also donated my body to medical research. (I read the book ‘Stiff,’ and as graphic as it was, it shows the need for good-looking bodies like mine.)
I have told everyone I do not desire any sort of Masonic service, for no good reason I just would rather not. I have left $100 payable in beer to my military burial detail. Someday some sergeant major is going to say ‘Hell, when I was a kid we buried this one guy who provided us beer. My kind of officer.’
I have also written my own Obit (I love obits, so few are well-written though), and a farewell to the Dope.
Some small attempts at immortality.
They’d just leave me where I died as people would be too busy fleeing the earth in advance of the sun becoming a red giant. Plus people would be tired of me telling them about how the continents used to look like “back in my day”. 
I don’t know about the other details, but the one thing that must occur is my corpse sitting up and yelling “Gotcha ya!”