Ode to Joy or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Apathy

I am a firm disbeliever of happiness.

Dear reader, please do not mistake my statement for outright nihilism. I DO believe in and attest to the truth on certain uncontroverted matters:

i) The earth revolves around the sun;

ii) Laetitia Casta (circa turn of the century) was the pinnacle of feminine hotness;

iii) If an integer n is greater than 2, then a^n + b^n = c^n has no solutions in non-zero integers a, b, and c ('tis true, just use elliptic curves and solve for n=4 and prime numbers, many thanks Sir Wiles);

iv) The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing;

v) Yoko and me (and that's reality).

But, happiness? Nay, it can neither be attained in this world nor the next! Rather, dear reader, I subscribe to a slightly more skewed, yet practical, philosophy on life I term, "MOMENTS OF EPHEMERAL JOY SPARSELY SPREAD AMONGST ONE'S MUNDANE ROTE EXISTENCE and stuff . . ."

Moments of minute episodes of joy. No delusional promise of the city-state of Shangri-La happiness. Let your mind marinate on that for an atomic minute.

Interesting philosophy, you smirk with teeming condescension. But, pray tell, have you any concrete examples of such "moments of ephemeral joy"? Pergunta boa, meu amigo!

The key to this philosophy of joy, not unlike the underpinnings of space and time, is relative: the individual defines his/her moments of joy. For an avid runner like myself, running ten miles to and fro along the beach between Manhattan and Hermosa any given Saturday morning qualifies as a moment of joy. Or receiving a text from Maganda. Or waxing philosophies with Balong. Or drinking and chewing the cud with the Spearhead Commander. Or running (lately, runwalking) with Lard Boy. Or watching Ysabella with Mom. Or talking about the good ol' days with Inay. Or getting an e-mail from Elleigeiram. Or watching the sunrise. Or watching an old episode of ST:TNG (especially anything involving Q, Lor, or the Holodeck). Or seeing childhood pictures. Or singing Karaoke (that is the magic word!). Or watching the last scene of Field of Dreams when Ray Kinsella asks his dad to play catch with him (lump in my throat sprinkled with a warm fuzzy feeling everytime). Or reading My Blog. Or . . .

Dear reader, if there is one undeniably lame public service announcement I may espouse, it is simply this: acknowledge those little moments of joy that enrich your life. The cosmos shall grant you no less and no more. And, at the end of things, pray that your lifetime MOJs (that's "moments of joy" for you damned text happy freaks) total more time than your time spent wiping your asshole. A man can dream, n'est pas?