Life's Too Short
by Lindsay Perigo
Like Mr. Bidinotto's "Nobody's Perfect," "Life's Too Short" is probably another of those morsels of conventional wisdom that Objectivists are required to dismiss as a "bromide" that should never pass one's lips. It can too easily be used as an excuse to withhold "contempt for men's vices" and forgive people the unforgivable. After SOLOC 4, however, I am prepared to go out on a limb and insist that we should remind ourselves daily that life is indeed too bloody short and make sure that we savour every last drop of it. Who among those who experienced what life could and can be—and was—for those six glorious days could doubt it?
The constant highs have been well enough described here already—the unmitigated good will and good cheer, the relentless, sparkling humour, the stirring soulmateship, the ribaldry, the seriousness, the passion, the intellectual ferment, the burning excitement for the future ... there was all of this, and more, all the time, except when we were asleep. (Actually, did anyone sleep?!) We should keep faith with those six days for the rest of our days, treating life itself as just a longer version of them–knowing that, however long it might be, it's not long enough.
I thought this might be the appropriate context in which to mention that I've been moved by considerations such as these to ponder again my recent war with Michael Newberry, and to say the following publicly: that though I do not for a moment resile from the reasoning behind my incandescent anger with him, I realise that I should not have expressed it as I did. I want to withdraw and apologise for the specific epithets I hurled his way. John Cage and Marcel Duchamp undoubtedly deserve such categorisations; Michael Newberry assuredly does not. Nor, as Barbara Branden eloquently reminded me in private, should I of all people jeopardise SOLO's unique sense-of-life stature by such behaviour. Life's too short, and SOLO is too important.
I regret that I cannot bring myself to be so forgiving toward Barbara herself. On learning that she had eaten all the macaroons so lovingly whipped up by Regina Iannolo for all SOLOC 4 attendees to devour, I revoked her title of Her Majesty and banished her forthwith to SOLO Hell. And there's not a chance in hell that I'll let her out. Pigging out on all the macaroons herself was an act of moral viciousness that makes denying A is A seem rational and benign. Life may be short, but no eternity can be long enough to enable adequate retribution for such an unspeakable, wanton, hedonistic indulgence, not to mention the squalid treachery of denying it to the rest of us. Barbara Branden, glutton, I hereby denounce, renounce and condemn you irrevocably.
I am also having a hard time extending forgiveness to our in-house musos–the Vissers and the Sturm—for gross musical turpitude. Not only did they fail to programme Old Man River into their whatever-it-is-that-one-programmes-such-things-into for my much-heralded performance of same, but, challenged by me to just play the bloody thing from memory in the key of C, they confessed to not knowing the bloody tune, leaving me to perform it a capella! I have grudgingly placed them in SOLO Purgatory, from which they might be released should they elect to please me in certain delectable ways of my choosing.
To single out anyone for SOLO Heaven is to fail to do justice to the many worthy candidates for eternal SOLO bliss, but I must make special mention of James Kilbourne, whose musical and culinary hospitality to me personally in the two days following SOLOC 4 provided a fitting sequel to the conference itself. This is one hell (oops!) of a guy, and SOLO is blessed indeed to have him in its ranks, just as I am blessed indeed to have him among my dearest friends.
There is much more I could say, but Barbara has already said it best-SOLOC 4 attendees, you were even better in person than on-line, which is saying more than a lot. Joe, JJ and Liz—congratulations and thanks for finding such a superb location and making it all happen. Because of SOLOC 4, SOLO is set to move ahead in leaps and bounds even if just one tenth of the projects that were mooted there proceed. It was, quite simply, historic. Aside from that, it was life-enriching in a way we're all struggling to put into words. None of us will ever forget it. It was the certainty that this would be so, as I looked around at all of you gathered in that room at Newport Beach, that brought those tears to my eyes before I had uttered a single word of my opening speech.
And so it was.
A line from one of Mario Lanza's greatest hits kept recurring in my head through the whole six days: "Could this beauty last forever, I would ask for nothing more ..."
Life is too short, dammit!
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