or 101 Ways to Start a Fight With a Broken Bottle in Belgium
Today is the last day of 2009. Unless you’re in Japan at the moment, in which case 2009 is already gone and it’s 2010. It’s also possible that the last day 2009 was yesterday if you are, in fact, reading this tomorrow. If you’re reading this in the year 2378 you’ll need to do the math to determine how long ago 2009 was and also future space reader, thanks for reading my blog. Althought presumably I’m dead in that scenario so I guess I won’t really care if you read it or not. I suppose I could still be alive but very old. Probably so old that I wouldn’t be concerned about a blog. With my attention span, it’s likely that I’ll not be concerned with this blog in 45 minutes.
Time is a funny thing. Or a relative thing. I guess it’s both… it’s a relatively funny thing. Interestingly enough, it doesn’t exist. It’s just a sort of social contract between humans to just sort of agree on a unit of measure of our lives. Some could argue that it’s tangible, like other units of measure because it’s based on the Earth’s rotation and spinning and flying around and such (I’m sure that’s exactly how’d they’d argue it too) but if god (who will be played by Minnesota Fats in this story) were to chalk up his interstellar pool cue and try a bank shot with the Earth spinning it off in a new direction, would a day still be a day if the sun rose and set 362 times a second? I imagine no one would be alive to ponder such a thing what with life being snuffed out in the name of galatic billiards (it’d have to be a very large table, but god’s got an enormous gameroom… where did you think all that tithing ended up? He also has a cocktail table version of Ms Pacman.).
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