2016 just doesn't know when to stop. It keeps kicking us when we are down. And even though we've been curled up in fetal position for months, admitting defeat, it just has to get a few more hits in before year's end. Today's casualties were an American hero of the space race, and a Prog Rock god whose partner was one of the first to depart this year. At least for John Glenn, we can all look at what he accomplished in his 95 years on earth and say, "Good show. Thanks for setting the bar high, and good bye." We can say similar things about Greg Lake, but I think we're allowed to feel a little cheated that he only got to be here for 69 years before cancer got him. And now that he has joined Keith Emerson wherever one goes after this plane of existence, a bunch of people seem to be eyeing Carl Palmer, and asking after his health. That guy sneezes and the rock world will collectively say Gesundheit.
My younger daughter and I were talking today, and she mentioned a few stepping-on-rakes moments she had today, and I said, "So you're saying you had a 2016 day?" As horrible as this year has been for everyone on the planet, at what point does it enter the pop lexicon to say things that involve unending losses and upsets are so 2016? I know this is coming. I'm ready to add it to my slang.
I'm not one who puts much stake in end-times philosophy, but I'm starting to wonder what all these people exiting the planet know that we don't. Is 2017 going to be even worse, and they are getting out while the getting is good? Are these people the advance team, who will go set up the party for the rest of us (which ought to be damned good, with all the music, art, and theater that they can provide)? Maybe the glitterati earned advance tickets out of here, by virtue of their contributions to the public well-being. Maybe their stars burned out quickly, leaving the rest of us who might have stamina to finish the job, whatever the job is. Or maybe this year just sucks and there is no reason.
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