Not really a bad lyrics post, but whatever ...
Q: Should I stay or should I go?
A: Well, if I understand your situation correctly, if you go
there will be trouble, but if you stay it will be double. So I guess there’s inertia and all that, but seems like you
should go? Just my two cents.
Q: What becomes of the broken hearted?
A: Typically, they’re sad for a while and then move on as
life inexorably progresses, new loves and/or new challenges arise, etc.
Q: What is love?
A: OK, that’s a pretty broad question, but I’ll take a stab
at it. The ancient Greeks divided love into four categories: eros, a sexual or passionate love; philia, deep friendship borne out of
trust and respect; storge, an
instinctual familial love that does not depend, as in philia, on any particular personal qualities; and agape, a general and universal love for
people and things. This is, of course, an oversimplification of incredibly
complex concepts, which emphasizes the tragedy that in modern English we have managed
to simplify this even more, reducing this vast spectrum of feeling to a single
word. What could be more Orwellian than to take everything that really matters to us as humans and attempt to express
it in just four letters?
Q: What’s love got to do with it?
A: Apparently, nothing.
Q: What is life?
A: Really?
Q: Does anybody really know what time it is?
A: Yes.
Q: Have you ever seen the rain?
A: Yes. Wait, is this a metaphor? Then … yes.
Q: Who’ll stop the rain?
A: During the Cold War, the U.S. and U.S.S.R. both
experimented extensively with weather-control methods that could theoretically
have caused rain to fall or prevented it from falling. Ultimately, the Soviets
and Americans both ratified the U.N.’s 1977 Environmental Modification
Convention, which banned such “weather warfare.” But given today’s political
climate, who’s to say what those devious Russkis are up to? If you’re
legitimately concerned about this problem, I’d book a flight to Moscow post
haste.
Q: Why does it always rain on me?
A: I don’t know, but I would advise against speaking to any
Russian scientists about this state of affairs, as you clearly are vulnerable
to being weaponized in the coming weather wars.
Q: How soon is now?
A: Allow me to begin by thanking you for not asking about
the rain. As for your question, this is a tricky one. One might posit that
being “in the now” or “in the moment” is fundamentally impossible, for as soon
as one comes to the realization that a moment is “now,” that moment has already
passed, propelling her into the future and a new “now.” By this conception,
living in the moment can never actually be achieved, due to its fleeting
nature. By the same token, a request to do something “now” or “right now”
cannot be fulfilled, for “now” has passed as soon as the words are spoken,
replaced by a new present and then another, and so forth. Of course, such a
view ultimately is a mere exercise in absurdity, a sort of temporal Zeno’s
paradox. To function in the world, we require a broader view of the concept of
“now,” to include multiple moments under its aegis. But then, how long is
“now”? A request to a child to pick up his toy now means “immediately,” but a politician who says something needs
to be done now might mean sometime in
the next four years. If one is trying to “live in the now” while surfing a
monster wave, it might be only a few seconds. If enjoying a romantic evening, a
few hours. If trying to appreciate a particularly pleasant time in one’s life –
a vacation, a temporary lull in work responsibilities, the afterglow of the
birth of a child – it could be a matter of days or even months. So, if that
helps … wait, re-reading your question … how
soon is now? What are you even talking about?
Q: Do you want to know a secret?
A: Um … can I say no?
Q: Where were you when the world stopped turning?
A: About to be hurled violently into the closest geological
formation at a speed of over 1,000 miles an hour. Wait, why aren’t you dead
like the rest of us?
Q: Would?
A: Well, sure … if you could, that is. Could you? You could?
Then sure, I would.
Q: Who let the dogs out?
A: Ah. Unlike the rest of these inane queries, your question
appears to be rhetorical, containing a sly but clear reference to Julius Caesar and the “dogs of war.”
Pardon the pun, but to let that “slip” by would be a fundamental misreading of
your scathing political screed. You offer a chilling depiction of a party
that’s “pumping,” everybody “having a ball,” until all at once we hear “a woman
shout out.” This, a clear reference to economic imperialism and its faceless
victims, paired with the prediction that global inequality would ultimately
lead to unrest, serves as a prescient but unheeded warning of the Sept. 11
attacks, war in Iraq and Afghanistan, the financial crisis of 2008, and an
inability to address climate change. Ultimately, the question of who let the
dogs out is (as you well know) rendered moot by the larger query: How do we get
them back in?
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