If this missive, dear reader, had been handwritten and scanned for your reading pleasure, you would have noticed something amiss.
For whatever the words may have conveyed, the script itself would have told a tale. No matter what level your observational powers, you could not have failed to notice the spidery, shivering script. This, you would have observed to yourself, is a man who has suffered a rude shock. And your observation would not have been amiss either, dear reader, for Kulkarni at the moment is a man badly shook.
A memory, long buried and suppressed by yours truly was jogged today, and I am still suffering from the resulting trauma. I listened to (and you may want to stop reading right now – don’t say I didn’t warn you!)…
…”My Heart Will Go On” today morning.
If you are of a particular age (say 25 and above) then you know the pain I felt, and you can hear in your head even now that most aggravating of tunes. For it was, if memory serves me right, the only thing you could hear on the airwaves in the years 1999 through 2000.
Everywhere you went, Celine Dion would follow you, telling you that her ticker was like the Duracell bunny. Again, and again and again, in her devilishly dulcet voice she’d inform you of her heart’s intention to keep on going, no matter what happened.
On and on she’d go, without rest, respite or retreat, until every single person on the planet went down on bended knees, wept piteously and begged her to just stop going on about it. And at that point she’d stop, reconsider and sing the damn song again. You’ve been there, dear reader, you remember the pain.
But with time, things changed. People discovered new ways of torturing their tympanums, and abandoned the old. And so for twenty long years (give or take), Kulkarni’s eardrums were spared the sound of that song, and the memory of that horrific time in my life lay long suppressed.
Until, just this morning, over our morning cup of coffee, I and the missus got to speaking about the good old days. One thing led to another, and I happened to mention this song, and how glad I was to never have to hear it again.
Any adult reading this has already begun shaking their head in gentle sorrow, for they know what happened next. And to be fair, I’d have done the same thing myself, had the positions been reversed. And so I spent, much against mine and my ear’s wishes, some time in the morning listening to, yet again, Celine Dion’s eternal heart signaling its intention to go on.
And more power to her and her internal organ, I say. I wish her nothing but a long and happy life, and the longer the better. I just don’t see why I and the rest of the planet have to be told about it again and again and again.
He doesn't expect the paradox to be resolved in his lifetime
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