Left to my own devices

Nearly three decades ago, I read a novel by P.D. James. She was (and still is, rest her soul) my favorite author, and her then-latest book was a departure from the series of crime novels starring her poet-detective Adam Dalgliesh. The Children of Men came out in 1992, and was set in a dystopian future-England of 2021. The last human was born some two decades previous, the reason for a lack of any further births unknown, and society has cratered as a result. I was riveted by the book, reading it late at night, at school, even waiting for a dental appointment. The novel was adapted into a much ballyhooed film in 2006. It dropped the " the " from the title, and made a few more changes, but the core idea was there. It's a captivating movie, with assured director Alfonso Cuaron at the helm, though it takes on a darker, gritty, and more violent nature than its source material. Or perhaps all of that was on the page, but my mind interpreted it differently than it was ...

Have we done the review of my favorite songs from last year yet? No? Right, here we go...

"I love the past, 'cause I hate suspense." - Diane Young, by Vampire Weekend The interesting thing about being alive is that we know what's come before, but not what will be. Well, that isn't the only interesting thing, obviously, but it's an aspect of existence that fascinates me. Put another way, we know the past, but never the future. And, there will always be a future -- something epochal would have to occur for that to change. I've been ruminating on the aforementioned reality somewhat often during this pandemic. Additionally, I've considered the importance of the shared experiences we have, both en masse and amongst our smaller, more tightly-knit sub-groups (friends, family, that sort of thing). It is a significant factor to know our history, but there's nothing quite like going through a major event at the same time as those we know, those fellow humans who mean something special to us.

The original plan was to be seated in a movie theater this evening for the premiere of the new James Bond movie. That notion was scuttled when, somewhat early on, the movie studio pushed-back the film to November, out of concern regarding the novel coronavirus. Not to be put-off, plan B was the  general idea of getting together with some friends at a restaurant, to celebrate. Whatever happened, it would be the polar opposite of that day exactly one decade ago. Alas, fate intervened yet again.

A few days ago, Adam Schlesinger died from complications of the coronavirus. I'm not exactly sure why his death, amongst all the others , startled me so much. I'd forgotten all about his band, Fountains of Wayne, until learning of his passing, and couldn't even whistle one of their tunes. Perhaps it was because Schlesinger was 52, which is close (enough) to my own age? Perhaps it was just a culmination of the mounting death toll? I'm not sure, but it seemed to drive home the reality that this virus can not only infect, but kill. It cares not of class, race, religion, nationality, or age.