Stand in place long enough and eventually irrelevance finds you. You can even play hide-and-seek with it and irrelevance will always win.

Last night I was at the bowling alley where friends and acquaintances of mine bowled every Monday night for a year and a half. Spares & strikes, pulltabs, and Tuesday morning hangovers. Like all seemingly static good times, it eventually bowed to the ebb, and bowling was no more.

Bowling last night was hell. All the faces had shifted and my scattered brain couldn't reconcile the good times manifested in others (the new kids) with the good times manifested in my ghosts (the old guard).

You might glide to the foul line and throw a rock down the lane and think you are doing something for cheap-thrills-satisfaction. But you're not. Even in the mundane you are writing your legacy script, your Alzheimer's photo album, your geriatric cud, and you'd better fucking like it -- especially the feel of it. 'Cause you aren't going to care much about whether you broke 100 when you are 100; and, unless science and metaphysics harmonize and kick into high gear, the reset button will be well unobtainable.

While waiting for life that sucks to die, why not listen to my favorite unsigned bands: TQ's Garage Band Playlist.