Listen: Kurt Vonnegut is dead at 84.
Everybody's been throwing around "so it goes" for the past few days, but instead, I'll just tell you that I often wonder if my outlook would've been different if I had found Ray Bradbury before Kurt Vonnegut. A number of Bradbury's stories had a major theme of "ideas have consequences, so you should protect your ideas," while Vonnegut's overarching theme seemed to be "no matter what kind of life you live, eventually the universe will screw with you anyway." Both are equally valid, but the second is a bit more universal.
Vonnegut also recognized that the flip side should be a heightened appreciation of the days where everything goes right. And yet, the country shrugs and keeps walking when they hear that Vonnegut died (assuming they do anything) while the postmortem saga of a pilled-up waste whose single "positive" contribution to our civilization was a set of huge breasts is still fixating the country months later.
And so, I suppose, it goes. But it does make me wonder if James Brown ever got buried...