“Life is no way to treat an animal, not even a mouse."
Most of you are probably aware of Kurt Vonnegut's passing. He is one of the very few people for whom it would be a compliment to that the world is a happier place without him.
There was a memorial reading for him in Wilder tonight. Half a dozen people showed up in a room with chairs for thirty, and we spent the first ten minutes in silence. Not reverent silence, but awkward, embarrassed silence, as if all of us had gotten lost on the way to a furry porn festival. One of the organizers completely forgot about the event, and ditched to record an album or something. The other showed up late. Only two of the others brought Vonnegut-things to read (one of which was pretty excellent).
"Does anyone have a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five?" apologized Jon Good. "I was going to go to the library this afternoon, but I forgot."
"Me too," agreed someone else. "Same book."
More awkward silence.
Vonnegut would have approved.