R.I.P. Philboyd Studge

As someone who has occasionally referred to himself as a Bokononist, tongue firmly planted in cheek and entirely unsure whether or not it belonged there, I would be remiss if I did not devote at least a small amount of this blog space to acknowledge the passing of Kurt Vonnegut.

One of the ironies about Vonnegut's passing is how difficult it is to truly mourn him, as it was he who taught us (through our galactic friends the Tralfamadorians) that all moments are always happening, so anyone who is dead is alive and happy at some other moment. So we simply say, "So it goes." Some of us may also whisper, "Busy, busy, busy."

There's a striking passage in Cat's Cradle. The narrator has been trying to understand Bokononism, and he finally asks, "What is sacred to Bokononists?" The response he receives is simple and direct: "Man. That's all. Just man."

Why is that the funniest writers always also seem to be the most poignant?

And then there's this passage, from Breakfast of Champions: "What else is sacred? Oh, Romeo and Juliet, for instance.

"And all music is."

If you want, you can stick to books written by saints. Personally, I will always prefer books written by pillars of salt.

Song lyric of the day:
"Hey Secret Agent X-9
Why don't you drop me a line?"
- Modest Mouse, Secret Agent X-9