Douglas Adams, R.I.P.
Douglas Adams, author of the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series of books, of which I am a fan, passed away from a heart attack yesterday at the age of 49 – that’s the official story, anyway. Rumors have been circulating online which reveal that Adams’ untimely departure was actually the result of a slight warp in the fabric of spacetime which had the unfortunate effect of erasing him from existence.
Now, I’ve read the arguments against the existence of warps in the fabric of spacetime. But I have seen such warps with my own two eyes. On the train this morning, a large, chubby, bald man with a beard and dark sunglasses entered the car behind me and sat down across from me. The headphones this man was wearing did nothing to dampen the Kenny-G-type soprano-saxophone-based easy-listening music he was listening to at a very high volume. In addition to this he was swaying his large head back and forth, not just bopping along in time to the music, but engaging in some sort of complicated cranial choreography, almost ritualistic in its complexity. Suddenly light began to bend along the contours of his body, and space itself began to distort. I had to look away lest I lose my sanity; in fact, I think that I have lost a portion from that mere second. The light around the man continued to bulge and pinch and bubble, and as the train pulled into my station, the man swirled out of sight.
So rest in peace, Douglas Adams, and wherever you may be, I hope that this other guy’s headphones are more effective on the other side.