On the Meaning of Life
And there it was, the fundamental philosophical question. The one that we all must ask before we die. Come on, say it in chorus with me. The question is “What is the Meaning of Life?” I have children, so I decided, with the help of my local video store, to get some instruction from the masters. None other than the troupe from Monty Python.
Don’t laugh. We’ve already done it for you, although there were moments when my children seems to be taken aback, shocked, nonplussed. The Python gang never does things halfway, so if a scene must be milked for the last drop of whatever bodily fluid has their attention, then let it be so. Nothing is sacred, including, well, sacred. No taboos, at least within the limits of 1983 which preceded that other British literary year (1984 by George Orwell).
I’m slowly moving data to the MediaGate box we installed earlier this spring. The box does a wonderful job of freeing up the DVD player for other duties, and once a movie is transferred you save the effort of a)finding and b)returning any given film. My choices for the home library will reflect my tastes, so the box also contains a full set of My Name Is Earl, several travel documentaries on the Western Islands of Scotland and a complete set of The Ascent Of Man. You see, all bases covered.
Of course, once the hard drive is full (probably only a few weeks away, if tendencies hold) I’ll then have to cull the collection. Who knows? Summer could bring a whole new theme.
