I was thinking about Kurt Vonnegut's recent death when a certain person or persons at Virginia Tech murdered 32 people in a shooting spree.
As an upper middle class white kid who's never experienced suffering or tragedy of any serious kind, I thought I'd point out an excerpt from a speech Vonnegut gave at the University of Wisconsin-Madison on Sept. 22, 2003, in which he describes his late Uncle Alex, a bachelor, insurance salesman, and Harvard graduate:
"His principal complaint about other human beings was that they so seldom noticed it when they were happy. So when we were drinking lemonade under an apple tree in the summer, say, and talking lazily about this and that, almost buzzing like honeybees, Uncle Alex would suddenly interrupt the agreeable blather to exclaim, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'
"So I do the same now, and so do my kids and grandkids. And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"
So, by now you've probably smelled the grist of this article, which is an attempt not to be ham-fisted, sentimental, trite or maudlin in reiterating the most-reiterated truth of human knowledge, history, literature, and art; a truth that has been illustrated in the best ways already and through richer, more versatile, and less didactic media than newspaper columns.
Nevertheless, think today: life is short and every moment is precious.
In October 2002, songwriter Warren Zevon appeared on the David Letterman show. Zevon, a longtime friend of Letterman, had been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer and given months to live. This was to be Zevon's last public appearance and his last public performance.
Letterman was choked up throughout the whole show. He gingerly asked Zevon how he felt about his death sentence, and Zevon summed it up succinctly: "It really makes you enjoy every sandwich."
The only reason I bother to bore you with this article is that national tragedy seems to be the only thing that really shocks certain people enough to make them wake up and feel their actual presently lived experience. The pleasure of eating a sandwich, of feeling the sun on their faces, of stubbing their toes.
At least, they feel it for ten minutes before they're once again numbed by routine and/or consumer electronics.
This isn't a joke. But there are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke. Can you wrap your mind around the concept of death? Can you bear it? Most anyone would prefer an afterlife, a reincarnation, a happy ending.
Just try. "Death" (noun): nonexistence, the void. The end.
If you have any intellectual honesty in your character, at some point you'll have to consider that this is it. That tomorrow, an apathetic stranger could saunter by, hoist a Glock in your general direction, and ruin your day, with no heaven to look forward to.
Some artists have even had the audacity to take it a step further and ask the real question: why stay alive? To be, or not to be?
Some people think about these things everyday. Do you?
Anyway, by the time this is published, it'll be two days after the tragedy in Virginia, and I'm sure everyone will already be sick and tired of media commentary. Please forgive me for adding to the dull roar, and take this simple thought, whether you grieve or not.
Here you are, in class or at lunch, in beautiful weather, or at home on the computer. You have a healthy body (I hope), peace of mind (I hope) and your life ahead of you (I truly hope). If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.
Matthew Neff is an English literature senior. Write him at: matthew.neff@asu.edu.
