RE: The meaning of life

My second go at answering this, since my first one got eaten by the computer, the internet, or both.

"What is the meaning of life? And don't bother answering 49!" -Stephanie

Thanks for the question, you're always on it.

I enjoy this question and its variations. The meaning of life, the secret of life, the secret to life, etc. I've always had an answer to this, though it has changed pretty much every time. In the first draft I put a joke about the meaning of life being Rhubarb, which made sense in context, but since that version was lost, I'm not going to try it again.

The secret of life is love.

That's it. In all its capacity, that's what life is, is about, and what it means. At least, as far as I know at this moment in time.

Also, the answer to life, the universe and everything is 42, not 49. Just being pedantic.

Vinnie out!

Would you lend me a Q for my A?

I think I know my issue with blogs. I can't help but feel like I am talking into a vacuum. I'm not used to that, I am used to feedback. On stage, I get instant feedback. Even if there is no sounds of laughing or coughing, I can feel when the room is focused on the story, on the moment of interaction. I hate to admit it, but as much as I pretend to be a writer (I do enjoy being on my own), I am an actor, and I need people, I need conversation, I need interaction. What I've really felt writing this blog is that while I may have an audience in mind (albeit one person, depending on my mood), I'm really writing to no one, at least that is my feeling on this end. Doesn't that sound so whiney and camp? "Ooh, poor poor me, wasting my fingers away on this cold, plastic mat, coated with the most basic elements of language with nobody to share it with." Yeah. Lame. Ignore that bit, that's the actory side of me. Now, the equally vain but deeper part of me wants this to be a dialogue, or conversation. At least less of me talking to the Great Wall of the internet.

Man, I remember my metaphors being much more intelligent. I thought doing a lot of reading today would have helped that bit. Oh well. Here's what it is: I want questions. I want to answer questions. I do have thoughts all day long, but it gets tiring answering my own questions, especially when if I know I'm the only one listening, I won't surprise myself with the answers. I only surprise myself when I'm talking with other [real] people. Like when you have a problem that's bugging you, and the second you ask someone else about it you get the answer. That's what it's like, but I am also aware that when the pressure is on, that's how writing is. When I've truly had pressure to write, the most amazing connections and solutions come out of me, because I can't rely on time and thinking, only on the moment and how brilliantly ideas coalesce, like turning coal into diamonds with heat and pressure. Then again I sometimes get ridiculously long sentences. Short ones too. For effect.

All my ramblings aside, I want questions. Whatever they are. Bring me the heat and pressure.

Something is a nothing

Something may be better than nothing, but only depending on the something. Like kiwi pie. It's better than no pie.

In some cases, nothing is a desirable something. Like a kiwi allergy. No kiwi pie is better than some.

Here's a question: Is having a car accident better than not having a car? I guess that kind of depends on the outcome.

This may be too deep for the morning.