Moral Midgetry

Kurt Vonnegut, the smartest, funniest man I never knew, died Wednesday at the age of 84 after suffering brain injuries in a fall weeks ago in his Manhattan home. This is a drawing that Vonnegut himself did regarding his death. Go to his official web page and this is all you’ll see.

I was going to do my taxes this weekend, but instead I believe I’ll reread Breakfast of Champions, my personal favorite. Here’s what New York Times reviewer Christopher Lehmann-Haupt had to say about it. “Vonnegut's novel makes pornography seem like any old plumbing, violence like lovemaking, innocence like evil, and guilt like child's play.” That’s not what I remember getting out of the book, but whatever.

The irony that damage to that amazing, inventive brain is what killed Vonnegut is not lost on me.

So it goes.