Come here, listen to me talk

Come+here%2C+listen+to+me+talk

I’m so tired. My parents are vegans. They told me that they aren’t eating anything that has a mama or a daddy. I think they are crazy. On the other hand, I’m listening to a Kenny Rogers/Wyclef Jean collab, remixed with a Pharoah Monch beat. I am also drinking Wild Turkey with Apple Cider. Who am I to talk ?
It seems like the Zeitgeist is going back to the oldschool. The intelligentsia are fleeing from food produced by Big Brother’s Big Ag. The hipster crowd and the old timers are taking to the farmers market. Bands like Béla Fleck and the Fleckones are rocking tones that my grandparents would. The ecclectic eccentrics are making their lives out of reading people’s faces and knowing the cards by knowing people’s eyes. Maybe that last part is the Kenny Rogers talking. Likely the cider.

Why can’t I just be a professional German? In that sort of world,  everything would have a meter, everything would have a measure– everything would make sense. Instead, we live in a changing world. It isn’t just the world that is changing. It is our understanding of the world that is changing. Hopefully it is improving. I doubt it. I suppose that we are an analog of our ancestors. We are just different enough to say we are getting better, but not so much that we could claim we understand this cosmos in which we float, like a mote of dust, as my friend Carl Sagan would say.
I like to hear the raindrops fall down and the thunderclap as it cascades through the living room, across our cat’s tail and into my ear. This is the same world my parents and grandparents and their parents and grandparents knew, but somehow, it is different.
Every new generation, each new decay, has a new look on the same old stuff, it seems. Maybe I’m being too existential for an entertainment column. Perhaps both of my regular readers will pardon the rant. The sensation I get from spewing out this rant is what I imagine it would be like if I was skipping thoughts like river stones into the void.  Maybe I am. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
Whatever the case may be, we go through the same patterns, the same routines, recite the same scenes and the same schemes. This world isn’t forgiving.

Are you searching for meaning in this article? Do you feel like you missed it?. Maybe this article is like life. You could spend the entirety of it questing for meaning, but come to a close without realizing you were searching for nothing at all. Maybe by engaging in our “distractions”, like writing an entertainment column or listening to your favorite band,  we are engaging in the true meaning of life. Maybe we are losing touch with what really matters. Maybe my words like our lives are just tears in the rain. Maybe I still have some more Apple Cider. Maybe  meaning is something we can search for, but something we won’t find, until it is over.