RIP, Sir Terry

It looks like we lost a great writer as Terry Pratchett met his creation today.

It feels like losing a friend. I never met the man, but the grief was real and genuine. The last time a stranger died and I felt this was was about a decade ago when we lost Vonnegut. There's no way to really classify the loss of the potential joy that you would have had. There's also the weird enjoyment of new discoveries of the posthumous works. But those are never the same, and cannot be enjoyed in the same light.

On the other hand, the authors that we spend so much time with are strangers and they are not, a weird dual both / and and neither / nor position at the same time that takes quantum phyiscs to explain, and even then we all know we're bullshitting ourselves.

So mourn the loss, yet rejoice that we are here to mourn.

Getting Ready: Charles Murray Book Club.

OK.

It came. I have a lot of schoolwork this week, but I'm going to rock this next week.

I cannot be moar excited.

UPDATE (3/10/2015):

The book club is cancelled, as the book is actually rather large and I have some time in my life to extend a joke, I don't have enough to actually sit down and read a book that was called out for being racist 20 years ago. Part of me wants to read it for historical purposes, the other parts are not voting in the affirmative. There's also the fact that in spit of this copy coming off the shelf for the first time in probably 19 years, they only put a two-week limit on the check-out, and I don't want to go through the trouble of renewing it. It is much easier to give up on a library book than it is one you buy. Damn sunk cost fallacy.