MATTERS OF INTEREST: Entropy And The Human Condition (a.k.a. Let’s Get Old And Die)

Tragically, the fates have conspired to vomit up another mucus sheathed MATTERS OF INTEREST. In a paroxysm of fatigue induced hallucinations, I am Matters.

Before forcing entry into, and burglarizing this week's topic, let me take a moment to trivialize and ridicule some of my critics in the grand tradition of scientific punditry. A whole litany of confusing "terms" and "phrases" has been leveled at this column of late. A random sampling of these absurd accusations is provided below:

• "intractable hell storm of verbal diarrhea"
• "an irrelevant fiction"
• "pantheon of mediocre musings and redundant ruminations"
• "dumb"
• "inaccessible, protracted, and elitist"

To my critics, I say if haphazardly jamming unrelated sentences together into a half plagiarized diatribe against reason and accepted truth makes me a bad writer, well then I guess I'm a bad writer, Mr. Critic.

I will be happy to respond to further criticism for a very minimal processing fee of $24.99. I can accept cash and PayPal. See me in the comments section after the column if you are interested.

This week's topic is extremely relevant to all of our lives: death. That's right. In the interest of restoring balance to the universe after A-Dub's life-affirming wedding piece of last week, I am obligated by journalistic integrity and my undergraduate minor in quantum physics to examine chaos, death, and the decline of the human form. This topic is especially relevant to me, as I spent the day painfully cracking open the hardened carapace of my 23 year old skin and emerging as a spongy pale 24 year old.

Since time immemorium, human kind has searched tirelessly for a way to beat the reaper. From Explorer/Rapist Ponce DeLeon, who scoured the Florida everglades for the fountain of youth, to Scientist/Inventor Ray Kurzweil, who scoured the internet for people willing to spend money on his book, we have been largely unsuccessful in our quest for immortality. In this contemporary painting Ponce (red arrow) can be seen drinking from an animal urine contaminated stream, much to the amusement of his crew and native guides.

The following table indicates the names of some quasi-famous people who would have liked to live forever, their proposed means for cheating death, and the reason for their embarrassing failure.

[Person] (Means of Cheating Death){Reason for Embarrassing Failure}

1. [Ponce DeLeon] (Fountain of Youth) {Alligators}
2. [Jesus] (Nepotism) {Interpreted bible literally}
3. [Rasputin] (Black Magic) {brill-zinsser disease}
4. [Ray Kurzweil] (Vitamins, Nanorobots) {Age. Too bad you're not my age Ray}
5. [Tom Hanks] (Live on in Hearts and Minds) {Tom Hanks Disease}

For reasons scholars do not fully understand, Madman and I frequently discuss my prospects for immortality. The conversation is formulaic, and goes as follows:

Madman: Blah blah blah, you're going to die blah blah.
Matters: Au contraire Adam, you forget that I'm going to live forever.
Madman: Haha ha. No you're not.

Why can Madman afford to be so cavalier towards my posturing and grandiose proclamations of immortality? Confidentially, between you, me, and the internet, I had the opportunity to perform a little covert reconnaissance at the Madman family farm this summer. In the dark recesses of a musty old shed in an abandoned corner of the property I found the following painting:

Fortunately for the free world, I had my spy-camera-hyphen-prosthetic-third-arm attached at the time, and if I may say so, the image quality is very impressive. I think it's obvious exactly what kind of cruel unnatural plot is unfolding here. While Madman lives a life of hedonism, devoted to the sole pursuit of sensual earthly pleasures, this piece of artwork has been aging in his stead. I'm sure that in the Grand Design our eternally youthful friend Madman will be on the business end of some heavy-handed moral lesson. Perhaps in the end his story will prove to be a lush, cautionary tale of a life of vileness and deception, or a perhaps a loving portrait of the aesthetic impulse run rampant? Or dare I say, both?

Whatever the reason, I'm jealous. I'll gladly be the punch line in some edifying morality tale in exchange for a modest slice of eternity and perpetual youth. Whether by means of frivolous wish or diabolical dealing, Madman has rustled himself up a sweet deal, and I want in.

With that end in mind, I began an exhaustive 15 minute search of my kitchen for any items that might be the key to eternal youth and beauty. I found this Frosted Flake that was my surprising likeness. I muttered a quick incantation over it, and have since kept it in a shoebox under my bed, next to my invisible powers pickles and mind bullets saltines. I have not yet determined if the flake is aging in my stead, but I am happy to report that it is aging quite a bit. It's been almost completely consumed by mold since the experiment began one week ago.

At any rate, I have already kicked off the marketing campaign for my new cereal, loosely based on this discovery. You can see they have 10 of something essential. I hope there aren't going to be any copyright infringement issues. If you're interested in purchasing a carton, see me in the comments section after the blog.

That about wraps it up for this week. Join me next week when I will consider violently probing a bottle of vodka.

~Matters