Another Entry for The Ether

Cliche Alert: Life is short. It's almost shorter than I can comprehend. For example, I'll post a blog entry one day, and then I'll return the next day to post another blog entry, because I'm trying to write every day, or at least every other day, and I look at the previous day's entry which, strangely, is dated over a week ago. Time is slipping by me without notice. I seem to have entered a time-warp, an inescapable black hole that accompanies my forties. I've taken stock of my life and the shelves are too empty for my liking. I contemplate life's meaning for five lousy minutes and three precious weeks fly by. Meanwhile, people are dying. People I know. It makes me question everything I do and why. It takes mere seconds to pose these questions, yet more weeks fly by as I ponder them. I watch a bunch of History Channel specials on The Universe and I learn about Mercury and Saturn and comets, and evolution and I think about how speck-like we all are. We are but one little Who-ville on Horton's dandelion of life. The earth spent billions of years burning and spinning and forming into continents and oceans and atmosphere and one-cell organisms and dinosaurs and monkeys and humans and yet, I sit here on billions of atoms that make up a chair and spend time deleting emails whose text insist I refinance my house, divulge my bank account number, or enlarge my penis.

Every generation talks about how the next generation is so spoiled and walks around with a sense of entitlement and they don't appreciate anything they have. I would submit that they don't appreciate anything they are born with. If you shove a silver spoon in a newborn's mouth, it serves as an unappreciated benchmark. since no work was required to attain it. Just as no work was required to attain our human bodies. It was given to us by someone else's labor, not ours. So the laborer may appreciate it, but not the laboree. That's right, we are all just a bunch of lazy and ungrateful laborees, pouring our energy into worrying about all the THINGS we don't have. I may be digressing here and wandering aimlessly and have no point, but it's my blog, so what the hell, right? If you don't like what you read, you can just change the damn channel.

All over the world, people are completely missing the point and gathering hoardes in their wake to do their bidding. And I'm not just talking about hate. I'm including the ideas that seep into our psyche in the form of advertising. Everything from Burger King to Viagra to Eric Estrada's idea of Paradise-like real estate to con man Kevin Trudeau's claim of what They Don't Want You To Know About to Channel 13's breath-baiting Story You Don't Want To Miss Because It Could Kill You And You The People Have a Right To Know, Just Not Right Now to any noun prepended with the word "deluxe".

This diatribe only scrapes the surface, but I don't want to bore you further with my own narcissistic babble. A writer must be able to analyze her audience, all four of you, and know when to change direction. I'm going to go back to my scratch pad and figure out a way to sneak in the self-serving hot air-ness without boring you to death about it. It must be entertaining to keep the your attention.

Hello?

Is any one still there?

{SIGH}