There are lots of reasons for my abject fear and loathing of death. Lots and lots of damn good reasons.
Here’s one:
Alice’s Restaurent, the 1967 song by singer-songwriter Arlo Guthrie.
The song is a deadpan protest against the Vietnam draft in the form of a comically exaggerated but true story from Guthrie’s own life. In 1965, Guthrie was arrested and convicted of illegally dumping trash in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. This blotch on his otherwise spotless record later leads to him being rejected by the draft board.
He’s not allowed to kill human beings half a world away because he was once caught throwing trash onto the ground.
It’s a fantastic song. Amusing and poignant and clever. It’s nearly 19 minutes long, but it never feels long. It’s an absolute joy.
It’s also 53 years old, but I just learned about it last weekend. Listened to it for the very first time last weekend.
Last weekend!
What the hell else have I failed to discover in this world? What other infinite number of amusements have I yet to stumble upon? Imagine if I had been hit by a bus on Saturday morning and squished before finally getting the chance to listen to this half-century old song.
A potential tragedy in the making.
Even worse, Elysha knew all about the song and had apparently been holding out on me.
There are many reasons why I fear death. Every single one of them is legitimate. Every single one is ever-present in my mind. This list includes the fear of missing out on all this glorious world has to offer.
